My mouth goes dry. “What would that entail?”
“I want you working closely with him this season. Observing him at camp. Media prep. Public appearances. You manage the room, not him—but you’re close enough that if something’s off, you see it before it becomes a problem.” She pauses. “Come to the baseball side, Scottie. The pay’s a lot better.”
“I don’t want Baseball Ops,” I say. “I like my sleep too much to be responsible for someone’s ERA.”
“You have a way of managing difficult personalities. And delightful ones, too,” she adds with a hair flip.
I stare at her flatly. “I wouldn’t call you delightful.”
She ignores this. “Your last job was player relations coordinator for a Double-A team, and you have a degree in sports management. That’s precisely why I hired you.”
“Right, but I took a jobon the business sidewhen I came to work with you,” I argue, though leaving player relations wasn’t the only point. I hated North Dakota and this was the best opportunity available in a bigger market.
“So developing people is a hobby? Girl, haven’t you heard? Never work for free when you could charge a fee.”
“You just made that up.”
“I know, but didn’t it sound great?”
“It did,” I admit, my thoughts flashing to Jake for a brief moment. If I’d been charging all this time, I’d be a very rich woman.
But this isn’t about Jake for a change. A tug-of-war of guilt and desire as old as I am picks back up in my chest. Over the last year, Lucas has noticed me long after others have given up. It’s an intoxicating feeling. But if experience has taught me anything, it’s that my needs are never loud enough for the people around me to hear, and sooner or later, I get pushed aside. Would that be any different with Lucas?
Working with him every day would mean seeing that smile up close. Hearing his laugh. Feeling noticed. Letting myself believe—again—that maybe this time someone might come looking for me.
But when that hope disappears, I’ll still be the one standing there pretending it doesn’t hurt.
“What do you say, Scottie?”
I pause. The hum of the mechanical mop kicks on out in the hall, and the scent of industrial cleaner drifts in. Kayla’s watching me with the particular patience of someone who already knows the answer.
“Can I get back to you tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she says, and the corner of her mouth moves. “But one thing before we go. Are you worried about Jake?”
I shrug, but the answer isalways.
“I need you to remember something: his needs aren’t bigger than yours—they’re just louder.”
I go still, her words slipping past the competency I wear like it’s Gucci, reaching through my rib cage to my heart.
I nod. It’s all I can do.
She smiles. “Let’s head out.”
I follow her, letting her words harden my resolve.
I already know what I’ll say tomorrow. It was a foregone conclusion the second she mentioned his name.
Now the real concern is if he’s going to bring me coffee.
And what I’ll do if he doesn’t.
***
That night, Mom posts a check-in thread, the way she does every month.
Mom
