Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
JAYDEN
It’s no use pretending I slept last night. My jaw locks with my yawn, and Jake jabs me in the ribs as I wait to take my round for batting practice before our morning game.
“You out partying with your brother?” he teases.
I roll my eyes. “Hardly,” I grumble.
Jake steps in to take his round of swings, and I scan the field in search of Colby. I haven’t seen her yet this morning, and I haven’t seen Coach Shuster, either. I hope he hasn’t pulled her in for discipline. If she’s being scolded, I should be too.
Last night, maybe five whole minutes passed after Colby left my room before I texted her, promising everything would be okay.
She told me I needed to sleep, to be ready for the game this morning.
She was right; I probably should have slept.
But instead, I started piecing together what led to her spiral.
And when I saw the comments at the bottom of the story about Adriel getting called back up to Texas, the reason for Cobly’s absence came into glaring focus.
This is why you can’t have women in the clubhouse.
That was the tamest of the bunch. Most of the comments were nasty assumptions about how Colby got her job.
And when I followed the threads online into various social media platforms, I fell down rabbit hole after rabbit hole about things that didn’t exist—like a strange love triangle between me, Colby, and my brother involving a secret baby.
I actually laughed that one off. And I was nearly tired enough to succumb to sleep with the intent to assure Colby that things truly would be all right this morning when I clicked on the worst social media string of them all.
It was comment after comment rehashing our worst nightmare.
Someone linked my father’s arrest records from driving under the influence three times before.
Another person shared a screenshot of the newspaper article that day after the crash.
But it was the link to Colby’s mother’s obituary that truly went too far.
Just because something is printed in a paper doesn’t mean the circumstances aren’t private.
That obituary was made so the multitude of people who loved Meg Kessler would know how to celebrate her.
And some internet sleuth uncovered it in the middle of the night to show how it serves as one more piece of evidence why Colby shouldn’t be coaching me.
I called my brother, but it went right to voicemail.
I’m sure he was on a plane already. Not that he cares about the mess left in his wake.
Even if he didn’t directly cause this strange fallout for Colby, he has at least some power to put things right.
He could tell the world our side of the story, or better yet, hers. Ask for grace.
Yeah, we all knew each other before fate plopped us together in Sweetwater and Little Rock. But we also did our damn jobs. And we did them well. Colby probably the best of all of us. Fuck, my brother just keeps lucking out.
“Vargas!” Coach Bastion barks my name.
“Yeah, sorry,” I grunt, yanking my bat from the backstop and stepping around to the plate to take my swings.
He eyes me for a moment before tossing in the first pitch. I take a half-assed hack and glance over my shoulder, half expecting to hear Colby telling me to look ready, to close off my stance. But the only person watching is Jake, and he’s focused on rubbing pine tar on his grip.
“You got somewhere else you’d like to be?” Coach Bastion says, throwing a ball my way while I’m not fully looking.
“Hey!” I toss my bat across the cage and trudge toward him.
He drops the two balls in his palms into the bag and marches toward me.
I roll my sleeves up, seriously considering decking a man more than twice my age.
It helps that he looks like he’s considering hitting back.
We nearly meet in the middle when Jake rushes between us, forcing his arms straight and pushing us both back a few steps with his palms on our chests.
“Whoa, whoa, come on now. Let’s take a beat . . .” Jake glances over his shoulder, and Coach Bastion takes his shot at me, swinging toward my chin and slapping my jaw with his fingertips.
“The fuck?” I press my palm against the skin he scratched, then hold my hand out to inspect. I spot some blood.
“You’re lucky I couldn’t get a full swing in. That I had to fight like a girl,” he says, pressing into Jake’s palm.
I’ve stepped back, not because I don’t want to hit him, but because Coach Shuster is marching toward us from behind Bastion.
“What’s your obsession with saying people do shit like a girl. Is that why Coach Kessler isn’t here? Did you make her uncomfortable with your sexist bullshit?”
Colby told me Bastion was on her ass about things, and I can only imagine the types of comments she had to endure.
“Coach Kessler is in Sweetwater. And you two better get your asses in the dugout right the fuck now!” Coach Shuster’s round cheeks are a bright red, his lips stretched thin over what I imagine to be gritted teeth.
“She’s in Sweetwater?” I pick up on that important piece of info just as Coach Shuster grabs my right sleeve and jerks me around, sending me a few steps ahead of him and Coach Bastion with a healthy shove.
“Yeah, she’s waiting for the team to get back. And I’m about to send you two there too,” Coach Shuster mumbles while the three of us drag our feet over the infield grass before hopping the chalk line and taking the steps down into the dugout.
I pace to the opposite end, folding my hands behind my neck, and when I turn around, Coach Bastion is sitting on the backrest of the bench with his body leaning forward and elbows resting on his knees.
His hard stare does little to intimidate me, but I respect the boundaries Coach Shuster puts in place by standing between us. He points at Coach Bastion first.
“I swear to God, Danny, if I find out this bullshit started with you . . .” Coach Bastion holds up his palms and boasts his best, innocent expression with wide eyes and an open mouth. I almost forgot that was his first name until Coach shouted it at him.
“And you. Is this because your brother went to Texas and you didn’t?
Because you’re a smart kid, and you know it had nothing to do with shit like him being better, or you not being ready.
Texas owns him. They needed a part, and he plays that part.
So they pulled him out of the toolbox. That’s it.
” Coach stares at me with his jaw locked, and I nod.
“Yeah, I get that. And no, sir. I honestly don’t give a shit what Texas does with or thinks about my brother.”
Coach Shuster takes a step back, and Bastion chuckles over his shoulder. The two of them are likely a little shocked to hear my blunt honesty on the subject.
