The press room is crowded. Everyone is here to get a glimpse at the troublesome rookie who got stupidly drunk, stole a horse, and rode it down Broadway. I can’t believe this is my life. I promised myself and Coach I would do better—bebetter—when I was called up. It’s not that my game wasn’t top tier, because I’ve had that shit on lock since I was drafted. My only goal was to make a name for myself in the system and get called up quicker than the critics and analysts thought I would. Now, the days of work hard, play harder were over. They took a chance on me and it’s time for me to show up for them, on and off the field.
“Why are we doing this again?” Tom asks as he straightens his already perfectly straight cuff links. “It’s been over a week since the incident. I don’t know why we have to dredge it back up. He’s served his suspension. He’s on probation or whatever you want to call it. No need to talk to the press about it.”
Taylor and Grant exchange a look. “On the contrary,” Taylor says, “this is the perfect time to talk to the press.” If an eye-roll could be spoken, Taylor’s tone would be the example. She’s feisty. I like her. “The swirl around his arrest has died down, but the community needs to know we are all taking accountability for his actions and how we are planning to remedy it.”
“The league enforced their punishment. Now it’s time to share what ours is,” Grant confirms what we discussed in our prep meeting the other day.
Gabby checks her watch and indicates to the table. “We should get going. Don’t want to keep everyone waiting, and you have a game to prepare for.” She barely looks at me, but her cold shoulder has seemed to warm a bit.
“Ready, son?” Coach slaps me on the back.
“Yes, sir.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze and leads us onto the raised platform. Cameras go off around us as we take our seats. I’m in the middle, center stage with Grant and Coach flanking me on either side.
“Thank you all for being here. We appreciate your patience as we’ve taken time to talk to all parties involved and developed a plan to address both your questions and Chase Bennett’s responsibility to the team and community.” Hands raise all over the room before Grant can finish speaking.
Coach shuts everyone down before they can start shouting their questions. “Bennett has something to say before we begin, then we’ll take questions one at a time like we always do.” He gives a stern nod.
Nerves take over my body. My palms sweat and my pulse spikes. An abnormal reaction to being the focus of media attention, but the stakes are higher here. Taking a deep breath, I open my mouth to start the speech the communications team wrote with little input from me. We’ve practiced it so much I could recite it in my sleep, but sitting here now, I don’t want to say anything they told me to say. It feels forced. If this is my one chance to take accountability, to prove to the organization and the community my regret, then I need to get it right. Who am I kidding? I also need to prove it to Bree.
I don’t know when her opinion of me became so important, but staring at her off to the side of the room with a furrowed brow and concern on her face, her opinion is the only one that matters. So, with my eyes pinned on her, I speak from the heart like Fields suggested.
“Thank you all for being here today. First, I want to say how sorry I am for my actions. To the officers working tirelessly tokeep our city safe, both on patrol and on horseback, thank you for your service, and I’m sorry I made a mockery of your work when I stole one of the horses and rode away. I made it harder on you that night and my behavior was inexcusable. I know nothing I do can make up for my careless actions, but I want to try. I have to thank Mr. Davenport, Coach Crenshaw, and the entire Music City Troubadours organization for their support, and the opportunity to take accountability and right my wrongs. I especially want to thank Gabrielle Pierson, who worked directly with the Nashville District Attorney’s office to move forward in a way that will allow me to still show up on the field and contribute to this team.
“As part of our agreement,” I continue. “I will be making a donation to the Horse Mounted Patrol Unit, and we’ll be hosting them at the ballpark soon. I’ve been in touch with the arresting officer who has invited me to participate in their training program.” I pause when surprise flicks across Bree’s face. Smiling to myself, I continue, proud of how this is going so far. “I’m looking forward to learning more from the officers about their crucial role to the protection of the entertainment district. In addition, I’m committed to getting more involved in the community and will be doing so by volunteering both here at home and on the road as my schedule permits. Through this process, I hope to find a meaningful way to contribute by starting my own charitable organization in Nashville. I’m looking forward to a long career with this team, and putting down roots here feels like a good step toward that future.”
Coach and Grant both give me nods of approval, and Taylor gives me a thumbs up as Grant starts fielding questions from the reporters gathered. When Bree’s lips turn up into a small smile, I feel its warmth and finally let my smile break. I finally did something right. The rest of the press conference flies by in a blur of probing questions that are thankfully handled for me.
Back in the locker room, I check my phone. My home screen is stacked with notifications from ESPN, text messages, and afew missed calls, but one name draws my attention. Pulling up our text thread from earlier, I read the latest from her.
BREE
Nice speech. It went well.
Good luck tonight
She may say there’s no hope for us, that we can only be friends, but that heart emoji changed everything for me. Time to ramp up my efforts.
“Ives, is that you?” I call from my bedroom when I hear the door open downstairs. I pause to listen as I’m changing out of my work clothes and into my favorite comfy pants and fuzzy socks. It was another day from hell. More work. More misogyny. Yet another coffee spill on one of my favorite blouses.
“Yep, just me,” she calls up to me. “No burglar or murderer in sight. But I am tempted to tell Miller you left the door open again.”
I smile to myself as I walk down the stairs. “Gah, please don’t. He’s bad enough already. I’ll never hear the end of it,” I say when I reach the bottom of the stairs and find her in the kitchen.
“His protective streak is my favorite. For a guy that’s always cracking a joke, he’s very serious about his girls.” Ivory pulls me into a hug. She’s been traveling for work with Serentia Productions, and we haven’t seen each other since I left the hotel in Atlanta during the All-Star break almost two weeks ago.
“What did you bring? I put in an order for tacos tonight. I hope that’s okay.” When the guys are on the road, we try to get together when she’s in town to watch the game and have a wine night. Tonight, though, I don’t think wine will cut it.
“It’s perfect. I brought wine, but we can switch to margs if you need something heavier?” She reads my mind.
“Think I might. It was a rough day today.”
“Have a seat and tell me all about it. I’ll play bartender.” She puts the wine to the side and reaches into the cabinet beside the stove to pull out the rocks glasses for margaritas.
“Mark has disappeared again, so today was a fun-filled adventure learning of all these things he didn’t tell me about and trying to problem solve.” Sitting down on the barstool I tell her about my day from hell.
She hands me the finished margarita and says, “That man sucks. I’m sorry. He’s the actual worst.”
“He is!” I raise my glass to her in agreement before licking the salty rim and taking my first sip. The sweet and sour taste hits my tongue, and I relax as the tequila hits my system. God, that’s good. I fucking needed that.
