“Only one way to find out.”
I like the confidence. I like that she’s willing to bet on herself and the playershefound.
“In case no one has told you today, you are very good at your job.”
She smiles proudly. “Thank you.”
We get back to the hot dogs in our hands, dressing them with a couple of condiment packets. But there’s no onions on it and hardly any relish in the packet so my hopes aren’t too high for it.
We take a bite at the same time.
“Oh, that’s so bad.” She spits it right back into the foil wrapping.
“That’s terrible.” I find the will to swallow down that single bite but wrap the rest for the trash can. “Ours are so much better.”
“So much better. We need to get back to Chicago.”
There’s this ease and playfulness between us today, including a whole lot of honesty, which has me asking the question I’ve had lingering on my mind all week.
I take her hot dog and re-cover it, getting them both ready for the trash while trying to keep my question as casual as possible. “You were pretty adamant about trading Kaiser, and that vote didn’t mean anything. You don’t need the advisory board’s approval.”
“I know I don’t.”
My eyes meet hers. “So, why haven’t you done it yet? Just because they didn’t want you to?”
“No.” Reese’s voice is soft and earnest when she admits, “I haven’t done it yet becauseyoudidn’t want me to.”
10
Reese
It’s a perfect Sunday afternoon in San Diego. The sun is shining over the field, and the stadium is already filling up with fans, ready for the first game in this series.
So, because of the weather, and maybe a few other reasons too, I make my way out through the visiting tunnel instead of hiding out in an office the way I have the past handful of games.
The dugout is practically silent as I step into it, with every player on the team currently out on the field warming up or back in the training room getting pregame treatment. The only chatter is from our field manager, who is leaning up against the barrier that separates the dugout from the field, speaking quietly to Kai Rhodes’ son. Max is sitting on the railing and Emmett is hunched over behind him with a single arm wrapped around the little boy to keep him steady. His other is pointing out toward his players and explaining things in Max’s ear.
His grandson’s ear?
I don’t exactly know if he refers to himself as that, but his daughter is marrying Kai soon. And though she’s not Max’s biological mother, everything I know about their situation tells me she is his mom.
But the idea of Emmett being someone’s grandfather seems entirely unfathomable. He’s only in his mid-forties and not to mention, he looks likethat. He’s at an age that he could be a father to a toddler himself, and the fact that his daughter is oldenough to be Max’s mom means he must have become a dad when he was extremely young.
I wonder where her mom is. Was Emmett married before too?
“Mama!” Max points to Miller, who is crossing the field to them after visiting the bullpen.
Oh, I should go.A sense of urgency takes over, pushing me to leave. I already felt as if I were intruding on a moment with Emmett and Max, but with his daughter here too, it seems even more invasive.
But before I can turn down the tunnel and go back the way I came, Miller’s eyes move from her son up to me. And when she lifts her hand in a polite wave as she approaches the dugout, it catches Emmett’s attention.
“Reese,” Emmett says, standing straighter, arm still secured around Max and eyes wide like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Sorry. My family was just stopping by. They’re headed up to their seats now.”
He really does have it ingrained in him that I don’t care about the sentimental part of this whole thing. Maybe he forgot about our conversation at the game yesterday, or maybe he’s just waiting to see if my actions back up my words.
“That’s okay. They can stay for however long they’d like.”
His worried expression melts, giving me a look that’s equal parts impressed and appreciative.
