Long Relief (Hardball 1)

By the time she got back upstairs, Chris had already set two plates at her small dining table and move aside the mound of paperwork she’d dropped there.

“I didn’t change the order of anything, I swear,” he said when she lifted the stack of papers and moved them to the half-wall between the kitchen and the dining area. “I just scooted them over. Let me guess, if I went into your home office right now, I’d find dishes next to the computer.”

“You’re absolutely correct,” she slid into a chair and reached for a carton of fried rice. It might have been good manners to wait for him to sit before she dove into the food, but she was starving. Besides, that was what friends did, right? Disregarded stupid conventions like table manners and just enjoyed each other’s company?

“So, you must be pretty good with computers, right?” He snagged two beers from the fridge and popped the tops off, handing one to her.

She took a long swallow and shook her head. “There’s a difference between being ‘good with computers’ and ‘good with software concepts.’ I couldn’t fix your laptop if it broke, but I understand how your laptop talks to the programs it’s running. But I’m not an expert; that’s why I have so many nerdy people who know a lot working under me.”

“But you’re obviously good at what you do. I mean, you’re successful enough to buy a baseball team.”

It was hard to talk around a mouthful of steaming hot rice. She covered her mouth to lessen the shock of seeing her talk with her mouth full. “When I started out, it was a really fast-growing, super-specific field. I started the company after I sold my shares in the pizza chain to my brother. When we started out, we hit it big with a drive-thru ordering system, and from there, we started looking at what other companies were doing and made our own versions, which were less shitty.”

“Isn’t that…” Chris scooped some General Tsao’s onto his plate as he searched for a word. “I guess stealing, is what I would call it.”

“That’s what I hear a lot.” It used to bother her, but now she could accept it for what it was, layman’s understanding of how her business worked. “But if no one improved ever improved on the Romans’ designs, we’d still have aqueducts all over the place.”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“That we still use. In modern plumbing,” she clarified dryly. “Besides, it’s what Steve Jobs was famous for. I mean, he didn’t invent portable MP3 players. He improved what was out there for ease of use and branded it well.” Why did she feel so defensive, all of a sudden? “I mean, overhand pitching was something someone else thought up, but you guys are always working to improve it.”

“I didn’t say a word,” he smiled at her over the top of his beer bottle.

She had to laugh because he was so impossible. “Whatever. Besides, at least I look good at what I’m doing. You guys look straight up deformed if the camera catches you mid-throw.”

“Because overhand pitching is an unnatural thing to do to your body.” He sat back and folded his arms. “Look, I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Ooh, zero to serious in three-point-five,” she teased, but then the sinking feeling started. She hated the sinking feeling. “What’s going on?”

He sat up a little straighter. “First, I want to make sure I’m talking to Maggie, the woman I’m pretty into, and not Maggie, the team owner.”

“Okay. I’ll put on my girl-you’re-trying-to-chase hat.” Where this was coming from, she had no clue. Where it was going… she couldn’t even guess.

“I got an offer from Charlotte. I’m going to take it.”

“You’re going to pitch in North Carolina?” Then the rest of her thoughts caught up. There was no way another team would have approached him, not this early in the season, especially not when he wasn’t throwing all that well. “Wait, I didn’t hear about any offer. And you’re not free yet, we could still—”

“I wouldn’t be pitching. I’d be coaching.” He watched her, carefully gauging the play of emotions she knew she wasn’t hiding. “I’m not doing so hot this season. And I’m forty-two. I don’t want another surgery, and I don’t want to end up in the minors, doing rehab for a season before whoever might be dumb enough to pick me up realizes what a bad investment they’ve made.”

“I understand. You have to protect your image. No one wants to leave on a down note.” She pushed her plate back, trying too hard to appear cool and rational. “We’ll see each other around, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, now and then.”

That was the worst part of it. They couldn’t even pretend they’d be able to maintain a relationship across such a distance, even if they wanted to. It wasn’t like you could hop in the car and drive from North Carolina to Michigan after work. It wasn’t practical. Flying, sure, but when would he have time? When would she? In the off-season, they might be able to hook up for a few sordid little flings. But he didn’t want that with her. He wanted something serious. Something permanent. And she couldn’t give him that.