Closing the door on his smiling face is hard, but I do. On both him and these feelings. I may be falling again, but I have to catch myself before I hit the ground and lose everything.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
WAG usually stands forwives and girlfriends, but today, theAstands for agent.
“I still can’t believe you said yes.”
Shay’s focus stays on the email she’s been typing for the last ten minutes. “Why would I pass up an opportunity to play at Pilot City Stadium? I’m not an idiot.”
The Pilots’ WAG game, consisting of the wives, girlfriends, and partners, is an annual tradition. It used to be held during offseason, but most players use that time off to relax and get away from baseball. So now, we pick a random day off during the season, open the stadium to the players’ families, grill hotdogs and burgers, and watch the partners battle it out on the field while we sit in the stands.
“I get it, but someone may assume you’re my stunning girlfriend. What will you do then? I know that’s the worst-case scenario for you.”
“Easy!” Sparkly eyes narrow, but I soak up her smile. “I’ll make itveryclear that I am your agent. Here for work and a little fun.”
It’s the billionth reminder that she’s my agent and nothing more, but quite frankly, I don’t care what she calls it as long as she’s here with me.
I lift my hands in surrender as we make it to where Gina, Rio’s wife, is standing behind the folding table. She’s the friendly chaos to his stoic order.
“Hey, Cade. And Shaylene! So happy you’re here. You’ll be on Team B with me!” Gina digs through a box before pulling out a navy jersey. “And per Cade’s request, I made this!” When she flips it around, Shay gasps at the gold lettering. While the wives and partners have their player’s last names on their backs, Shay has something more special.
“Agent Shay,” she squeaks.
“Of course. I want to make sure everyone knows who you are.” I point at the eight on the back. “But that you’re still, you know . . . mine.”
“Youragent,” she corrects, but my knees go weak when she loses the battle and smiles up at me. “Thank you, Cade. I love it.”
When she disappears into the ladies’ room to change, I take a seat and stretch out my legs. Thankfully, the MRI Isla ordered only showed a minor hip flexor strain and inflammation. After being placed on the injury list, my life has become a revolving door of treatment, physical therapy, daily check-ins, and recovery.
Even Rio took a step backward when Isla’s voice went from librarian to gym coach, putting the fear of the athletic training gods in us both.
Today is day seven of being benched.
Day zero was numb, watching my teammates from the dugout. Day two was miserable, avoiding Jon’s texts that vowed being benched is the worst thing I could’ve done to my career. Day three was full of fear that Jon could be right when Rio called up a shortstop from the Triple A league to fill in. Day five was my first counseling appointment with Armin while my teammates played in Tennessee. Day six, I re-entered my worried phase when Rio mentioned keeping the minor league player for a little longer, which is the entire reason Shay is here with me today.
Which makes Gina the best for making Shay’s jersey last minute.
“How do I look?” Shay asks, pulling me out of my own head.
My mouth goes dry as I take her in. The deep blue jersey is a cropped version of mine, landing right above her hips. Gold leggings capture the contour of her thighs and calves with a softness that contradicts the hard muscle. But it’s her smile, unrestrained and contagious as she spins, that zaps my fears about being benched. It all feels lighter when she’s here.
I snap a mental photo and save it in my brain. “Like Agent Shay.”
“Swing a little harder, Rosie!” Dawson hollers. “No noodle arms!”
“Yeah! No noodle arms!” Luke parrots, cupping his hands around his mouth like his dad. “Use your muscles, Mama! Hit it!”
Rosie Huber glares at her family from the batter’s box. “Don’t you think I’m trying? I get worse every year!”
“I’m glad you’re seeing how hard I work every single day.” The seat creaks as Dawson leans back in his chair with that lovesick look on his face. “Come on, wifey. Make us proud!”
Weston, the Pilots’ pitching coach, waits on the pitcher’s mound for Rosie to reset her too-wide stance. As a former major league pitcher, Weston’s no joke, but he throws another Rosie-appropriate pitch. This time, when she closes her eyes and swings wildly, the bat manages to connect with the ball.
Luke scrambles off his dad’s lap and leans over the railing. “Stop dancing and run! They’re gonna get you!”
As if suddenly remembering the next step in baseball, Rosie stops shimmying and takes off.
I find Shay in the dugout, cheek to cheek with Gina as they cheer for their teammate. Like I’d hoped, they welcomed Shay into their circle with open arms. I can’t help but picture this being our normal. Shay being friends with the Pilots’ partners, but not as my agent.
