One True Outcome by KD Casey

Author:KD Casey [Casey, KD]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-03-24T18:30:00+00:00

The rest of the All-Star Classic is, in fact, an excuse to get drunk with his buddies. Mack mostly sticks with water, so he doesn’t mix alcohol with painkillers. He also doesn’t necessarily think of anyone here as a buddy, mostly because the players his age have all retired.

He’s in the visitors’ clubhouse, a whirl of guys thumping on his back a little too heartily, players he’s played with or against. For some of them, he finds himself having to think about which it is.

Carlos Esquivel from the Oysters is here. They spot each other and do the universal head-nod of recognition like they’re two guys at a bar who can’t quite remember the other’s name.

Esquivel is a shortstop, built pretty much the opposite of Mack: lean where Mack is bulky and half-a-head shorter. They hit about as well as one another, though that’s a compliment for Esquivel, since everyone tolerates a light-hitting shortstop, and an insult for Mack since no one likes a DH who’s all D and no H.

They’ve been staring at each other longer than is comfortable. Esquivel is talking with a few other players, though their conversation goes stilted when Mack goes over to say hi.

He doesn’t know how this will go down. If Esquivel was one of those guys who was happy to see him depart. Who kept his demeanor neutral in Mack’s presence and talked trash in his absence. The clubhouse is warm, generated heat from big egos dancing, some literally, around one another. Mack resists the urge to tug at his collar like a beleaguered comedian.

“Hey,” he says. “Congrats on the invite.” Though he can’t remember if Esquivel has been selected to go before.

“Thanks, you too.” Said without any indication of if he means it sincerely or if he’s just saying it the way Mack sometimes tells waiters, “You too,” when they tell him to have a good meal.

“How’re things in Baltimore?”

“Same old, same old. You know how it is.”

Though given where Baltimore is in the standings, not great. Which Mack definitely doesn’t get a derisive sort of joy out of: That they kicked him to the curb, then landed there themselves.

“You’ve been doing good,” Mack says. Since Esquivel must be if he’s standing in this clubhouse.

“I could say the same.” A compliment also unadorned with details.

It occurs to Mack that Esquivel thinks of him as some guy he shared roster space with for a while, and Mack didn’t leave enough of an impact, or impact crater, for it to matter. Something in his gut untwists. His back, already medicinally relaxed, unknits even further.

As a first baseman, he also has a lifetime of experience in brief, inconsequential conversations with baserunners. “I might get back up there some time. Any new restaurants open up around the stadium?”

Esquivel takes the hint. “Couple of good seafood places.” And Mack nods and makes agreeing noises for a few minutes before congratulating him again and leaving him to his buddies.

When Mack turns to get another bottle of water,

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