It just made me feel more like a mascot than a manager.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to head out,” Kent said, sending me a wide smile as he rose from his seat. “After the press conference tomorrow, it’s going to get busy.”
“No worries.” I stood, glancing around the bar. I’d thought we’d meet by the Barclays Center or closer to the field, but theowners had wanted to come to Williamsburg and meet in this swanky new hotel. I’d gotten a room for the night since I had to head back to the Bats’ offices early tomorrow morning for the press conference instead of staying with my parents in Putnam County. It was still a trek, but it was much easier to stay in the borough.
“Thank you again, Kent. I appreciate the opportunity.”
“Thankyou. You should explore a little. Williamsburg has just about anything you want.” Kent extended his hand. “Again, glad to have you with us, Silas. Washington’s loss is our gain, right?”
I smiled and took his hand, my head aching from the effort of pushing the curve across my lips. Washington’s loss had been my loss too. I’d lost who I was and now had to relearn a new version of myself, along with everything else about this unexpected turn my life had taken.
I sat back down after I watched him leave. Kent didn’t seem like a bad guy, just eager—like the rest of the organization. My agent had pushed me toward this deal because she couldn’t see me announcing or reporting like so many retired players did after they stopped playing. And, as Kent reiterated, I was still popular enough to be welcomed with open arms and attract new Bats fans.
Being a manager would mean I was still part of the action, not just commenting on it. As friends had told me, I needed to think of this as an extension of my career, not the end of it.
I appreciated the excitement, but it also added to the pressure. I’d grown up in this city. It didn’t matter if I was popular or how good-looking some reporter or online influencer thought I was.
New team or not, New York sports fans wanted you to win. They loved you when you did, and maybe would forgive a badday or two, but would start to loathe you very quickly when you didn’t.
The show they’d brought me on for would only go so far. I’d have to prove my worth as a manager, both to myself and to my team.
I pulled out my phone, trying to figure out where to go to eat something. While it was hard not to be recognized everywhere I went in Washington, in Brooklyn—at least for the moment—I was just a guy in a bar. I guessed I should enjoy it while it lasted and along with maybe my last public meal in peace.
I strode toward the exit, fixated on the small screen as I passed by the tables along the outdoor terrace. A listing for a burger place caught my eye right before I was jabbed in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of me.
Shock more than pain made me fold at the waist, blinking for a minute before I stood and met the horrified gaze of a woman, gaping at me from one of the tables. Her hand flew to her mouth as she took in my crooked stance.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry.” Her metal chair screeched across the concrete as she popped up to stand. “Did I hurt you?” She reached out to touch my stomach and then reared back.
“No, I’m fine,” I said, sputtering out a cough when her chocolate eyes landed on mine. My stomach clenched in a different way as our gazes locked for a long minute.
“Are you sure?” she asked, almost pleading as she searched my gaze. “I could run into the hotel and get you some ice or something.” She winced when she rubbed the top of her hand as a blush stained her cheeks bright red.
A smile crept along my lips when I took her in, bobbing back and forth as she studied me. She looked nervous, contrite almost to the point of tears, and really fucking beautiful.
“You must have been really into what was on that screen,” I joked, motioning to the open laptop on her table.
Her shoulders drooped as she exhaled a long gust of air.
“I was writing and forgot that I was in public. Usually when I write, I’m alone and harmless to others. This is why writers write alone, I suppose. Some of us get crazy. Or maybe that’s just me.”
She choked out a nervous laugh.
“I better get home before I assault anyone else.”
“You didn’t assault me. And I should have been paying closer attention to where I was going. I know how it is to be so passionate about something that you forget everything else around you.”
When I’d played, I’d been so focused on the ball and moving around the bases that I’d been able to tune out everything else. Some called it a talent, but when the rest of my life had gone to shit and I managed to forget about it for three hours, I hadn’t been sure if it was a skill or a weakness.
“Thanks for being understanding. I thought a change of scenery would be good for inspiration, but I didn’t think it would be dangerous to innocent bystanders.”
Another smile curved my lips, real and genuine, unlike the ones I’d had to fake all afternoon.
I swept my gaze over the sidewalk as a woman pushed a double stroller past two bearded men with tattoos creeping up their necks. “I could see how people-watching here would be good for inspiration.”
“Maybe it was a little too good.” Her brow creased as she sucked in a long breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Her chestnut hair brushed the shoulders of her jacket, snug enough to show off her soft curves. I fought to keep my eyes on hers and not let them go lower. Her pretty gaze found mine, her long lashes almost fanning against her brow.
