“You’re still reaching. Come look at this,” Colby says, pulling up her video of his last round. I step away from them, letting her do her thing as I dip into the clubhouse to cool off before our game.
I snag my phone from my locker and sift to my read messages, landing on the one from Scott, my agent, that’s been weighing heavy on my mind since it showed up at about six this morning.
SCOTT:Chicago wants the better Vargas. You. And Texas needs pitching. Want me to nudge?
Scott has no clue about me and Colby. His timing is nothing more than incredibly coincidental. He only knows that I’ve been itching to get called up, and last season I told him to keep his ears open.
Chicago means I’d be starting in center field, in Wrigleyville. I mean, who wouldn’t want that? Of course, that’s also seven hundred and sixty-seven miles away from Sweetwater. Away from Colby. And that’s very undesirable. The only thing that might tip the scales, oddly enough, would be Colby heading to Texas, to join the staff and work her magic on the big boys. An extra three hundred miles, but worth every inch.
ME:Let’s see what’s there. And I need a favor.
I toss my phone back into my locker and snag a roll of tape for my wrists. I’ve grown used to the extra support, or at this point maybe it’s a superstition. Whatever the case, if I’m going to seal the deal for anything with today’s performance, I need every good omen in my corner.
I tear off the last piece after my right wrist feels the added support from my lucky red tape, and my phone buzzes with a call. I see it’s Scott, so I glance around to make sure I’m alone in here, then answer.
“My man, you would look good in Chicago blue,” Scott says the moment I answer.
I chuckle. There’s a certain level of car salesmanship to his tone at all times. I suppose it goes with the gig, but I don’t hear Adriel’s agent talking like that. Of course, his guy spends most of his time cleaning up my brother’s messes, so it makes sense he has a grittier, get-it-done tone.
“Maybe, if it’s right,” I say. “But hey, I also need a favor. And I know this is out of your scope, but . . .” I look over my shoulder again, double-checking the room, then lean into my cubby tighter to make sure my voice doesn’t travel.
“You rep any coaches by chance?” A lot of the staff have representation, and maybe Colby needs someone who knows the shortcuts in this world.
“I have, sure. Never a head coach or anything, but some of the pitching coaches for New York and Baltimore. Why?” He doesn’t sound uninterested, so I take my shot and fill him in on the unique opportunity Colby presents. Maybe a phone call from Scott will nudge Texas to pay closer attention.
“It’s my job to be up on my clients’ personal lives, to an extent, so I know you and your brother have history with her. Is that why you’re bringing this up?”
I exhale and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Yes and no. Colby and I are . . . we’re close. So, it’s not out of malice or anything like that.” I decide to spare my agent the full details about how close, for now. If he’s as good as he says at knowing the dirt, I’m sure he’ll eventually figure that out on his own.
“I just want her to get a fair shake. She’s the only one who can talk to Adriel like he needs to be, too. She cuts through his bullshit and tells him what he needs to hear.”
“He’s been tearing it up,” Scott acknowledges.
Imagine what kind of player my brother could be if he had someone around who actually gave a shit about him. He might frustrate the hell out of Colby and me—andeveryone, for that matter. But he’s still family to us. Colby knows his drive and potential better than anyone, except maybe her dad.
“And she’s not represented by anyone?” Scott sounds surprised.
“Nope. Her college coach knew a guy who knew a guy, but she made the leap from NCAA softball to the MLB because of word of mouth. And yeah, I’m sure the good press had something to do with it.”
I hate to think of her work as a gimmick. Especially when there are so many male coaches doing jack shit around here. Like Bastion.
“Huh, yeah. I’ll make some calls. I can’t promise anything, but I can see what’s there. And she’d have to become a client.”
I nod to myself.
“We’ll cross that bridge if it turns into something,” I say, hoping I can get Colby to buy into my insane idea.
Essentially, the pitch to her is let’s move a thousand miles apart so we can be together. Basically, asinine.
I end my call with Scott and scroll to my brother’s contact, hovering my thumb over his name. I’m sure he’s in the gym, getting a pre-pump before tonight’s game. Probably fueling upon dangerous amounts of energy drinks and fucking Adderall too. I wonder if Colby could put a stop to that shit?
I stand to pace as the phone rings in my ear. Adriel makes it hard to sit still, even when I’m simply talking to him. He doesn’t answer my first call, so I dial again, figuring he’s screening me.
“What?” he finally answers.
“Pssh, you’re such an ass,” I say. I was right.
