“You’re mad, aren’t you? Shit. I would be too.”
“No.” My voice came out all muffled against his nice shirt. “I wish I had the nerve to do that. It’s long overdue, but it’s hard, you know? I love them, but struggle with their own version of what my life should be.”
“I get it, baby,” he said, resting his chin on my head. “You’re working so hard, and it sucks they can’t support it.”
“It makes me sad when I think about it, but Megan and Ethan’s parents are supportive and they make me feel better, like it’s not totally dumb.” I looked up at him, staring at his sharp jaw line, and my chest got fluttery and light. “I’m glad we met, Brigham Monaghan.”
“So the fuck am I, Blue Bell.” He squeezed tighter. “So the fuck am I.”
Chapter Eighteen
Brigham
“God, this isbrilliant.” Charles met me outside the stadium the day before the adoptathon wearing a huge smile and his typical way-too-fancy for-the-Phoenix-heat suit. “Puppies and rescues? Brigham, thank you for finally taking this shit seriously.”
“It was her idea, actually,” I said, hating how tense my entire body got around him. “My shitshow had nothing to do with this.”
“Don’t care. This will swing some things into your favor. Party-boy Brigham forgoes sex and drugs for volunteer girl with blue hair. Shit, man.” Charles laughed and scanned his phone. “This is great.”
I gritted my teeth and sighed. Sarah was waiting at the apartment and I would rather have spent the night with her than another five minutes with Charles. “What’s up? Did you need to talk or something?”
“I met up with a different client today and thought I’d check in with you. No good or bad news to report, which is all right. There’s a commercial shoot coming up that hasn’t cancelled yet, so I’ll send you the details on that. Oh, are there any teams that are absolutely noes for you? I’m working on drafting some contract negotiations, and with your current stats, you’ll be in a better position for me to demand more.”
All of them?
“Uh, let me get back to you.” There were some coaches I didn’t agree with and GMs who were assholes and only saw players as money makers. Hell, I could be traded four times next year. I stretched my arm over my head and nodded at Tate as he walked to his truck. “Any word from Los Soles front office?”
“Nope.” He typed something out on his phone again before looking up at me with a frightening, shark-like expression with way too many teeth showing. “I’ll be there tomorrow. Can’t wait.” He pocketed the phone and whistled. “It’ll be interesting, that’s for sure. Stay out of trouble tonight, Brigham.”
He walked inside, leaving me confused and rattled without me pinpointing what felt off. He often came to games, talked to me outside the stadium, and his pure focus on making deals made him an asshole. Nothing was different, yet I felt different.
Maybe it was the way he talked about Sarah.
I rolled my shoulders, hoping it would rid me of the weird feeling, and got into my car to head home. I had played great against the East Coast team. Hitting three for four, three RBIs and one stolen base had all gotten me closer to my personal best. My defense had always been my strongest asset and nothing had changed on that front, thankfully. The inability to focus just on this season fucked with me. How could players do that? Play hard and not worry that after the season was over, they might not have a team? What if no team signed me and I was just in limbo, waiting for an offer? My throat got tight and I leaned back in my driver’s seat. What the fuck would I even do if baseball wasn’t an option?
No.Negative thinking would get me nowhere. My phone pinged and I hoped it was Sarah, but reading Charles’ text did offer some relief.
Charles: You’re going to be MLB’s player of the week. Fuck yeah, man.
Brigham: Hell yeah.
Okay, that was good news. Really good news. It lifted my spirits and I put on an upbeat punk rock song for the short drive to the condo. I parked in the garage and made my way toward the entrance, buzzing myself in since Fernie didn’t work past seven at night. My stomach fluttered and my chest felt light, thinking about seeing Sarah. It had become a routine to see her every day I was in town. Before games, after them, off days…she moved her schedule around so we could hang out and I already had a smile on my face imaging what she was wearing. I pushed the button for the elevator, but when it arrived, Sarah was already there holding Pico, a wild look on her face.
“Hey, woah, what’s happening?” I asked, my heart lurching in my throat at her expression.
“Pico! He’s sick or something. I need to take him to the emergency vet now!” She jogged past me and pulled out her phone. “I had an Uber on the way. Shit! They canceled!”
“Baby, come on. I’ll drive.” I put a hand on her back and jogged with her to the garage, up to the second floor and helped her get in with the dog. “You all good?”
“We’re buckled. Hurry, please,” she begged, her voice shaking at the end.
“Okay, where is this place?”
“Take a right on Van Buren, left on Third,” she said, petting the dog and whispering to him. “He started making this awful wheezing noise and he’s gasping for air like he can’t breathe. He was alone for a couple hours today, and if something happens to him…”
“You can’t think like that. I know it’s hard. But you don’t know yet. Focus on comforting him until we get there.” Hearing the panic and worry in her voice set something off inside me. I would do literally anything to help her. It didn’t matter how big or small or stupid the request could be. Making Sarah happy was important and, right now, I wished I could pick her up and fix everything. “Is he breathing now? Feel his ribs.”
“Yes. Way too fast, though.”
