It’s why I’ve checked in on her twice since the meeting in the conference room last week. The past few times I’ve tried to talk to her, she’s been in a bad mood and rushed to get off the phone. It made me wonder if those assholes Mark and Ricardo were still giving her trouble. I haven’t seen or heard from either of them. Even through my suspension when I worked out at the stadium every day, or when I met with the communications team about arranging community service while on the road, they were nowhere to be seen. But any time I got a tiny glimpse of Bree, she was stressed and wearing another skirt. One day she was in a full suit.
With the team back today, it’s time to switch my focus away from what’s going on with Bree to how to mend fences with my teammates. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous to face Miller and Fields the most. They invited me in, and I repaid them bygetting suspended, impacting our chances to keep the lead of the division because they need my bat at the plate and my glove at short.
Just like every day, I get to the stadium early, run some laps around the field, and do some exercises in the weight room. Partly because I’ll miss the normal game-day routines due to the press conference, but also because I’m trying to prove to everyone why I still deserve to be here. When I come back to the locker room, Fields and Miller are at their lockers. The locker room is more lounge than locker room with leather couches and chairs in the center of the room and TVs mounted on open wall space. Along the perimeter of the room, each player has a designated locker which are more like cubbies because there’s no door on them and instead, they’re full-length open cubbies with compartments for our gear and a hanging rod for our jerseys.
“Rook, you’re here early,” Miller greets me. None of the guys on the team have reached out since the arrest, so I’m not sure what to expect from my captains.
“I have to be upstairs for a presser in a few.”
“Good to see you putting in the extra effort.” Fields pats me on the back when I pass by to get to my locker.
I reach the front of my designated space and pause. “What’s this?” Inside my locker is a white hard hat type helmet with chin straps. Picking it up, I notice a sticker on the front that reads, “Property of the Music City Troubadours.”
Miller turns his back to me as his shoulder shake. Fields barely suppresses a smile as I turn the helmet over and see another on the back that reads “If found, return to Stella Stadium.”
“Is this a riding helmet?” I stare dumbstruck.
“The correct term is equestrian helmet,” Fields informs me of the correct terminology, his grin widening at the joke. Miller can’t hold back his laughter anymore and cackles loudly.
“Why did you get me an equestrian helmet?” I was sure they would be pissed at me. This is completely unexpected.
“You took a pretty steep header off the front of that horse, Rook. Thought this might help next time you wanted a joy ride,” Miller ribs playfully and punches my bicep as I take a seat in the padded folding chair directly in front of my locker.
Fields shrugs. “Gotta protect the assets. We thought about getting you something for the arms, since those are your real money makers, but couldn’t find anything on such short notice.”
“Wait, are y’all seriously making a joke of this right now? I thought you’d want me gone.”
“Why would you think that?” Fields sits down in the chair beside mine. The mark of a true captain, he listens intently as I respond.
“I dunno man, I repaid your kindness by getting in trouble. Like massive kicked-off-the-team and jail-time trouble on the first break. I’d be pretty angry if I were you.”
“Listen, was it stupid to do what you did? Yeah, it was.”
“Hilarious though. Fucking epic if you ask me,” Miller cuts Fields off and pulls up a chair to join our huddle.
“As I was saying,” Fields says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at his best friend, “it was dumb, but we’ve all been there.”
“Maybe not arrest-level been there, but we’ve all been rookies.” They bounce off each other. Taking turns on each sentence, but somehow still making a coherent statement.
“It’s a tough adjustment being called up, and when there’s time off, you want to blow off steam. We get it.” Fields offers me an encouraging smile as he playfully shoves Miller.
“What did you guys do that was stupid?” I can’t imagine Preston Fields getting into trouble. Until his trip to Belize where he got stranded with Coach’s daughter, he rarely made waves. He was the model player. He was a role model for me.
“Nope, not gonna give you those secrets. We don’t know you like that.” Miller winks to tell me he’s joking.
“The point is you made a mistake. It’s not the mistake that matters as much as how you redeem yourself,” Fields continues.
“I hear you. I fucked up and I’m just trying to keep my head down now and put in the work. I don’t want to give them any reason to tell me to pack it up. Mark started throwing around ‘breach of contract’ in our initial meeting and it’s got me worried, even if they worked out a plea deal with the DA.”
Miller rolls his eyes. “You aren’t gonna be told to pack it up, Bennett.”
“He’s right,” Fields agrees “If they wanted you gone, you’d already be gone. No team is going to put in this much effort and resources to rehab a player’s image if they don’t see a future with that player. You’ve got the entire front office on your side, and I’ll tell you from personal experience with Coach, he’s not going to bat for someone he doesn’t have faith in.” Fields pokes my chest, gets to his feet, and walks off.
“Preach. That man is tough, but once you’re in, you’re in. Coach wouldn’t outright tell you that he doesn’t like you, but there’d be signs. We’re all on your side.” Miller rises from the folding chair and moves over to the couches instead, getting comfortable since there’s still a few hours before the game.
“Hey, Mills. Before I go, I know you said not to be worried about it, but isn’t that Mark guy, like, the head honcho or something?” I’ve been curious what their take on Mark and Bree’s working relationship is, so this seems like a good time to do some digging.
“Man, fuck Mark. That guys a punk ass bitch. He’s the general counsel, but everyone knows he’s just the figure head.” Miller leans back on the couch to get comfortable. “Gabby runs that team.”
