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“Yeah, man. I’ve got the YouTube clip bookmarked.” This seemed to be all Miles needed to know to be satisfied.
Alex’s first game back post-suspension had been uneventful. He felt at home behind the plate, and the triple-A pitcher they’d called up to fill Miles’s hole in the roster was pretty good. He wasn’t good enough to take the position full-time, but he’d win some games for them in the meantime.
It was a home game against the Indians, and the crowd had cheered when Alex’s name was announced. A few people held up signs with Matt’s face on them with a black eye painted on, but aside from that the suspension went unmentioned. The Felons had won, which was a relief, and also meant they had an almost insurmountable lead in their division. They were twelve games ahead of the Texas Rangers, who would have to win every single game for the next month—and the Felons lose as many—if they had a hope in hell of surpassing them.
So basically, the Felons were a shoe-in for the postseason.
It was by no means a guarantee to win the World Series, but it was one step closer to having the ring on his hand.
He needed to keep his eye on the ball and his nose out of more trouble.
He’d just finished changing and dumping his dirty uniform into the laundry bin when Chet popped his head into the locker room. “Oh hey, man, you are still here.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s, um…well, there’s someone to see you?” He phrased it like a question, making Alex wonder who precisely was outside. The last time someone had been lying in wait for him after a game it had been Alice ready to read him the riot act. He wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at tonight.
“Is it a reporter?” He’d opted not to participate in the post-game conference to avoid any questions about his part in the fight. If someone had ducked out of the pressroom to question him in the clubhouse, he didn’t want to deal with it.
Chet laughed. “No. Not a reporter. Trust me.”
While that did nothing to ease Alex’s discomfort over the vagueness of his guest, he followed Chet into the hall.
It took him a moment to realize who was waiting for him.
“Olivia?”
She was wearing the Felons jersey he’d given her in Lakeland, the one with her name on the back. A Felons cap one size too large covered her ears and half obscured her eyes, which had given him some difficulty placing her at first.
“Hi, Alex!” she said cheerfully, as though it were perfectly normal for her to be standing outside the Felons clubhouse. In San Francisco. By herself.
“Liv, honey, what are you doing here?” He’d meant to lead up to the question, but he was so stunned to see her he couldn’t hold back. “Is everything okay? Where’s—?”
“I’m fine. I came to see the game.”
“By yourself?”
She rolled her eyes, as if he should be ashamed of himself for asking such a stupid question. “No. I’m nine. Duh.”
He scanned the hall for a sign of Alice, for Kevin even, any sign Liv really hadn’t come on her own.
“You okay here?” Chet asked, looking from Alex to the little girl.
“Yeah, man. I know her mom.”
“Okay.” The shortstop gave a nod and waved at Liv. “Catch ya later, kid.”
“Good save in the third, Mr. Appleton,” she replied.
He blushed then nodded to them both before walking past her and out of sight. Alex was now alone with Liv. In spite of knowing no one else was in the hall, he kept looking for a sign of another person. Any other person.
?
??How did you get here?”
“Car.”
“But not by yourself.”
