“Yep.”
He stares at me like he knows I don’t clearly remember much of last night after the third shot I took with Waverly following Duncan winning me.
Which is somethingelseDuncan and I didn’t discuss this morning.
I only know Waverly and Cooper took me home last night because it was in a text from Waverly this morning.You said to text you that you got home safe since you’ve only been this drunk one other time in your life and you need assurances that you didn’t do anything stupid. You did not do anything stupid. I’ll fight anyone who says you did.
Fuck.
Did I do something stupid in front of my boss?
He was there too, but mostly I remember everyone being in a good mood.
“You sure you’re okay?” he says. “You seem more stressed than normal.”
“I’m good.”
“The guys are saying you’re not as easy to be around the past few weeks.”
I tense.
I know what he’s talking about. I knowexactlywhat he’s talking about.
The minute I heard Santiago was retiring, I knew I wanted his job. And the minute I knew getting his job was a possibility, I also knew it was a possibility that someone would screw me over and I wouldn’t get it.
Why?
Because that was my first six years in baseball. Didn’t matter if it was farm teams or the highest level in the minors. I got stepped on and overlooked. And if I wasn’t cheated out of aposition, I was accused of having inappropriate relationships with my players or fellow staff members.
But I’ve loved my time with the Fireballs.
My first couple seasons, I was all business on the field. No cracking smiles, not even when I wanted to. No joking with the guys. No possibility that anyone would accuse me of impropriety or of not pulling my weight.
Slowly, I’ve loosened up.
I don’t pull pranks in the locker rooms with them, but I do let myself smile in front of them over the good ones. I don’t plan birthday parties, but I donate to gifts and show up for the cake with the rest of the coaching staff. I joke around with my fellow coaches, though I’m still wary of joking in ways that could be interpreted wrong or used against me.
“I can’t help fix what’s wrong if I don’t know what it is,” Tripp says.
“I want Santiago’s job.” The truth is the easiest place to start.
He nods. “You’re on the interview list.”
“The last time I was on an internal interview list, one of my colleagues overheard me talking out my coaching philosophies with one of my team mentors, interviewed first, used them, and then when I said the same thing without knowing he’d already used my own words, I was accused of using him to get ahead.”
Dammit.
Now I sound like a paranoid asshole.
But I’m not done, even though I know I should be. “I was also fired from my first coaching job because I was accused of inappropriate behavior with one of the players. He’d just lost his mother. I’d just lost my mother. I told him we’d both get through it. He asked if he could have a hug, I hugged him, and two days later, I was canned fornotknowing boundaries. I know I sound paranoid, but I have to be smarter, stronger, faster, and tougherthan the rest of the coaching staff, or I’m calledthe token womanon the team.”
His lips part. “Addie, if we’ve made you feel that way?—”
“You haven’t.” I briefly squeeze my eyes shut and will myself not to say the next part, but my mouth has a mind of its own. “Yet.”
Maybe I’m testing him.
And why shouldn’t I?
