A good woman…A nice, blond, meek churchgoing girl. Yeah, I’d rather not.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I tack on asirfor good measure, hoping that’s the end of the conversation. I’ve had these talksover the years: people making a big deal out of something that isn’t. The subject gets dropped after my next home run or highlight-reel catch. I don’t know why he’s even bothering with any of this. It’s not like I have a problem.
I’m about to ask—respectfully—if I’m good to go, when he says, “I know it would reassure me, and the front office, if we could see evidence of you finding some stability. There’s nothing much normal about this game, especially during your rookie season. Having people in your life who’ll give you a sense of normalcy—well, you can’t put a price on that.”
“Sir?” I ask.
“We’re a family-friendly team,” he says. “I know you grew up in the church. Maybe we could see a little more Sunday morning and a little less Saturday night. Especially on social media.”
So he saw that picture from last night. Me and that girl. Savannah.Goddesswould have been more appropriate. Tall, curvy and thick, with laughing hazel eyes and the prettiest pink lips. She didn’t have any idea who I was. Better, she didn’t have any idea whoBlakewas.
We weren’t even doing anything—just talking—when campus security showed up. At least I didn’t get arrested.Again. See, I’ve learned. Really, there’s no reason that we should even be having this conversation because I amfine.
“Understood, sir.” I pull myself out of the chair and try not to groan. Really, a cup of coffee and I’ll be all right. Maybe a little hair of the dog would help…
I’m just about to go out the door when Coach says, “If the teamisn’tseeing that you can project the kind of image we want, we’re making some tough decisions about the roster for the rest of the season. I’d like you to be on it, but as of right now…” He takes another loud sip.
He doesn’t need to finish that sentence for me to fill it in.They’re looking for a reason to cut me or trade me or send me down.“I want to be on the roster too.”
“Show me that you can be, Brayden.”
Of course this time, he gets my name correct.
An hour later,I’m showered, shaved, dressed, better. My head feels fine—see, I know my limits. Coach, of course, isn’t around to see that part.Stability. I’m perfectly fucking stable.
He wouldn’t do this to Blake.Because of course. Blake’s never been reamed out by a coach for acting like a ballplayer.Because he was too busy acting like a saint. Right up until he packed up and left for Boston.
Well, I’m not my brother. I’m not leaving unless they make me and I’m not going to let them make me. What I need is a plan: I’m not going to stop having fun just because of a few headlines and one bad night in a Georgia holding cell.
They want to see me with a good woman. Most of the girls I party with are…what did Coach say? More Saturday night than Sunday morning. I need someone who can smile for the cameras, who can say all the right things, someone who wants to be in Atlanta and who isn’t only with me because of who I am or who my family is.
Dimly, I remember offering Savannah money. A wad of cash I was gonna use for…definitely not tuition. Giving it to her felt right at the time, even if she’d shoved my hand away.
“What do you get in return?” she asked me.
I didn’t want anything at the time. No, that’s not true. I wanted to keep talking to her.
I open up Instagram. There’s that picture. Someone posted a dozen emojis with swirling eyes in the comments.He’s blitzed. He’s blazed. He’s a bust.
Someone tagged Savannah.Maybe you should just leave her alone…That doesn’t stop me from clicking her profile. Mostly, it’s pictures of mimosas and San Diego sunsets, Savannah on a beach next to a petite blond woman.BFFs means forever, the caption reads. The blonde is cute enough—the kind of girl the team probably wants me to date. Someone who could fade into the background of pictures.
Not like Savannah, who is sitting on a towel like she’s holding court. Her glossy brown hair is piled into a messy bun. Her sheer bathing suit coverup plays teasingly off her curves. Only one thin strap of a bikini visible on the soft, tanned skin of her shoulder. I want to snap it with my teeth.
She doesn’t need you.But she does need a ticket across the country. The chance to go to school for…bio-info-something. Whatever Atlanta has other than baseball fans, Waffle House, and too many churches.
A plan forms. Maybe not something as complicated as aBlakeplan—he liked to pretend he wasn’t the one getting us in trouble, but mostly he was the one getting us not caught—but still a plan.
I type and erase half a dozen messages, then finally I send an emoji. A diamond ring.
Savannah: What’s that for?
Me: What is it traditionally for?
Savannah: That can’t be what I think it is.
Me: Are you serious about moving to Atlanta?
Savannah: Yes
