But with Kendra, it wasn’t in spite of her position with the team; it was because of it. She might be the only person in the room who cared about the outcome as much as I did. Being around her was borderline addictive.
Yeah, I had hired managers who cared about their bonuses and their paycheck. If things fell apart, if the team lost, they could easily move on to another organization.
Every once in a while, there was a story on SportsNet about a rookie joining the ranks and playing for the team he had idolized as a kid. The reality was that everyone changed teams, managers, players, and coaches.
I had no other team. Kendra understood that, and it felt as though she loved the team and the organization almost as much as I did. The commitment I had seen in her had been one reason that I first sought her thoughts in that first meeting.
Me: What time are you landing tonight?
Kendra: About 10:00 pm.
Me: How were you planning to get home?
Kendra: Probably an Uber.
Me: I’ll pick you up.
Kendra: Are you sure? Logan pickups are always a pain.
Me: Text me when you land, and I’ll be waiting for you out front.
I was out front waiting when Kendra walked out of the sliding glass doors. Popping the trunk, I picked up her luggage and tossed the bag in.
“Hey,” she said. There was a hint of something I had never seen with Kendra. This woman had always exuded confidence. Was she shy right now?
All my control went out the window. I pulled her into my arms for a hug. For a brief moment, I felt her body stiffen just before she relaxed into me.
She smelled of coconut, probably from the sunscreen, and I only wanted to hold her.
“I missed you, Ken.”
“Yeah, I missed you too.”
“You sound surprised by that.”
“Oh, I am.”
I noticed her shaking then. The Boston weather had taken a sharp turn for the worse in the last week. The mild weather leading up to Christmas had turned almost brutal in the last few days.
“This weather must be?—”
“Like a punch in the face,” she said, finishing my sentence.
“In the car.” I pulled away, reluctantly, and opened the passenger door for her.
She rubbed her hands together, desperately trying to warm them up in front of the heat vent.
“Damn, it’s great to spend time in the Caribbean, but it hurts coming back to this.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat. I’ve been living on snack bags all afternoon.”
“Okay. I have two options for you. We can stop and grab a bite to eat—or we can go back to my place; I made soup.”
“You made soup?” She stared at me in surprise. “What kind of soup?”
“Italian wedding soup.”
