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And just like that, they were back in the game.
Tim Lincecum was alone in his hotel room again, this time feeling something incredibly different.
Pride. He felt so fucking proud of himself. Sure the bats had woken up and the offense was shining but he got out on that mound and laid those Reds out. That postseason glow was coursing through his veins and he was harnessing it and unleashing magic into Sanchez’s glove.
He was a little disappointed that he didn’t pair up with Posey. After their talk the other day he had started to feel better about his ex-batterymate, and he wanted to give it another shot. If they were going to go all the way, he felt, they would eventually have to work together.
Reliever or starter, Tim was the star of that game. After he had smiled at the cameras and talked to the reporters, he had headed back to the hotel with the rest of the guys. Everyone had great things to say to him.
“Killed it today,” Pence said, giving him a noogie.
“I’m not worthy!” Wilson joked, falling to his knees in the hotel lobby. “Just don’t take my job.”
In the mess of kind words and rally cheers, Tim had looked for Buster and couldn’t find him anywhere. Maybe he’d retired to his room for the night. He probably wanted to call Kristen and tell him all about their second series win.
Two wins each. The series was tied, and it’d be all decided tomorrow. When the reporters asked him if he would be ready to pitch tomorrow, he beamed. “If they need me, yeah!” he said enthusiastically. He wanted to be on that mound every chance he could, and he had to chalk that up as a plus to being a reliever. He didn’t have to wait for every fifth day to come.
He laid out his street clothes from the day on the bed. These clothes were lucky, and he wasn’t going to change them. He felt a buzz as he folded his jeans; his phone was still in his pocket.
Barry: Wanna come up? Let’s feast.
Tim smiled. Zito had just started his first postseason game as a Giant and even though he got pulled early, Tim felt that he had really set the stage. He hadn’t got a chance to talk to him after the game.
Tim: Yeah. Be up in a few.
Tim searched through his luggage for something casual to wear. Can’t mess with the lucky clothes- those are what made this night. He pulled on an oversized blue sweater and some jeans. Sliding on his flip flops he headed out the door.
He knew Zito had a suite, which was cool. Tim never really cared about getting one for himself, but he knew Zito felt he pitched better after sitting in a warm bath for a few hours the night before. Weird superstition, but what superstitions aren’t? The elevator was already there and waiting for him. Perfect. Tonight Tim felt like everything was going his way.
Zito was standing in the doorway of his suite, waiting for Tim to come in. He was dressed casually in some grey striped sweatpants and a bizarre hemp hoodie. Tim knew better than to question Zito’s fashion sense. “Look who it is!” Zito said, wolf-whistling as Tim stepped out of the elevator. “The man of the hour!”
Tim did a little half bow and smiled sheepishly. “Whatever, I only got to go out there after you had taken care of business.”
Zito scoffed. “What, not even three innings of business? No way. I was lucky they had you to come save my ass.”
“All of the starters have gotten pulled early,” Tim said with a shrug. “You know how Bochy is. He is pitcher crazy during the regular season, think about how he is now.”
“Do I detect a tone of smugness? Maybe someone thinks he should have been a starter.”
“I don’t give a shit, man,” Tim said with a smile, walking into Zito’s suite. “Hell, look at me come out of the bullpen. I’m mowin’ them down in relief.”
Zito closed the door and smiled. “I’m really proud of you, Timmy,” he said, pulling him into a tight hug. “You were great. Awesome. Spectacular.”
“Go on,” Tim said with a grin. Zito scoffed and ruffled Tim’s hair.
“Wanna eat? I’m starved.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” Zito stopped and reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“Shit. Hello?” He paused. “Okay. Yeah, it’s no problem. Really, it’s not. Okay. Yeah, sounds good. Be down there soon.” He slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Bochy wants to talk to me. Don’t know how long it will be,” he said, offering a sympathetic glance to Tim. “Sorry, man. You can wait up here if you want, it’s a pretty nice room. I just don’t know how long he’s going to want me.”
“It’s cool,” Tim said, grinning. Nothing really could get him down right now. “Do what you gotta do. I’ll just head to my room, actually, I’m kind of wiped from today.”
“All right.” He held the door open for Tim and they exited into the hallway.
“Hey,” said a voice behind Tim as he walked with Barry towards the elevator. He turned around and saw Buster looking out from another suite.
“Hey!” Tim said, sounding more excited than he had meant to. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’. Where are you guys off to? Don’t party too hard.”
“Nah,” Tim said. “Zeets is heading down to talk to Bochy. I’m just going to hang out in my room for the night.”
“Come here for a bit,” Buster said. “I want to talk to you.”
Zito shrugged and waved goodbye. Tim walked into Buster’s suite.
“You did a really nice job today,” Tim said, clapping Buster on the shoulder.