“Fucking hell,” Coach Shuster says, rubbing both palms over his face. He turns to Coach Bastion and waves him back to the field. “Go run BP. And try to keep your goddamn mouth shut.”
Coach Bastion takes off, not even bothering to glance my way and gloat that he’s being set free. He knows he’s on a shit list.
“Take a seat,” Coach Shuster says, tilting his head toward the bench.
I’m too wired to sit, though, so I shake my head. “Can’t. No disrespect.” My nostrils flex, like a bull’s.
“Yeah, all right. Fine. I’ll sit, then.” He pulls his hat from his head and tosses it on the bench before sitting next to it. He rubs his fists in his eyes as he mutters something like, “Goddamn social media bullshit.”
“Look, I don’t have those tweeters or books or whatever shit that’s on phones.
I don’t have time for that stuff. And if it isn’t going to help me put together wins on the field, I don’t need it.
If I need to see pictures of my grandkids, my wife shows them to me.
Other than that, I use my phone to read scores and take phone calls. ”
I blink slowly, folding my arms over my chest, wondering what his point is.
“Shit, sorry about the tirade.” He snags his hat from the bench and pushes his fist inside, ironing out the dents before slicking his thinning hair back with one hand and pushing the hat back in place on his head.
“What I’m trying to say is, I don’t understand how social media works, but Campbell, our PR gal, filled me in last night.
She said there was some viral story going around about you and your brother and Colby’s past. And then Coach Bastion heard us talking about it before the press briefing, and he told me he has concerns about how close you and Colby seem—”
“She’s my best friend,” I butt in.
He pauses and snaps his mouth shut, nodding and working his jaw for a moment before uttering, “I get that.”
“No, you don’t. Nobody does. Colby Kessler is the only person I’ve ever been fully myself with.
I trust her more than anyone in this entire world.
When she tells me I’m playing like trash, she means it.
And if she says I’m on the right path, then I better keep going.
It’s what makes her a great coach. Not just for this team, but for me.
She’s a great fucking coach. Sorry for the swear, sir. ”
His lips twitch with a short smirk and he holds up a hand.
“I like the fucking passion,” he says, making a joke.
It eases the tightness in my chest a little. I still can’t sit, though.
“Why did you send her home?”
Coach draws in a long breath, his shoulders lifting near his ears before dropping with his sudden exhale.
“It had nothing to do with Coach Kessler or her ability. Let’s get that out of the way first,” he says.
“Okay, then send me home. Or Coach Woman Hater over there.”
“Hey, hey,” he says. I level him with a look, though, and he seems unable to fully disagree with my assessment.
“Your feelings about Coach Bastion aside, he isn’t a part of this situation. It’s a media optics thing, and when Campbell let me know that people were bringing up the accident, I worried that it might upset Coach Kessler.”
“It upsets me,” I say, subtly pointing out to him that it’s wrong to blame a woman for feeling upset. “It’s a human emotion. People get upset when other people are assholes.”
His gaze drops, and he stares at his hands folded in his lap for a long, quiet moment.
“You’re not wrong, Jayden. But this isn’t one of those problems I get to solve and call it a day.
I decided to send Colby home to give everyone some space.
I know she’s valuable to this team, and I’m not looking to cut her loose.
But I didn’t want rumors coming to a boiling point and ownership handing down orders to get rid of her.
“It might mean she doesn’t work with you. Or maybe she’s in analytics, and not hands-on with players. At least until you get called up, which I still believe is in your near future.”
I see his point, and in a way, I admire his ability to be sensible.
But he’s not the one in love with a woman who is hurting and alone.
And he’s not the guy who watched her crumble to pieces when a deputy delivered her father devastating news.
He didn’t cry alongside her when we both realized we had lost a parent.
And he couldn’t understand the unspoken yearning that lives deep in my chest, having been told to stay away from her for years.
“With or without your permission, Coach, I am going back to Sweetwater.”
His gaze pops up to meet mine, and his short-lasting smile fades as soon as our eyes meet.
“I’m not joking. I’m going back. Not later. Now. And yeah, I know you might have to punish me, bench me for a few games, fine me. You can call my agent. And whatever Campbell thinks you need to tell the press, if anyone cares, I’ll agree to it. Maybe I have the measles. It’s going around now . . .”
Coach chuckles and rolls his eyes. He gets to his feet, walks around the bench the long way, then stops a few steps away from me.
“I meant what I said in that presser last night. It’s your attitude that’s going to make you elite in this game, Jayden. You’ve got the talent, but a lot of blowhards have talent. What you bring out here is a certain respect. It demands people give it back.”
“I understand,” I say, leaving this stadium before the game starts, regardless.
Coach nods.
“It’s why I’m going to give you a pass. This one time. Nobody needs to get a story, except for that guy out there. What did you call him?” He nudges his elbow toward Coach Bastion.
“Coach Woman Hater.”
Coach Shuster winces. “Yeah, that’s right. Well . . . anyhow, as far as he knows, you’re heading home to cool off. I pulled you from the start today because I don’t put up with outbursts on my field. Which will maybe make him think twice about throwing punches, too. Does that story work for you?”
I nod. “Yes, Coach. I’m on board with that.”
He grumbles through a heavy exhale and pulls a piece of gum from his back pocket, nearly putting it in his mouth still wrapped.
“I picked a bad week to quit the fucking tobacco,” he gripes.
I’m tempted to tell him that tobacco is bad for him, but I better quit while I’m ahead.
Without a guarantee that Colby's job is in fact secure, I won’t have much to offer other than my promise to fight on her behalf, no matter what it takes.
I head into the locker room and change out of my uniform while booking myself on the next flight to Oklahoma. I'm on my way home.