could still throw. But could he still be Roy Walker?
That was an unknown.
What would it feel like to sit in the bullpen watching the game with a bunch of other guys, probably younger, waiting for the phone to ring so he could go out to the mound to pitch for just one inning. Hoping he didn’t do any damage in that inning. Hoping he got the guys out he was supposed to get out.
Roy never used to hope. He just did. He’d always been a starter. He’d always been the first starter in the five-man rotation. For every season he’d played.
What he was going to be was anyone’s guess. Duff had him slated to start in the minors, but that was to improve his arm strength. What he became in the majors, if he even made it that far, was a complete unknown.
As long as it came with a paycheck, he would have to accept it.
Trying to get out of his head, Roy got into his windup and threw again. The ball sailed over Javier’s head and the catcher had to hop up and scramble to find it.
“Sorry, Javier!” Roy waved.
“Juusssst a little outside.”
Roy turned and saw Lane walking toward him. She wore jeans with a T-shirt and cardigan, her hair loose around her shoulders. He was struck again by the awareness that he was seeing her again. When he thought he never would.
Damn, he’d missed her. He wondered what she would say if he told her that. Probably that he didn’t get to say that, either.
“Quoting Major League. That’s not a good sign,” he said, smiling.
Lane knew Major League was one of Roy’s all-time favorite baseball movies. The fact that she lumped him in with the Wild Thing didn’t bode well for what she saw in his pitching.
She didn’t return his smile.
“You should have been here earlier,” he said. “I missed Javier by three feet on my first pitch. The ball hit the brick backstop, shot down into the dugout and ran all the way into the lockers. Not exactly where I wanted that pitch to go.”
Lane crossed her arms under her breasts and looked toward the outfield.
“Look, I get it, Lane. You hate me and just because you’re here doesn’t mean you’ve forgiven me. Point made. But you are here and if we are going to work together, we have to at least talk to each other. We could always do that. Talk to each other.”
She looked at him then as if his words had served to remind her of what they had been. He couldn’t tell if that made her angrier or if maybe she had missed him, too. Because the look on her face just then...it was wistful.
“Did I actually hear you apologize to Javier?”
Roy knew where she was going with the question. In his heyday he never would have considered apologizing to a catcher on a wild pitch. But those days were over and it seemed a man who was coming back to the game with his head between his knees could show a little humility now and then.
“Don’t make too much of it. It’s not like he understands a word I say.”
“Session done?” Javier called out to the mound.
Roy nodded. “Session done. Thanks again, Javier.”
“It’s good. It’s good.” The catcher smiled, then jogged toward the dugout and the showers underneath the stadium.
“Does your father know you’re here?” Lane asked.
It was another question Roy understood the reason why she asked. He really didn’t want to talk about his father, but he had to take the fact that she was talking to him as a positive sign so he answered her.
“No.” Roy wanted to avoid that conversation as long as he could. He could just imagine how it would go down. He would have to explain how he lost all his money. Instead of being worried about that or sorry it happened, his father would no doubt be thrilled to fly out and see him at his next game. His father would instantly revert to his old ways, thinking that he and Roy could be a team again.
When Roy left the game his relationship with his father had all but dried up. A lot of that distance had to do with losing his mother the year before. Once she was gone, he and his father realized the only thing that connected them was baseball. The reality of it after he’d left the game was even worse than he could imagine. It was as if his father didn’t know how to speak to him anymore. Like all Roy had ever been to him was a star player instead of a son.
Now that he was back in the game his father would want to be in his life and the pain of that, knowing he would only take an interest because Roy was playing ball again, was something Roy really didn’t want to deal with.
It was something he could have talked about with his mom. Six years gone and there wasn’t a day he didn’t wish he could pick up the phone and call her. Let her explain why Dad was the way he was and how baseball was his way of showing his affection. She had always made Roy feel better about himself, his dad and their relationship.
He should call his dad. He would call him. He just wasn’t ready yet.
“How long do you think you can stay hidden? The season starts in three weeks. You’re going to be on the team—”
“You don’t know that. It’s not official.”
“I saw the five pitches you threw before that last one. You’re going to be on the team. The world will know Roy Walker is back.”
There would be press, there were would be stories and assumptions and investigations. News of his colossal business implosion would be everywhere. Mike and Mike on ESPN radio would no doubt discuss it and his return for a solid week.
Forget the field day Roy would have with the local press, who would be jumping at the chance to beef up their distribution of newspapers with the story of Roy’s return and being part of the Minotaurs. He’d met the owner of the team, Jocelyn Taft-Wright, who seemed ready to pounce on any publicity that Roy might generate that could translate into ticket sales. Considering she was married to a local sportswriter, Roy imagined she would have some influence over the volume of stories produced.
All of it would suck for someone who never craved the media spotlight. It wasn’t as if Roy didn’t love attention. But only when he was on the mound. There he craved it. Soaked it in like sun on a beach. He always wanted everyone to see what he could do.
Off the mound, he always felt like the less people knew about him, the better.
It would be something Lane might have teased him about when they were friends and say it was because he didn’t want everyone to know what an ass he was. Maybe that was true. But he also didn’t want everyone to realize how shallow he was.
What had he been other than a ballplayer? Nothing. Not husband or father. Not a person with interests or hobbies. Roy threw the ball. That’s who he was. An interviewer could ask only so many questions about that. A player could give only so many answers.
Now those questions would be about whether he could still throw the ball.
The jury was still out. The throwing didn’t feel like it used to