“Are you kidding?” Buster scoffed. “I went 0 for 4. Nothing.”
“Just having you out there on the field really pumps everybody up though. You always give it your all.”
“Yeah, well,” Buster shrugged. “Let’s not talk about me though. Let’s talk about you. Jesus, Timmy, the way you threw today,” he shook his head. “That was some unbelievable stuff. That was some stuff I haven’t seen from you in a long time.”
Tim tried not to blush. “Buster, thanks. That means a lot coming from a guy like you.”
“A guy like me? What does that mean?”
“Someone who everyone looks up to. I feel like you’re someone everybody wants to impress.”
“Do you want to impress me?” joked Buster, raising an eyebrow.
“Well that depends. How’d I do?”
Buster laughed. “Pretty darn well.”
“Then yes.” Tim sat down on a couch. “Are you hungry? Do you want to order a pizza or something?”
“God, yeah,” Buster said. “I’m starving.”
“Cool,” Tim said. He was doing it again. He was hanging out with Buster even though he knew it wasn’t a good idea. But it was so hard for him to stop himself. Buster was being inviting and friendly, a lot moreso than he had been for the whole second half of the season. And he liked Buster. He was friendly and smart, and like Tim had told him, he was someone everyone looked to as an anchor of the team.
Tim reached for his phone and looked up a number for a pizza place. “What kind do you like?”
“Uh, how about extra cheese?” Buster asked, scrolling through his own phone.
“Sounds good to me,” Tim said. He called and placed the order. “45 minutes, they say.”
Buster groaned. “I can’t wait that long. I’m going to die.”
“You are not going to die,” Tim said with a laugh as Buster came and sat next to him on the couch. “You can’t die. Who’s gonna catch?”
“You can do it,” Buster said. “I appoint you my catching understudy.”
“Wah, wah,” Tim said, faking crying. “You can make it that long. You need your strength; it’s a long way until the World Series.”
“Oh so look who’s optimistic now?” Buster said with a grin. “Two days ago you were so far down in the dumps that you were seeing last month’s trash. Now look who has his eyes set out for another ring?”
“Eyes on the prize, Posey. But I think I’d rather have you catching than playing first base… I can’t trust you there…”
Buster laughed and punched Tim’s arm. “Shut up! We had the shift on. That was an error from you, not from me. You could have thrown the whole game away.”
“But I didn’t,” Tim said with a grin.
“No you didn’t,” Buster said quietly. He met Tim’s gaze and they stared at each other for a second too long. Tim felt his stomach clenching. No, no, no… no stupid butterflies, we’re two dudes hanging out in a hotel room waiting to eat pizza. There is nothing romantic about that.
“So did you call Kristen?” Tim said, hoping a change of subject to Buster’s wife would dissipate the awkwardness in his chest.
“Yeah,” Buster said. “She was so proud. She can’t believe that we tied it up. She said that after this long we better win tomorrow because she’s afraid that if she has another heart attack no one will be around to take care of the twins.” Tim laughed.
“Yeah, I was going to call my dad, but I don’t call him until we win it all. I don’t want to jinx it.”
“I can’t see you jinxing it. You pitched a starter’s worth of innings today. Do you think they are gonna use you tomorrow?”
“Dunno. Probably not. I think I could go, but since today a lot of the other guys got some rest, they don’t think using me twice in a row is such a good idea.”
“And I thought you were going to hit a home run tomorrow,” Buster said.
“You know it. Oh my God, Romo’s at-bat? How hilarious was that?”
Buster cracked up. “He looked like a little gnome. How precious.”
“He didn’t even have gloves, or a bat… he was just like, ‘me? You want me to go out there?’”
“Too funny. Well you look like a little leaguer when you go out to bat.”
“Really? Thanks a lot.”
“No, it’s not a bad thing,” Buster said with a laugh. “You’re just small.”
“I am not small!” Tim said indignantly. “I am a perfectly fine size.”
“You drown in your uniform and when you come up wearing that big ol’ batting helmet…”
“Jeez Posey, if you’re going to tease me like this, I am out of here,” Tim said dramatically.
“And then you swing that bat like it’s a thousand pounds heavy,” Buster continued amidst giggles.
“I’m out,” Tim said, standing up. “Eat the pizza yourself, Mr. Comedy.” He walked over to the door and pulled it slightly ajar before feeling a hand on his wrist.
“Wait,” Buster said. Tim turned around and looked at him quizzically. Buster took Tim’s face in his hand and kissed him gently. A peck, no longer than five seconds. When he broke away, Buster took a few steps backwards. His eyes were wide with fear and confusion. “Was that okay?” he asked, his voice shaking.
Tim stared at him. His knees were buckling and his head was spinning. He felt his heart expanding and depressing at what seemed like a fatal speed.
“Yes,” Tim breathed, shutting the door and closing the distance between their mouths.