Page 65 of For The Ring

Go to sleep.

Don’t dream.

Wake up to an empty bed and move the fuck on.

Win a bunch of baseball games.

Face the Dodgers in October and take Ethan Quicke deep.

Fuck, wait, no I won’t be out on the field.

I might be a little bit drunk.

Okay, not me. But I can make sure that kid, the Davis kid, knows exactly what’s coming, I’ll have Frankie run her computer a billion times to make sure and then let the kid take him deep.

Yes. Good.

But first, sleep.

And, thank God, I’m out as soon as my head hits the pillow.

“You okay, Skip?” Cole Davis asks me, all suited up for the game ahead of him while we stand on the field less than an hour before first pitch.

My flight’s not until later tonight, commercial (my budgetdoeshave limits), but business class so I actually fit in the damn seat, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to take in one more Desert Dog game before I head back to New York.

“Hungover,” I admit.

The beers at dinner and then the two once I got home were a little too much for my metabolism to handle anymore. Getting old sucks. I used to be able to go out with the boys at night, have a couple of drinks to unwind and then wake up the next day and go four for four with a homer and two doubles before doing it all over again that night.

“I don’t get those,” he says, a wide grin playing across his features.

He’s a good-looking kid. Gonna be a star in New York if we bring him along right, but that comes with a whole other host of issues. That’s a problem for April, though, not right now.

“Where’s Ms Sullivan?” he asks.

“Back in Brooklyn,” I grumble out.

Cole clicks his tongue, but like last night, knows to mostly keep his trap shut. “so, it’s just you today.”

“Just me, kid, is that okay? Do you need more of an audience?”

He laughs and claps me on the shoulder. “Nah, we’ll put on a show for you.”

“No show necessary. Just play your game. That’s more than enough, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Hey, Mr Avery,” Archie Esposito says, darting out of the dugout, bouncing like he didn’t throw eight shutout innings the day before. Oh, to be twenty-one again. “You’re back! Where’s . . .” he’s cut off by Davis’s elbow to his gut. “Ouch, what the hell, Cole?”

“Shut up,” Cole mumbles, and I ignore their interplay.

“You boys have a good game and, when I see you after the holidays, be ready to work, and Davis, when you wrap things up here, the first thing I want you to do is study the staff.”

“Homework, Skip?”

“Consider it your final exam before graduation. I want a full scouting report on everyone on our staff and a complete write up on Nakamura.”

His eyes light up at the prospect of catching one of the best pitchers in the world. “We got a shot at getting him?”

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