Playing for the Save (Men of Spring Baseball Book 3) Read online

  PLAYING FOR THE SAVE

  MEN OF SPRING, #3

  RACHELLE AYALA

  AMIGA BROOK PRESS

  Copyright © 2017 by Rachelle Ayala

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real events or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All trademarks belong to their respective holders and are used without permission under trademark fair use.

  Contact Rachelle at:

  http://rachelleayala.me/author-bio/contact/

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Men of Spring Baseball Series

  Description

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Epilogue

  Playing Without Rules - Excerpt

  Playing Catch - Excerpt

  Reading List (Amazon)

  About the Author

  MEN OF SPRING BASEBALL SERIES

  Playing Without Rules

  Playing Catch

  Playing for the Save

  Playing the Rookie: A Novella

  DESCRIPTION

  Veteran relief pitcher Ryan Hudson always saves the game for his team. He’s dependable, focused, and good at what he does.

  Which is why he prefers to live alone and not have anything to do with women and all the noise and chaos they bring.

  Noise and chaos is all single mother Jamie Rush knows. Taking care of her two boys is a full-time job, especially since one of them is autistic and she gets no help from her ex-husband.

  When her two sons win a day with ballplayer Ryan Hudson, they strike up an odd friendship with the reclusive pitcher. Jamie is wary of the baseball hero, but can’t help fantasizing about him.

  Ryan is attracted to Jamie, but desperately tries to hide his past. The only problem, they’re made for one another.

  They just don’t know it.

  DEDICATION

  Frances Hampton

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My most special thanks to Frances Hampton, who I am honored to call a friend. She was the guiding angel behind this book and shared with me the many trials and joys in caring for her two autistic grandsons. Her anecdotes lightened my day when the research into the subject got me down, and she gave me hope that with dogged patience and persistence and early intervention that it is possible for some children on the spectrum to learn the skills necessary to live and function in our society.

  Frances gave me a tour into the world of caring for an autistic child and how much her entire life revolved around it. She also gave me insight into the sibling who is not autistic and the mixed feelings he'd have between wanting to protect and shield versus resentment of not getting the attention. Thank you, Frances, for sharing so much of your life. I have grown to care greatly about you and your grandsons and look forward to following their progress avidly to bless and cheer them on.

  Big hugs and thanks also for my beta readers who gave me good feedback and insights. This story was difficult to write, and their help let me see if I was getting a point across or not. Thanks to Amber McCallister, Audrey Griffis, Mari Flores-Baca, Chantel Rhondeau, Cathy Zaramba, Dianne Kenes, Ella Gram, Jacqueline Driggers, Melissa Santoro, Patricia Shepard, Sherelle Ellis, Eileen Aberman Wells, Yomari Suarez-Rivera, Charlene Burlison, and Christine Krueger.

  Much gratitude to my editor, Brittney Becker, and my proofreader, Kimberly Dawn, for ensuring that I put my best words forward. Thanks ladies, for expediting this book and helping me get it done in time for Autism Awareness Month.

  Awareness is not the only thing we need here, but also acceptance and accommodation, as well as appreciation to the parents and caregivers of people with autism. These are the unsung heroes and heroines who give their hearts and lives to nurture and support those who react to the world in a different manner. We, as a society, need to support their concerns and at the very least, not make life more difficult for them by either judgmental remarks, staring and snickering, or being unsympathetic when they require an accommodation.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Wham. Bam. No thank you, ma’am.

  And that, was exactly how Ryan Hudson closed the game.

  Pow. The ball slapped into the catcher’s mitt.

  “Strike three, ouuttt!” The umpire stuck his thumb straight up, then lowered his hand in a karate chop.

  Catcher Kirk Kennedy took off his face mask and jogged up to the mound.

  They did their customary high-five and shoulder slap, and it was back to the dugout with another save under Ryan’s belt.

  “Caught him with his pants down,” he joked about the batter, who hadn’t even taken a swing.

  “Dude was supposed to swing at the knuckleball,” Kirk groused, tossing him the ball.

  “He would have missed anyway.” Ryan swaggered with his teammates off the field.

  Okay, so this wasn’t the bottom of the ninth in the seventh game of the World Series, but a save was a save, and a great way to start off spring training.

  Maybe this would be the year he gathered enough saves to bring the Phoenix Rattlers through the playoffs and into the series. What a cap to his career that would be.

  At thirty-eight, Ryan was starting to feel his age, especially since he’d suffered back-to-back injuries—a torn rotator cuff last season, after a fractured cheekbone the year before when he was hit in the face by a line-drive.

  “Hey, old man, want to hit the bars? Pick up chicks?” Timmy Li, one of the young hotshot pitchers, was always looking for wingmen.

