The San Francisco night fog soared over the stadium lights. Matt took a few swings in the on-deck circle. After having struck out twice, he wasn’t about to let Maddon get his number a third time. He knew this guy, knew what he had. Matt usually got a good piece of Maddon’s four-seamer and could smack a double on a good night, a homer on a great one. But tonight the kid was throwing change-ups that fooled him.
The competitive impulse that normally drove him just wasn’t there. It’d surfaced a couple of nights prior during the Pirates game, like an infusion from out of the blue. He’d reached base every at-bat, hit a homer, and batted four guys in. But after that game, the juice just as quickly vanished.
His heart wasn’t in the game and neither was his head. It was impossible but true. Who knew that a lifelong dream could lose some of its luster, maybe evaporate entirely? He’d even considered retiring at the end of the season. That thought had depressed him more than anything.
He forced himself to tune out the crowd and to focus.
Alex took a hard swing and smacked a single up the middle.
Matt stepped toward the batter’s box.
And then damn if the Rockies’ manager didn’t pull Maddon and call in the lefty from the bullpen.
Matt watched Ramirez throw his first two warm-up pitches. He wasn’t giving much away. Fresh out of the pen he could throw over ninety miles an hour.
Taking advantage of the break for the pitching change, the huge screen behind center field blared out ads. Matt heard a song he recognized and glanced up. There, on the screen, towering into the night sky in all her heart-stopping glory, was Alana. Laughing beside her in the video promo for the symphony was the guy in the tux. Matt recognized the guy now. Marcel.
Images flashed lightning fast through Matt’s head.
Alana had surprised him. He’d thought she’d be like other heiresses he’d met—float above the day-to-day details of life, let other people do her work and make her decisions. But she’d rolled up her sleeves and dealt. Dealt with the homeless woman in a heartfelt way that shocked him. Dealt with him. Not heartfelt. But he deserved the boot. He’d criticized her and judged her. And now, recognizing what she was capable of, he respected her. He’d been wrong about so many things, but mostly he’d been wrong about Alana. She’d cracked him open, and he’d just have to find a way to seam himself back up.
He struck out again, and Walsh yanked him from the game. As he stepped into the dugout he vowed that no matter what happened in his personal life, he was going to focus and get his heart back into the game. He knew how to do that. At least he had until now. Until Alana.