I order my ego to sit down and take a seat while I nod to my boss. “If I’m one of your top two now, wait until you see how good I am the next time the job opens up.”
Missed the mark on stifling my ego on that one.
Lila smiles though. Some amused, some not. “It could be years.”
This isn’t a surprise.
I’m in my sixth season. So are Lila and Tripp. So is most of the coaching staff. We’ve had very little turnover, most of it happening in the first two years that they were in charge as they put together their dream team.
Loyalty runs deep in this organization they’ve built.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell Lila and Tripp. “You’ve made this feel like home. So I’m going to treat it like home, and I’ll be here when the next opportunity opens up.”
“Will you be ready then?” Lila asks me.
“If I’m not, then I never will be.”
“Anything we can do to help?”
“Not right now. But if there is, I’ll let you know.” I’m reaching out to a therapist who’s worked with a few of our players as soon as I’m out of this meeting. A life coach too.
Fear is weighing me down.
In all parts of my life.
It’s time to let it go.
I chat with my bosses for a few more minutes about how our batting lineup is doing and what we have to do to make the playoffs this year. We’re currently just outside of where we need to be for even the wild card race. Some injuries and missing Cooper are taking their toll.
And that’s okay.
We’re not last.
We’re not anywherenearlast.
Our fans are still with us. Even when we lose, we fight hard all the way to the end.
Some seasons are tough.
After our catch-up, I head across the street to the ballpark to get ready for game day.
“Morning, Coach Addie,” Diego calls to me from the tunnel beneath the stadium.
He doesn’t blink at my dress.
Neither do the half dozen other players I pass on my way to my office.
They don’t say a thing about my date yesterday either. Or about interrupting it. Or make threats against Duncan or implythat I look like I have been thoroughly and completely railed in bed.
They’re justnormal.
Santiago’s head snaps my way when I pass his office.
“Morning, Skipper,” I say.
He clicks his jaw shut, lifts his gaze from my dress, and blurts, “Are you quitting?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? You’ve seen me in dresses before.”