  With more married than single men on the team, it was down to Ryan and a couple of rookies to keep the various sport bars and nightclubs of Phoenix in business.

  “Not tonight,” Ryan said, rubbing his sore shoulder. “I’m looking forward to a hot tub, alone.”

  “You never score with the chicks anymore,” Timmy said. “You too old to get it up?”

  “Hey, I saved your ass. We won tonight.” Ryan turned toward the clubhouse.<
br />
  He liked women just fine, but they seemed to get younger and younger each season, and it was always the same old drill.

  Buy them a drink. Flirt and fool around.

  Maybe he was getting old, but his team depended on him. As a closer, he was the ninth-inning wonder. If he did his job, he pitched three outs and ended the game.

  Oftentimes, he had to get that crucial out after another pitcher left men on bases. The pressure would be sky-high, and it was up to him to deliver the perfect game-ending out.

  “Hey, Ryan,” his buddy Brock Carter, the third baseman, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You got picked to host a fan for a day at the ballpark.”

  “Me?” Ryan pointed to himself with his thumb. “Why would anyone pick me when they could have Timmy or Kirk show them their muscles?”

  Not that he was a slacker in the muscle department. Most fans weren’t aware that major league pitchers spent as much time weight training as throwing. A baseball weighed a mere five ounces, but one needed serious firepower to throw it over ninety miles per hour.

  “Hey, you’re the fan favorite this week,” Brock said with a teasing lilt. “Batting one thousand with the ladies.”

  Every year, Phoenix was home to fifteen off-season baseball teams, a big attraction for tourists and residents alike. Most of the fan activities were done to enhance the team’s reputation and reward fans for coming to spring training. Although lately, it seemed the only fans who signed up were young women more interested in dating a ballplayer than getting tips on how to pitch, catch, and bat.

  “The only batting they’ll be doing is their eyelashes,” Ryan said. “Hope they’re old enough to be legal.”

  “Hate to disappoint you, but it’s two boys,” Brock said with an amused grin. “A five-year-old and a seven-year-old. They want to grow up to play baseball.”

  “That’s music to my ears.” Ryan flipped the game-winning ball up and caught it in his glove. When he was growing up, every kid had a sports hero he idolized.

  Nowadays, they were more interested in catching Pokémon or playing with their phones. It was a rare kid who wanted to hang out at a ballpark, going through drills the entire day.

  “Oh, and their mother’s kind of hot,” Brock added with a wink.

  Ryan let out a long sigh. “For the last time, I’m not interested.”

  He preferred his life quiet and peaceful.

  Women brought noise and chaos, and as far as Ryan was concerned, he had no need for trouble of any kind.

  Being alone was orderly and predictable. And it gave him the nerves of steel to pitch under game changing pressure—each and every night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jamie Rush was thirty-two and a mother of two.

  A seven-year-old and a five-year-old.

  Both boys.

  And right now, she had to get them ready for a day with pitching star, Ryan Hudson.

  “I can’t find my glove.” Her elder son, Ben, ran around their living room in circles. “Drew must have taken it.”

  “I’m sure you can borrow a glove.” Jamie packed five-year-old Drew’s diapers, snacks, headphones, and toys in a backpack. It had a camouflage pattern and was a lot more inconspicuous than lugging a diaper bag over her shoulder.

  “I want my own glove,” Ben insisted. “Do you think Mr. Hudson will play catch with me? I hope he will.”

  “He’s going to take us on a tour of the clubhouse after the game. I’m not sure he’ll have time to play ball with us,” Jamie said, tempering Ben’s expectations.

  Although Ryan had volunteered his entire day to spend with her family, she was sure Drew wouldn’t last more than two hours before he threw a fit.

  She looked over at her son who was playing with her key ring. He was fixated on moving the keys around the ring and then dropping them on the table to watch them spread out.

  “Drew,” she called. “We’re going to the baseball park. Have to get into the car in ten minutes.”

  He didn’t reply, but he heard her because there was a slight pause in the dropping of the key ring, before he began twirling them around.

  “I need to find my baseball,” Ben said, running to his room. “Do you think Mr. Hudson will sign it?”

  “I’m sure you could ask.” Jamie walked to the coffee table where Drew was playing with her keys. “Got to get going, babe. Let me have my keys.”

  Drew turned away from her, so she walked around the table and put her hand out for the keys. “Mommy needs the keys to go in the car.”

  Without looking at her, Drew left the keys and moved away from her.

  She called it a win and scooped up the keys. “Five minutes and it’s into the car.”

  Ben waved his hand in her face. “Did you find my baseball?”

  “Looking.” She pulled the cushions from the sofa.

  “I need my mitt, too,” Ben reminded. He bounced on his toes around the room, clearly excited, but not helping with the packing.

