Bryson eyes me briefly before he nods and slips out.
“Coach—”
He lifts a hand, then wipes his palm down his face and reclines in his chair. “Daniel, you better be glad the Dean and I like you. Bryson’s father is a particular man and let me tell you…” he grunts agitatedly. “Whatever, it’s been taken care of. This better not happen again.”
“As long as he doesn’t speak about Josie again, we’ll be okay.”
“No girl is worth?—”
“I don’t mean any disrespect, I really don’t. I have nothing but an abundance of respect for you, but Josie is worth it. Consequences be damned.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Danny, I understand?—”
“Would you kindly disregard it if this was your daughter?” I know I just crossed a line, but I need him to understand how serious this is for me. Josie isn’t justsomegirl, she’smygirl. “If someone was calling her names, talking shit about her that wasn’t true?”
Coach removes his hat and drops it on his desk, raking his fingers through his black hair. He breathes in deeply, releasing a brittle chuckle. “I understand, I really do.” He pauses, eyes distant as if he were thinking something but he shakes his head. “But don’t let this happen again.”
I only nod, not sure I can physically voice out loud a promise I might not be able to keep.
“Before I let you go, I wanted to ask about the email.”
I wipe my palms on my thighs, anxiety slithering in my chest. “I haven’t had the time to?—”
“There’s no pressure, but you know this is a good way for you to communicate directly with the teams and the MLB. This is an amazing opportunity, and I don’t want you to miss out on it.” He must sense my hesitation or I might not be hiding it well because he asks a question that makes my chest feel tight. “Regardless, if you decide not to fill out the form, you’re still eligible for the draft.”
Unlike the NBA and NFL, we don’t have to enter the draft. For the MLB you’re eligible once you’re over twenty-one or have done three years of college. There is also another exception for high school players, but that’s beside the point.
I’m eligible and while that’s great, I can’t help but feel like I don’t deserve it.
I just don’t know how to tell him or anyone else that.
“How much do you think we’ll get once we get drafted?” Adrian asks as we watch the MLB draft. Every July, he, dad, and I sit on the couch and watch it together.
“The chances of getting drafted is low?—”
“Stop being so negative. It’s going to happen and when it does we’ll marry models and buy a penthouse.”
“Garcia?”
“Sorry, what?” I blink the memory away, look down at Josie who’s staring up at me with worry.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I shift my attention back to the bookshelves on display. I absently let my gaze roam over them, not really looking at one in particular. “I just remembered something.”
We came to the store to buy bookshelves and a few more things for the house.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I muse over her question and walk down the aisle; she follows beside me silently. “It’s stupid.”
“Hey.” She stands in front of me. A touch of irritation mars her face. I know it isn’t directed at me; sometimes she looks mad when she’s really not. I think it’s hot when she looks at me like that, but that’s not something I should be focusing on. “Nothing you say is stupid. Unless you’re calling yourself hot.”
I smile, feeling the constricting pain in my chest dull. I pull my hat off, needing to grab something that isn’t her before I situate it on my head.
The need to touch her has been constant. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t want to touch her. We wouldn’t need to do anything. I’d be okay with just holding her, listening to her heartbeat and the sound of her voice.
“I was just thinking of Adrian.” I clear my throat, but a rock lodges itself in the middle of it, making it hard to swallow.
