Easton wrinkles his nose. “Ah, can I call raincheck on that? I might already have some celebration plans tonight.”
My grin widens even as my heart twinges. I drop my elbow on the table and rest my chin on my hand. “Private celebrations?” I bounce my eyebrows.
“Something like that,” Easton mumbles, his cheeks darkening.
Paulie cackles. He leans forward. “Think someone is saving a horse and riding a Cowboy tonight,” he sings quietly.
A throat clears next to me, and all three of us snap our heads toward where the same clubhouse guy who grabbed Easton earlier is standing. His gaze darts between us, his brows scrunched in confusion. Clearly, he overheard Paulie. The three of us lose it and burst out laughing.
“Um. Michaels. Dominguez wants to speak with you.”
I give him a nod, but my insides freeze. I blow out a breath. “Looks like it’s my turn. Wish me luck, bros.”
They hold out their fists, and I give them each a quick dab.
“I’ll take care of your tray,” Paulie adds quickly.
I send him an appreciative smile and then leave the caf.
Each thud of my steps syncs with the thud in my chest. This is it. My future is waiting to be decided in the office at the end of this hall. A buzzing fills my ears, and the hallway seems to somehow lengthen even as I take steps forward. I’m trying not to get my hopes up. Easton just got goodnews after getting this same call. But that doesn’t mean I will too.
My hand shakes as I reach for the door handle.
Breathe, Shane.
I open the door, and my attention falls on the two men sitting at the small desk. Victor Dominguez is behind his desk. He’s a short guy with a bit of a belly, one he uses to rest his clipboard on. He’s got kind eyes with permanent laugh lines and warm brown skin. Next to him is a man I’m all too familiar with. Short auburn hair, thin freckled face, and sharp hazel eyes. Babs—my Double-A head coach from last year.
My insides hollow out. I somehow force myself to sit in the free chair in front of the desk even though I don’t really remember moving. I don’t feel anything at all, really. Did my heart stop beating?
“Michaels,” Dominguez says gently.
Oh shit. Shit, shit,shit.
My eyes meet Babs’s. An apology glints back at me. I clear my throat and meet the Triple-A coach’s gaze. “Sir,” I say roughly.
“We’ve been extremely impressed with your playing since you started with the Jetties’ franchise. This Spring Training, you’ve continued to prove your worth to this organization and blown us away with your talent. Noonan in particular was singing your praises. Not often something you hear from a major league manager.”
“Thank you,” I manage, even though my throat is trying to close up. I’m obviously allergic to something in this room. Mold? Probably mold. They should really get that checked.
“Unfortunately, not everything in this business is about talent,” Dominguez continues. He leans back and rests hishands on his belly. “Roster logistics don’t allow us to assign you to Triple-A this year. Right now, the infield’s loaded, especially shortstop. You’ve got the talent for it, no question, but there’s just no spot at the moment.”
There it is. I had thought I was numb, but apparently not, because my heart just shriveled up and died. It hurts a fuck ton more than I was expecting. Disappointment. Not being good enough. Baseball is my one thing—and now I’m falling short even at that.
“Michaels.” Babs’s firm voice has my head snapping up. “This is in no way a reflection on your talent or your importance to this organization. You know how quickly things move in this industry. You know how often players are moved up and down throughout the season. This is not a death sentence, as much as your face says otherwise. You’ll get your shot, kid. Keep working and don’t lose sight of the endgame.”
I swallow hard. “Of course. I’m honored to be playing for you again, Babs.”
He smiles. “Don’t feed me that bullshit, Michaels. It’s okay to be disappointed. This was one of the toughest calls we had to make this Spring Training.”
I think that was supposed to make me feel better, and maybe it should, but I still lost, you know? You were a top contender! But…not good enough to be chosen. Here’s youralmost made ittrophy. It’s what I expected. I don’t know why I got my hopes up. I was never going to beat out Jed Stone Jr.
“It might come sooner than you think,” Dominguez says.
I know he’s referring to Stone. It’s no secret they want him in the big leagues this year, just need to gain more confidence in his post-injury arm. Then I’m in.
I’m vaguely aware of smiling, thanking them for their time, and leaving the room. I guess I just have to wait it out until Stone gets called up. But then what? There’s still no room for me. Jed could be playing into his late thirties or early forties. I guess I should just accept the fact that I probably won’t be having a career with the Jetties.
Goodbye, Jetties.