  “I can’t find your ball.” Jamie wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead. “Maybe we can find one at the ballpark.”

  “Or I can catch one from the stands. I need my mitt!” Ben yelled a little too loudly.

  Her two little guys couldn’t be more different. Ben, the older one, was clingy and affectionate. His blue eyes were dark and expressive and he was a social butterfly, flitting from one activity to the next. Meanwhile, Drew was aloof and into his own thoughts. His light brown hair hung over gray-blue eyes, that would have been electric if she could find a spark in them. Both boys got their blue eyes from their father, but while Ben’s buzz cut was light-brown, Drew’s shaggy hair had an unruly cowlick and was dark brown like hers.

  Clang. Clang. Clang. Drew had moved on to spinning a metal candy box lid and watching it topple. He was fascinated by the wobbling metallic sound it made as it settled down.

  Another reminder was needed. “Drew, did you hear me? We’re getting into the car to go to the ballpark.”

  “After we play catch, I want to bat the ball.” Ben opened the coat closet and grabbed his aluminum bat. “I bet Mr. Hudson can throw a hundred miles per hour.”

  “I bet he could.” Jamie located Ben’s mitt and stuffed it in the backpack. “Found your mitt, but you’re going to have to leave that bat at home.”

  “But Mom, it’s my lucky bat.”

  “Leave the bat and go to the car.” Jamie checked her watch. “I have to bring your brother.”

  She hoped the day would go well for Ben. He was a little less than two when Drew was born and four when Drew was diagnosed with autism. She tried to divide her attention between the two boys, but with Drew’s clinics, special education, medical appointments and all the things she needed to do to teach him daily living, Ben often missed out. Of course, Drew’s meltdowns could ruin an outing at any time.

  “Three minutes, Drew.” She gave him a nudge as she gathered sunscreen and baseball caps.

  “Do you think Mr. Hudson can go to the movies with us after we play ball?” Ben lingered next to her and gave her a sweet, wistful smile.

  What he was really asking for was a father figure.

  After a month of living with autism, Jamie’s husband moved out and divorced her. He dutifully paid his alimony and child support, and she was still on his insurance—for which she was grateful. But was it asking too much for her life partner, the one who claimed he still loved her, to stick around when the going got rough?

  Apparently, sickness and health didn’t include an autistic son for some people.

  Jamie didn’t want to disappoint Ben, whose life was already chock full of disappointments, so she said, “Let’s ask him. Did you have a movie in mind?”

  Movies were another thing they never did—at least at a theater. Drew simply couldn’t sit still long enough, and the loud sounds and the way light flashed on the screen put him in full panic mode.

  “I want to see Lego Batman!” Ben said. “All my friends saw the movie. They had popcorn and hotdogs
and 3D glasses.”

  If things didn’t work out with Mr. Hudson, Jamie would ask her mother to watch Drew, and she’d take Ben on a date herself. Of course, she hated asking her mother for more than she already did, especially if Drew gave her a hard time.

  While her mother was more than willing to help, she truly did not understand Drew and kept him at arm’s length, afraid of his messes and outbursts. She meant well, but panicked too easily, and Jamie tried to minimize the times she was alone with Drew without Ben to interpret and moderate for her.

  “We’d better get going.” Jamie looked over at Drew and prepared for the cajoling and battle of wills to get him into the car seat.

  Ben picked up his backpack and walked over to Drew. “Hey, bud, we’re going to see a baseball player.”

  “Baseball!” Drew clapped his hands and found his plastic baseball and pointed to the TV. “See baseball.”

  “Yes, but you have to sit in the car if you want to see a real baseball player,” Ben explained.

  “No car. No car.” Drew grabbed the TV remote and turned on the TV.

  “Ben, start going to the car,” Jamie told her older son. “Maybe he’ll follow you.”

  “This is real baseball,” Ben said. “At the ballpark. With grass and dirt, and white bases, and real baseball players. Not like TV. If you want real baseball, you have to ride in a car.”

  Logic was lost on Drew. He loved watching baseball on TV, and even understood the game enough to count balls, strikes, and runs. But getting in the car was unrelated to baseball in his mind. While Ben had been to a real baseball game with his father, Drew had never seen a ballpark or stadium.

  “Car not baseball.” Drew puffed himself up as if Ben were misunderstanding something basic.

  “Ben, go ahead.” Jamie tried not to be exasperated. Ben meant well, but getting into an argument about cars versus baseball wouldn’t help.

  “Drew, come to me,” Jamie ordered, but the boy wouldn’t budge. He flipped through channels trying to find the baseball game.

  Jamie firmly took the TV changer from him and pointed his face toward her. She stared into his eyes, but of course, he averted his gaze.