But I was here to manage, not be my players’ best buddy. I’d begged to play through injuries in my younger days, and it had always set me back or, worse, would cost my team a win. I had soon learned it wasn’t worth it, but it had taken time to sink in. This team was talented, for sure, but new to a lot of what this life was, and I’d have to be on top of my own game every single day to lead them the right way.
Big egos had never intimidated me, but I’d hoped not to start the season with an argument.
“Thanks for the heads-up. He’ll lose his shit if I have to pull him, but…” I shrugged. “I don’t think he’ll tell me the truth if he’s in pain before opening day.”
“I have that feeling too,” Lee said with a chuckle. “Better to sit on the bench than get booed for a strikeout or making a bad throw, right?”
“You know that. I know that,” I said with a chuckle. “I’ll keep an eye on him as they practice today.”
“You’re dreading today, aren’t you?” Lee asked, crossing his arms as he arched a brow.
“Picked up on that?” I said, a laugh slipping out of me as I tossed the pencil into the cup on my desk.
Management had hired a new PR agency to promote us so “we would be everywhere.” I’d lost my anonymity at the press conference announcement, already getting stopped in the street as I traveled back and forth to the field, but I cringed thinking of our faces on the side of a bus. I had no clue as to what their plans were, but I had a good feeling I wouldn’t enjoy any of them.
The agency was coming to the field this afternoon for a “campaign kickoff,” as Kent called it. He thought it would be a treat for them to see the team practice and a way to “get familiar with us and our brand.”
Our brand was a professional baseball team that was here to win ball games, but, as I suspected, Kent’s priority was filling the seats. I didn’t blame him for thinking of the team’s bottom line, and I was fully aware that hating this part of it was a me thing. I’d happily argue with players over the best way we could win rather than pose for pictures like the mascot I still felt like.
“Might not be so bad, Si,” Lee said. “And I get why Kent wants to do it. The established New York teams have owned this town for decades. Being new is the main thing the Bats have going for them as far as publicity. They’re a young enoughorganization to be anything they want. Or at least try to be.” He shrugged. “Can’t fault them for that.”
“No, you’re right.” I nodded, rubbing my eyes.
“Plus, you have experience going viral.” Lee’s lips twitched. “This should be nothing for you.”
I glared back when he snickered.
“You grew up here too. You know how unforgiving this city can be. No one is going to give a shit how I look in my uniform pants if my team doesn’t win.”
“You haven’t been on Instagram recently, then.”
I squinted at Lee. “You’re telling me you follow this shit?”
“I follow the team I work for, yes. There’s a good highlight reel of you circulating, taken mostly from the back. I’m sure that scowl you’ll have in the dugout will be all over the damn place soon, especially if you turn around.”
“Jesus Christ,” I breathed out, rubbing my eyes as Lee cracked up.
“Hey, if you’ve got it, use it.” He threw his hands up as he stood. “Revenue is revenue, right? Take one for the team, Jones.”
“Easy for you to say. It’s not your ass all over social media. Literally.”
Lee’s shoulders shook as he headed for the door.
“I’m supposed to be behind the scenes, but if I weren’t,” he said, shifting to look behind him, “my ass is Instagram-worthy and would give you a nice run for your money.” He tapped the door and jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Now, stop hiding and get out there.”
I nodded, pushing away from my desk, trudging behind him without a reply.
I hadn’t been able to sleep last night, and, as I had for the past few weeks, I’d gotten lost in one of Rachel’s books. I’ddownloaded almost all of them after she’d left my hotel room and was already on my fifth one.
It had been weird at first to read a book by someone I knew—or someone I’d spent a glorious afternoon and night with. I’d been right. She was a damn good storyteller, and even though I couldn’t know her past that night, it was nice to be able to know her a different way. An anonymous way. Although I was so tempted to look her up and learn all the things she hadn’t told me about herself because they were too personal.
At only thirty-three, she’d written over twenty books, all while taking care of herself and her sister. I’d laid low since I’d moved in to the apartment the team had set me up with in Greenwich Village in Manhattan, an industrial-type of building, not unlike the ones we’d passed in Williamsburg that day.
A restaurant and a bar were on every corner, but I chose to go home after I was done here and get lost in a book written by a woman who still captivated me with her words.
It was the only tether I could allow myself to have to her or anyone, and while I knew it was a little pathetic and absolutely not healthy, I had zero inclination to stop and look for something real.
Real still didn’t fit into my life, although I’d spent the last few weeks wishing like hell that it did.
