Summers in Philly with Dad became my favorite things in the world. Every evening, we faced the heat and walked to the ballpark. Our nights were spent rooting for the home team and feasting on stale stadiumnachos, as if we hadn’t already eaten dinner. That was the summer he fell in love with baseball too.
I hope my smile isn’t too sad. “Baseball is special to me.”
For many reasons, and one of them is in this stadium right now.
“It really is special.” Looking pleased, Garrett drums two fingers against the table. “I want to be honest. I’m talking to a few agents.”
“As you should be.” Telling him not to talk to other agents isn’t a good look. “There are many talented people out there to choose from.”
“So why should I choose you?”
Although this conversation isn’t going the way I expected, my answer is immediate. “Because you are the only thing that matters to me. Not money or fame. Your well-being will always be more important than any deal, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fight like hell to make sure you get what you deserve. At the end of the day, it’s my job to advocate for you. To support you. To make sure you’re safe. If being close to your family is what you want, I’ll fight for a great trade. If an endorsement is needed, I’ll find one that aligns with your brand. My only goal is to get you where you want to be. In the sport. In life. Everywhere.” I smile. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to accomplish that.”
The silence that follows is weighted. According to my colleagues, my pitch is too emotional and vulnerable. I should treat my clients like dollar signs and nothing more.
But Garrett’s eyes tell me I’ve done well, crinkled at the edges and full of approval.
“I like you, Turner.” He stands, and I follow his lead. “There won’t be a decision immediately, but you’ll hear from me soon. And congrats on your graduation!”
Excitement bubbles to the surface as he exits the room. The moment the door closes behind him, I fist pump the air with a silent whoop.
I’m going to break into the boys’ club whether they like it or not.
Chapter Two
Embarrassing myself at worksucks.
Especially when tens of thousands of people purchase tickets to watch me play well. But tonight, for nine innings, I sucked.
I step under the stream of scalding water and scrub away the grime, failure, and shame that’s nestled in every pore. It would be nice if I could do the same to my brain.
The knob squeaks as I turn off the water and blindly reach for my towel. Wrapping it around my waist, I step out of the shower and almost slip when I spot a shadow in the corner.
“What the hell, Daws? Are you trying to make me fall?”
Dawson Huber, the Pilots’ pitcher, straightens and holds out my wire-rimmed glasses. We both know I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me.
“Hey, golden boy. Nice shower?”
Slipping my glasses on, I ignore the nickname. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to hear you sniffling.”
False. I wouldn’t dare show that type of emotion in public.
Still, I force myself to smile. “Yeah right. You wish.”
Dawson honks a laugh. “Is it bad that I did hope you were in there crying?” He reaches up to pinch my cheek. “This constant smile is terrifying.”
As we enter the clubhouse, which is essentially our own private area away from the crowd, it’s eerily quiet. It seems that my teammates have already moved forward with their nights before we travel to New York in the morning, leaving the loss behind them. I’ve never been good at that.
“Hey, rookie,” Dawson says, rummaging through his locker. “I know what you’re thinking, but tonight’s loss wasn’t your fault.” His patient tone is similar to the one he uses while talking to Luke, his adorable five-year-old son. “You can’t pin the loss on yourself when everyone has a chance at bat. We all hit the ball here.”
Try to hit the ball,I think. I couldn’t hit a single one tonight.
After being traded from California to North Carolina before spring training, I was paired with a veteran to help me acclimate to my new team. I assumed Dawson got suckered into making the new guys feel at home, but I quickly realized I was the sucker who became the little brother he’d always wanted. Which is why I’m getting yet another pep talk.
“By the way,” he continues, “Jon said to hurry. He looked pissed.”
