Sweet Spot: Homeruns #4 Read Free Page A

your dad didn’t talk to you?”
    “No,” I said flatly. “Dad and I decided long ago that we wouldn’t talk about the team at home. It’s better if we keep everything separate, because no one else gets to talk to the GM over Mom’s pot roast and dinner rolls.”
    “That makes sense,” Jimmy responded after pondering my words for a moment. “Still, I’d have thought he’d have told you about this. He wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t step in and demand a change in room assignments.”
    Good. I didn’t want any special treatment. “Jimmy, either get back to your happy place or spit out what you’re trying to avoid telling me. Seriously, how bad can it be?”
    Jimmy let out a nervous, uncharacteristically squeaky laugh. “Boy, have you learned nothing in your time here? Never ask how bad it could be, because you just might find out.”
    I was about to demand he get it over with and tell me who we were waiting on when a commotion broke out at the other end of baggage claim. “Hey asshole, why don’t you keep your filthy hands off shit that doesn’t belong to you?”
    “That’s my bag,” someone else shouted. I tried to ignore the drama, but it was like an episode of Jerry Springer . A group quickly formed around the two men.
    “Guys, how about you look at the tag and see whose name is on it?” someone yelled out from the back of the mass of onlookers.
    “Aww hell, let’s go before he gets himself arrested,” Jimmy muttered. He took off and I followed, impressed by how quick he was on his stumpy little legs. And no, that wasn’t an insult, because Jimmy regularly told people to slow the hell down because his legs could only move him around so fast.
    “Maybe this’d be a good time to finish your story,” I suggested, a bit winded after damn near sprinting through the airport pulling all the gear that wasn’t strapped to my back.
    “Mark!” Jimmy hollered when he got to the edge of the onlookers who were trying to keep the men from fighting. Wait, did he say Mark? Fuck. This was about as bad as it got. Jimmy shoved his way through the crowd and pulled the bag out of the grip of a man I didn’t recognize. I swear, I almost dropped to my knees so I could pray there was a third person Jimmy was waiting to pick up.
    “Jimmy, thank God you’re here,” Mark-fucking-Butler crooned. “Tell this asshole to let go of my fucking bag before I pound his scrawny ass into the ground.”
    Jimmy studied the airline tag on the bag and handed it to the stranger. “I’m sorry, sir. He gets a bit excitable sometimes.” Excitable was one way to put it. Another would’ve been to admit he was a loudmouth asshole nobody could stand to be around, but that wasn’t Jimmy’s style. “I’m sure it was a simple mistake. Mark, let’s go see if we can find your bag.”
    I pulled my bags over to the wall next to the restrooms. The crowd dispersed and Jimmy stuck next to Mark so he couldn’t make yet another scene. While I waited, I debated whipping out my phone and calling Dad to find out why he hadn’t told me. Suddenly, having him jump in and demand changes on my behalf didn’t seem like such a bad thing. We’d all thought the Mavericks had gotten rid of Mark for good when his agent tried forcing the club to trade him following a one-year suspension for violations of the morality clause. Butler was pissed as hell that, in addition to mandatory weekly drug tests, the team had sent him down to the Triple-A squad as a contingency for his return when no one else wanted him. And now, I was going to be trapped in the same room as him every fucking night. I swear, it was like the team went out of their way to see how much bullshit they could toss my way before I ran to my dad for help. Well, fuck that.
    I fell in line behind Jimmy and Mark as we headed out to the team van. Mark glared at me, but didn’t say a word. For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe the year off had done Mark some good and he