The drive north to Milwaukee was brutal. Traffic wasn’t too bad, but it was apparent that something was bothering Sean. He glanced at me from time to time, shaking his head before returning his focus to the highway in front of him.
We pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of the stadium and Sean parked in “his” spot in the employee lot. Spaces weren’t assigned, but it was pretty well known in every club that you parked in your unofficial spot, whether anyone else would be there or not.
A few photographers and reporters were waiting outside the clubhouse, hoping to catch our arrival. I figured these were either less than reputable publications or amateur newshounds who weren’t allowed into the official press conference. If the teams didn’t trust them to come inside, neither did I.
Sensing my discomfort, Sean moved to my left, shielding the sight of my mangled face from the cameras. The one demand I had made when this was set up was there would be no photography allowed. It would be embarrassing enough letting so many peopleseemy injuries, I didn’t want them documented and swirling around online within minutes.
“Just keep your head down, we’re almost there and Ike’s waiting at the door,” Sean mumbled, barely moving his lips. I glanced up without lifting my head and saw that Ike was indeed holding the door open.
“Atley…Tucker…good to see you boys,” Ike greeted us as soon as we were close. “Hurry and get in here. Sean, Coach Martinez and I need to have a chat with Mason before the press conference starts, and I know Coach Ackerman wanted to touch base with you as well.”
“Yes, sir,” Sean responded. He nodded to me before heading off in the opposite direction from where Ike was leading me. Even though I knew this was standard, for management to make sure there weren’t going to be any gaffs in front of the cameras, it felt as though they were purposely putting distance between the two of us. That put me on edge more than anything else.
“How’re you feeling, son?” I hated it when he called me that. Ike liked to think of himself as some sort of surrogate father to the players, which meant he wasn’t the best-liked man on the team. He had a habit of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong and a lot of the guys, myself included, resented his paternal persona.
“Other than taking a ball in the face, I can’t complain.” Our footsteps echoed through the empty concrete hallways of the club. I used to love that sound, loved the mystique of walking through the darkness, but today that affection was conspicuously absent. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to be at the park.
“Good, good.” He patted me on the back, gently guiding me down another empty hall. There was a single beam of light shining from an office at the opposite end and figured that was our destination. “Then I’ll assume you will be heading back with us after the press conference is over.”
“Sir?” I figured this was coming, but I had no intention of heading back. We both knew the score, so to speak, and I was the loser. It would have taken one hell of an outing for them to renew my contract after the subpar year I’d had, and I failed to deliver.
Ike stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to face me. “Mason, you need to come back to Chicago so the team-approved doctors can treat you. They’ll make sure you get the care you need to get back to the game as soon as possible.”
“And you think I can’t get that up here?” I snapped. “With all due respect, I think we both know my career in Chicago is DOA. Keeping that in mind, I need to do what’s best for my physical and mental well-being, and my home is here now. With all of that in mind, I think it’s better if I keep seeing the doctors at the clinic in Milwaukee.”
“Kid, you always were a stubborn one,” Ike chided, shaking his head. “Nothing has been decided with your contract, because the team wants to discuss your prognosis with our doctors, not the attending physicians at a hospital none of us know anything about.”
We started walking down the hall again, and I swear Ike’s nostrils flared with annoyance.
“A lot of people have invested time and money into you,” he criticized. “You’d do well to remember that before you make a final decision. The office is doing everything in their power to make sure you’re not cut because of an injury, but if you’re not willing to play by the rules, I’m not sure what anyone can do to help you.”
As we stepped into a stark white office with only a table and four chairs in the center of the room, I knew exactly what I could do to help myself.
* * *
Sean
The press conferencewas much as we’d been told it would be. The media was fascinated by Mason’s injury and the potential implications of ‘the incident’ on our friendship off the field. You’d think they’d have had more pressing matters, like the teams who were in the race for the pennant, but nope, they were salivating at the chance to get their hands on a juicy human-interest story.
It wasn’t until nearly twenty minutes in that things got exciting. I had pretty much zoned out once the reporters got tired of talking to me, and almost missed Mason dropping a bomb into the room.
“While I have you all here, I have an announcement to make.” Mason squared his shoulders and straightened his tie before continuing. I gave him a look that I’m pretty sure said ‘What in the hell are you doing?’ and he mouthed the words ‘Watch this’ in return.
Oh hell, what is he doing?
More than once over the past twenty four hours I had wondered if everything that’d happened since the start of spring training was going to give Mason a nervous breakdown, and I had to fight the urge to lunge at him, knocking him off the dais to create a distraction. ‘Watch this’ had always been Mason speak for ‘There will be fireworks’ and usually wound up with him on someone’s shit list.
“In light of my current injuries, as well as other personal issues I’m dealing with, I have decided that this season will be my last,” he said calmly. Audible gasps and hushed whispers filtered through the room. Ike and Coach Martinez were somewhere between utterly shocked and completely pissed, and I realized that this was the first they were hearing of his decision. Hell, it was the first I’d heard it, and I was tempted to strangle him for it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe that’s all the time we have for today,” the Bulldogs’ press manager said, although I doubted anyone heard her over the reporters shouting their questions toward Mason. I could have kissed her for realizing that the scene was about to get out of hand and it wouldn’t be anything good.
Despite Rebecca’s proclamation that the time for questions had passed, one woman near the back of the room stood and dropped a second bomb on the already shocked room. “Mason, does your decision to retire have anything to do with your relationship with Sean Tucker?”
“That will be all!” Rebecca spat out, motioning for security to escort the offending so-called reporter out of the room.
Even with a burly security guard holding either arm, it was clear the reporter was determined to finish her question. “Is it true that Teresa Atley signed divorce papers because the two of you were having an affair?”
Once we walked out of the room, I pulled Mason aside before Ike could reach him. “What in God’s name was that little stunt? How could you do something like this without talking to me first?” I growled. “And how in the hell does she know about us?”
