On the Jumbotron, the screen shows him glancing our way, a close-up on his handsome face. And I know, before it happens, that in the broadcast control room, the director is going to call for a different camera angle. I can feel it coming before the screen changes, and I duck my head, my hair obscuring my face as I focus on Silas, pretending that’s who Jeff was looking at.
But I know the camera focused on the whole family. Sinclaire on one side, Trickon the other. I alreadyknowhow this is going to play on social media.Who is the pretty brunette sitting between his daughter and her husband? Who is the young girl intensely focused on Coach Rosehill’s grandson as the team manager stares at her?
As the music fades and play resumes, I know that the plan for us denying our relationship until the end of the season just fell apart.
CHAPTER 23
JEFF
Losing fucking sucks.
It wasn’t the worst game we’ve had so far this season, but it wasn’t the best either.
Trick comes to the clubhouse to talk to the team after, just briefly. He tells them about his worst season and how he learned to shake off a bad game and show up the next day as if it was the first day of a brand-new season, every time.
“Learned that from Coach,” he barks. “If you haven’t listened to him on that front yet, you’re only hurting yourselves.”
I can’t add anything more to that tonight, so I leave it at a curt “See you in the morning” and head to the coaching offices.
“Are you gonna take some time here?” Trick asks. “I can take the girls out for dinner.”
I don’t want to hand Molly off to him, even though I know the offer comes from a good place,a welcoming place. It means Sinclaire is treating her like family already, and I appreciate that so fucking much.
But at the same time, I want her close.
Fuck.
“Yeah,” I manage to say. “I need to do a bit more work here with the team.”
“Of course.” And then he gives me a look that says he understands more than I want him to. “She knows how important your job is, Jeff. It’ll be fine.”
We’re only ten games into a season that will stretch over the entire summer. A hundred and fifty more to go.
“I probably shouldn’t have fallen in love with her until the season ended,” I joke.
He shrugs. “You can’t help what the heart wants, when it wants it.”
Like he wanted my daughter, the night we won the World Series.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I growl.
He laughs and leaves me alone. The assistant coaches file in, and the video and analytics people follow. We debrief on every element of the game and come up with a good plan for the morning. This was just one game, and we have two more against them in this home stand.
By the time we finish, the stadium is quiet. The equipment team has reset the clubhouse. I walk through the quiet tunnel to the field, wherethe grounds crew is just finishing prepping for tomorrow.
I send Molly a quick text message that I’m going to fit in a quick workout since I’m not getting my usual morning runs in, and then I’ll see her back at my house.
Instead of going to the gym, I head back to my personal office, where I have a treadmill set up facing the wall that my TV and whiteboard are on.
As I run, I use a remote control to flip through the video again.
Smart TV, iPads, video instantly available. Whiteboards, binders.
There’s no shortage ofdataon our team. And we have a strong narrative on the social media side, bringing the fans in—thanks to Molly.
But there’s still something missing.
This is my final year of coaching. I want to go out on a high note. I need to figure this puzzle out.
