And just as I suspected, Emmett’s protective side comes roaring to life when the two players near the dugout. He reaches over the railing, stopping Harrison at the top of his stairs by grabbing the front of his uniform and pulling his attention to Emmett instead of Isaiah.
Then he lays into him.
I mean, he fucking lets him have it.
I, obviously, have no idea what he says, but I can tell it’s working by the fear on Harrison’s face. It doesn’t hurt that Emmett’s practically towering over the guy.
This little interaction is going to be all over the sports networks tonight, and I have a feeling Emmett could not care less.
I also have a feeling that the verbal lashing he’s giving his player is not only about protecting Isaiah, but it also has a little something to do with what he overheard in the gym last night.
Emmett says one final thing and gets a tense head nod from Harrison. The force with which he was holding on to his jersey has the opposite effect when he releases him, and Harrison practically falls down the dugout stairs.
“Kaiser might be a problem,” my grandfather says.
I love my grandfather, but yeah. No shit. It’s exactly what I’ve been saying since I took over.
“And wow,” he exhales. “I have no idea what’s gotten into Monty. I’ve never seen him this riled up before. Plan to get questions about that interaction in any interviews you havecoming up this week. Go in prepared with a way you can spin that so it doesn’t look like our field manager has a personal vendetta against one of his players.”
But he does.
With the conviction in which he told me to trade said player last night, I can promise you it’s personal.
I hate to admit it, but the protective thing is kind of doing it for me.
And by kind of, I mean completely. It’s completely doing it for me.
“I hope everything is okay with him,” my grandfather adds.
I huff a laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “Of course you’re not upset that he just created a PR nightmare for me. Emmett has always been your golden boy.”
“I don’t know that I’d put it like that.”
“Oh, come on. You threw money at any and everything he ever asked you for. I think the title is almost an understatement.”
My grandfather’s gray brows knit in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Emmett.” I gesture toward the dugout just as the players begin dispersing to their positions in the infield and outfield. “You let the club pay for anything he wanted. Things we didn’t exactly have the budget to cover. Whatever his star player needed, he got for him. From you.”
“Hey now.” He holds a hand up. “You’re as big a Kai Rhodes fan as any of us.”
True. But not the point I’m trying to make here.
“When Emmett asked that Kai have a nanny to travel with the team, you paid that salary. When Emmett asked that two of the plane seats get removed and, instead, have a crib installed for Max, you also paid for that.”
His confusion only deepens. “No, I didn’t.”
“Well, then who did?”
“Monty.”
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.
“Those expenses came out of Monty’s salary,” my grandfather admits, and the revelation nearly knocks the wind out of me. “He didn’t want anyone to know, so we agreed to tell people that the club was paying for everything. A couple of years back, Kai almost retired. Not because he wanted to, but because he felt he had to when his son was born. Monty wasn’t going to let him, so he covered the nanny salary. Before Miller came around, there were a lot of them. But he especially didn’t want his daughter to know her paycheck was coming out of his.”
No. That can’t be true. Not because I don’t believe my grandfather, but because this information contradicts every belief that formed my opinion about Emmett.
“And the plane thing,” he continues. “It wasn’t as expensive as you’d think. But the guys who run the hangar where we park the aircraft, Monty gave them his two season tickets that year in exchange for getting it done. So technically, that was free.”
