“No.” The sliver of hope I felt disappeared. “I don’t.”
“We’ll figure it out, Hilly.” His perceptive eyes watched me for a full minute before he tapped his pen against a pad of paper. “Now, let’s break down what the post said about you and figure out what’s slander, what’s true and how we can have someone spin it in your favor.”
I nodded, helpless and desperate. “Coach, I’ll have nothing if I don’t keep my scholarship. I’ll do whatever it takes. Anything.”
“Let’s brainstorm then, son. I’ve seen you grow into someone I admire the past year. We all have our baggage and thank the lord the internet wasn’t around for mine. Keep your head up. We need a plan first and foremost.”
“Okay. I’m all ears. Please. Anything.”
“Your reputation is a bit dicey.” He twisted his lips and studied me in silence for about ten seconds. “Stability. Boring. Mundane activities. That’s what you need. You’ve been all over the damn place with school, parties, the ladies, all that shit. We need to come up with something that shows the public—students and coaches alike—that you’re not unstable or the party animal you used to be.”
“How?”God, I am unstable. Faking it seems impossible.“What shows I’m not flailing about?”
“Not going to parties or hooking-up all the time. Not causing a scene.”
“I won’t attend another party for the rest of the year, I swear.” I meant it, too. I’d do whatever the fuck he thought would help, even if I didn’t drink for another two years.
He rubbed under his chin and gave me a quick smile. “Huh. Takes more than that to show you’re off the market, son.”
“Off the market?” Sure, repeat his words.I sound like an idiot.“What does that mean and how do I do it or get it?”
“Well, I might just have an idea…”
* * * *
Greta is not going to like this. Fuck. This won’t work. I know it won’t.I wiped my palms on the sides of my legs, thinking about the conversation I’d had with my coach and what he wanted me to do. It’d made sense when he’d said it, but now that I’d left his office, all my confidence in the plan disappeared.
I couldn’t ask her to do it. How could I, after everything she’d done for me? It was insulting to assume she would stop her life.
I won’t do it to her.
But what if I lose my scholarship? Or, worse, my future in the MLB?I couldn’t ask my parents for money, not with my dad spending every penny to fight cancer. I gulped. The unsettled feeling that began in my gut hadn’t left since that morning.
I hate myself.
Fuck.
The walk to the bar felt like two hours, instead of the normal twenty minutes, the severity of what I was about to do weighing me down. In all the years I had known her, I had never dreaded seeing her or coming to the Lion for a drink. But now, everything I did felt forced. Was some psycho bitch watching me, waiting for me to fuck up? Sweat dripped down my forehead and I wiped it away, searching around the block for someone holding a camera at my face. Instead of a hunched-over crazy person, it was just other college co-eds ready to have a drink.
My phone buzzed and I jumped. I wished I could disappear into the mountains for two weeks with nothing but a baseball field and some beer. I wanted to be off the grid. But I couldn’t. It was part of the plan. The plan to get my life back on track and my future tangible.
Zade: Dude. What the hell is going on?
Tanner: Why are you all over Twitter?
Zade: DUDE. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
Aaron: I’ll be back later. I talked to Coach. I’ll fill you in.
I pocketed my phone and knew my teammates had to have found out. Social media was the worst and anything spread like wildfire. I used to enjoy gossip and reading about other people, so I guess this was a good dose of karma. My freshman year persona would have loved the attention—hell, I would’ve eaten it up. Now, rage took over.I’m a fucking idiot.
The weathered doors greeted me and a wave of revulsion took over—I couldn’t do this to her. I shouldn’t. But I had to and the notion almost had me throwing up again.
“Hilly! My main man!” Clyde greeted me when I entered the bar. It was situated on the busiest street on campus and had a chill, almost hipster vibe with the dark walls, constant smell of coffee and beer, and obscure art that was always for sale, but never bought. Her socially awkward boss tried a little too hard to fit in, but I waved regardless. “You here for Greta?”
“Yeah. She in the back?” I squinted, trying to find her bright blonde hair in the dark bar. It stood out like red in a snowstorm.
“No! Didn’t she text you?” He frowned, but a grin broke out. “One of our bands had to leave. Well, I made them leave. They were garbage. She’s playing on stage.”
