Worth the Trade. Kristina Mathews

“I think this team has a real shot at the pennant. But you already knew that. You gave up a long term deal with Chicago to come here.”

      “We’re still in the race. That’s for sure.” They were three games back. With fifty left to play. Still very much in the race.

      “Yeah. But every single one of us has to make a contribution.” And Marco knew he hadn’t done that since coming to San Francisco.

      “True. But we don’t all have to do it at the same time.” Johnny made it sound so simple. It was for him. After so many years in the big leagues, he was having his best season yet. “We have twenty-five guys on this team. We pick each other up, encourage each other, and keep working for each other even when it feels like it’s not going to work out. We show up. Every. Single. Day.”

      “I want to be that guy,” Marco admitted. He wanted to be the guy who stuck around. Who made a contribution on the field and beyond. “I want to keep showing up. Every day. Every year. I want to be someone people can count on.”

      “So be that guy. Step up to the plate like you own it.” Johnny exuded confidence. Composure. Wisdom. “No one can beat you unless you let them.”

      If it was only that simple.

      “Look. I know what it’s like to be the new guy on the team. To heap that much more pressure on yourself. But you don’t carry this team. This team will carry you. If you’ll let us.”

      Johnny wasn’t pitching today. He laced up his cleats anyway. Gave Marco an encouraging nod and headed to the field to support his teammates.

      Marco tried to let Johnny’s advice soak in. The entire season did not rest on his shoulders alone. He had twenty-four other guys who wanted a shot at the postseason just as much as he did. He’d have eight men on the field with him at any given time. Every single one of them was capable of driving in the winning run. Even the pitchers. All of their starters had at least one RBI this season. He did not have to do this on his own.

      Marco stood for the national anthem. He glanced behind home plate. Only the old guy, in the bow tie and sweater vest, sat in the prime seats. Dempsey was his name. Hunter wasn’t there. She’d made good on her promise not to distract him.

      He needed to make good on his promise.

      * * * *

      Hunter sat in the luxury box above the field. They had all the amenities one could wish for, food, drinks, Wi-Fi, and big screen TVs. But she couldn’t smell the grass from up here. Couldn’t hear the crack of the bat as it made contact with the ball. She couldn’t feel the buzz of the crowd around her. She was isolated up here. Separated from the fans, the players, and her father. He’d never sat in a luxury suite. Always in the seats behind home plate. Always right where the action was.

      The suite included a balcony, with outdoor seating. She sat down, trying to at least catch a whiff of garlic fries. After standing for the national anthem, she settled into her seat with her scorebook and a notepad to jot down anything that stood out about her team or their opponent.

      Clayton Barry was busy entertaining his wife and five-year-old twin daughters. They seemed to be more interested in the catered meal and playing video games on the big TV than the actual game.

      The Goliaths got the first two outs easily. But then the pitcher walked the third batter, bringing their cleanup hitter to the plate. Sure enough, he got ahold of a ball that was up in the strike zone, launching it deep into left field. A collective gasp was followed by cheers as Marco leaped into the air, snagging the ball just inches above the outfield wall.

      Her heart continued to thump as he trotted back to the dugout. Maybe a spectacular play like that was just what he needed to build his confidence. Hunter hoped it would carry over into his next at bat.

      She wasn’t going to panic just yet. He’d only been in town three nights. Still living out of a suitcase. He hadn’t had a chance to acclimate to the city, the clubhouse, or the contours of the outfield. A week ago, he’d been looking forward to Marco Santiago bobblehead night at his old stadium. Now he was sporting a new uniform, a new number, and a new set of expectations.

      Besides, she’d acquired him for his defense as much as anything else. He was fearless in the outfield. Making impossible plays look routine. And routine plays spectacular. He’d just saved them two runs. That was worth plenty in her book. They would have needed to score three if he hadn’t made that catch.

      In his first at bat, Marco hit a soft line drive that squirted past the second baseman into the outfield. Baxter scored from third base and the Goliaths took a one to nothing lead. Hunter breathed a sigh of relief as Marco recorded his first official hit and his first RBI since the trade. She started to relax. He was settling in. Showing signs of the player she’d put her faith, and several million dollars, into.

      She watched him standing on first base. He glanced over at her usual seat behind home plate, and shook his head. He then lifted his gaze up to the suite level where she now sat. Even though he couldn’t possibly have picked her out of the crowd, she felt the connection. Those damn blue eyes that haunted her dreams. Made her feel naked when he looked at her. And made her want to be naked. With him.

      The next batter struck out and she watched Marco trot back to the dugout. He grabbed his glove and hustled to the outfield, ready to play. She watched him cover the large expanse of left field. He would shift his body at the crack of the bat. Somehow he knew which direction the ball would go before it left the bat. Instinct.

      She had that kind of instinct when it came to her players.

      Usually.

      She watched Marco make several routine and not-so-routine plays. Her gut feeling about his defense was spot on. She hoped her faith in his batting would play out eventually.

      But when he got to the plate in his next at-bat, he hit the ball hard, right into the glove of the diving center-fielder. On his next trip to the plate, his frustration showed. He hit a weak grounder to third. He shook his head as he walked back to the dugout. This time, he didn’t look up.

      “Your boy toy is turning out to be a bust already.” Clayton slunk into the seat next to her. He leaned back, stretching his legs as if he owned the place. Right. He had a thirty percent share of ownership. He was her business partner, but he saw her more as competition. He’d been threatened by the players’ loyalty to her father and now her.

      And he wanted her position as president and managing partner. Vice president wasn’t enough for him. She wasn’t sure if he wanted more power or if he wanted to be more powerful than her. Some men couldn’t handle a woman who knew more than they did. He’d expected her to be a spoiled little rich girl, only interested in her daddy’s money to keep herself in designer shoes and spa treatments. Instead, he’d been shown up by her business savvy and determination to improve the team.

      “And we gave up a hot pitching prospect to get him.” He didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t be pushed around. That she knew more about the game than he did, and a lot more about the players, both on her team and around the league. He only cared about numbers, statistics, and name recognition. She sometimes wondered if he chose players based more on jersey sales over actual production on the field.

      “Marco Santiago will come through for us.” She hoped. No, she truly believed in him. “I’m sure of it.”

      “Oh really?” Clayton leaned toward her, the Scotch on his breath making her a little nauseated. His wife, Annabelle, had left after the third inning to get the girls ready for bed. “You want to bet on it?”

      “What would you like to wager?” She hated that he could bait her so easily, but she couldn’t let him think she was intimidated by him. Or that she had any doubts about her choice. “A hundred bucks?”

      “No. Not cash. I’ve got plenty of that.” He gave her a patronizing laugh. “But I’d be more than willing to wager, say five percent.”

      “Five percent?” If she won, that would give her more of an advantage when it came to negotiations.