Chapter 2 #2
“Like hell if you fuckers think Dakota will let me be auctioned off,” Callaway chimes in, reminding us of how protective Kodi is of him. Must be nice.
“Tenley would be grateful to be rid of me,” Gus adds, only escalating the laughter in the room another notch.
“Sure as hell would,” a feminine voice resounds from behind us. That’s when we spot Tenley Graves, formerly Tenley Abrams, passing our locker room on her way out with a fist held high. “See you at home, honey.”
“Oh, Mama’s getting it tonight.” Gus grins, hands rubbing together in eagerness.
“Thank you, Tenley,” Coach calls to her before steering his attention back to us. “Not all of you will be auctioned off, but some will. Most likely, those who are single.”
“Oh, shit,” Kingston bellows, conjecturing out loud who that will be. “So, that leaves…myself, Jethro, Mack, and Briggs.”
Me. Great.
“Don’t forget about Coach.” All eyes cut to Jethro, our second baseman, and although he’s no longer a rookie on the team, I’ll never not see him as one. He’s a royal pain in the ass and has an unhealthy habit of not thinking before he speaks. Like now, for instance.
A cold chill fills the room, no one daring to make eye contact with Coach. But his anxiety over the comment can be felt without looking. “Players only, Hale.”
That squashed it.
“My bad,” Jethro responds, thankfully catching the vibe.
“Now that that’s settled, let’s talk about recovery.
Any new or recurring injuries I need to be aware of before the season starts?
” Coach asks. “Don’t wait until opener to consult medical.
You got any small issues that could turn into major issues later on when we need you the most, I need you to be on top of it.
Get therapy going before it progresses.”
My hand lifts slowly, and I’m not worried about the reaction I’ll receive. The team knows I was injured last season, but I thought after a bit of rehab and a few games off, the pain had subsided. As of late, that hasn’t been the case.
At the end of last season, playoffs were heating up, and the stakes were high against the Astros.
Tension so thick it could be felt from the stands.
It was the bottom of the ninth, and Bodhi threw the ball from catcher’s squat to an attempted steal at second, which, unlike him, ended up being an overthrow.
That’s where I came in to back up Jethro at second base.
That’s also when the runner on third thought he’d use the opportunity to try and score home.
Not on my watch if he thinks I’d let that slide. But luck was not on my side because the moment the ball slipped out of my fingertips and back to Bodhi at home plate, a pop vibrated through my elbow, and I knew I was fucked.
I’ve pushed myself through it, but I’ve experienced enough injuries over the years to know when something is just sore, or it’s something to be concerned about.
However, I know not telling Leggins about it would do me more harm than good.
He’s always had our backs when it comes to protecting our careers.
Injuries are a slippery slope in the Major Leagues; the fastest way to become a free agent when you’re no longer an asset to the team.
And if I’m considering retiring after this season, I need to be on my A game.
I make good money, yes. Excellent money, actually.
But this year, I want to stash it all away for Addie.
Secure her bank account with enough money to set her up for the rest of her life. My salary as a ball player alone can give her that and more. Then, after retirement, I can focus on Boone.
No one else besides Gus knows about my possible plans to retire.
It’s not set in stone, although every day I find myself more and more convinced it’s the right thing to do.
I’m fortunate enough to have played the game I love for most of my adult life, while also being paid well above my means.
It’s a luxury most will never experience and one I don’t take for granted.
Coach eyes me with uncertainty, likely thinking what I expected. “Same or different, Briggs?”
I clear my throat. “Same, Coach. Not sure if I fucked it up more, but lately it hurts to overextend it. I’ve been alternating ice and heat at night. Eating a shit ton of Advil but can’t seem to shake it.”
He nods in understanding. “Hurt to play?”
“Not always. Throwing from center to catch, yeah. But not always.”
“We’ll rehab it for the next two weeks. Pitcher’s Elbow can be a bitch to heal. May just take working through it. Let’s do whatever we can to avoid surgery, got me?”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
“And you let me know if you need to sit the bench in the meantime.”
“Not necessary, Coach.”
Coach claps his hands together, finalizing the meeting.
“Alright then. I’ll have Tenley get everything together and send you the auction details.
No rush, but make sure you get it on your schedule.
I don’t want to hear about it nine months from now that you’ve got plans.
Remember, this is black tie. Dress to impress.
That’s the only way we have a chance of raising this money.
” He sends daggers toward Bodhi, knowing he almost always finds a way out of dressing up; joggers and sweatshirts are his everyday staples.
Thankfully, Bodhi’s wife, Navy, is the sportswear designer for the Strikers, likely leaving him with no choice but to look his best.
“Have you met my wife?” Bodhi blanks.
That got Leggins to smile. “She’s one of the very best, St. James.”
“That she is, Coach. That she is. You can expect me to look better than half these fuckers here. I promise you that.”
Speaking of, I should probably get fitted for another suit.
Most of the ones I own are too small. Despite my injury, I’ve worked overtime building heavy in the gym this past year, homing in on my nutrition as well.
I eat so much goddamn chicken, I’d be content not eating it again for the rest of my life.
Proof that protein does a body good, though, because I’m confident that if I tried to squeeze into one of my current suit pants, I’d split the seam with my thighs alone.
The team stands, dismissing themselves from the meeting and gathering their things to head home. I, however, must have panic written across my forehead in neon color because Callaway notices instantly. “You good, man? Heading home for the night?”
I peer up at him. No wonder the guy had women kissing his feet for years.
He’s got tattoos across every square inch of him, and that whole Henry Cavill energy going on.
Too bad he’s a big softie. “I am. Ms. Vanna is there with Addie. Hilary was supposed to call me, but I haven’t heard from her yet.
Kinda has me worried.” I look down at my phone screen, checking my call log again. Maybe I missed it somehow? But nothing.
Callaway places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure everything’s okay. She would have called you right away had something happened. You drive or need a ride?”
I shake my head and stand. “Nah. I drove. Thanks, though. Appreciate it.”
“Call if you need anything, Briggs. You know where to find me.”
Most of the team has already left the clubhouse, leaving just a few of us.
Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder.
I take a deep breath, soaking in the place that’s been my home away from home for too many years to count.
Makers Park is designed with luxury. Wood and black accents give the entire clubhouse an urban feel.
Yet comfort and pride ooze from it with ease.
The black-and-yellow Strikers’ color palette tastefully decorates each space of the park.
The spirit of the team can be felt from anywhere, but it never loses that high-end value.
Navy has worked hard to make the design of everything feel modern by the blueprint, but vintage and classic to add charm.
She succeeded. And no matter how many times I enter this space, the place where we congregate for all of our hash-outs or praise reports, find a couch to crash on, or need a crappy snack to get us through it, it’s a comfort for me.
This game is my comfort. The team. The staff. The fans. All of it.
But what’s the point if my favorite girl is at home waiting for me? What’s the point if I don’t have the one thing I’ve wanted since I was a fucking kid? Love. I’ll never have a chance to meet the love of my life if I’m never home.
I need to be home.
Without another glance around, I’m pushing through the clubhouse doors, on a one-track mind to get some much-needed rest before surprising Doodle with a “yes day” tomorrow.
She’s going to lose her mind when she hears what I have in store.
I can’t wait.