Chapter 9 #2
I think about my team and the way they are toward Max, loving him as if he were one of the guys. Or the way my college players were with Miller while I was raising her, always hyping her up when she brought homemade cookies to share with them.
“I doubt that. Baseball is one big family. I know you don’t see it that way, but it is. I bet they went to your birthday parties because you were one of them.”
She stays silent for a long moment, eyes on the field.
“I know it is,” she finally says. “I know how much community and comradery there is. I grew up in that environment, Emmett. I’m not just some random owner, fresh out of business school with no connection to this team. This team is my family’s legacy. This is my childhood and all my best memories.
“I know you think I’m coming in here and trying to blow everything up,” she continues.
“But I promise you, I’m not. I want to better this team because I love it.
I want to be able to give other people their best memories too.
Whether that be the days they spend at the field as a fan or the years they spend in a Warriors jersey as a player.
I know you think I’m heartless, but every decision I’ve made is to preserve the thing I love most in hopes that other people will continue to be able to love it too.
In order to do that, I don’t have the luxury to view this as anything but a business right now. ”
Words stick in my throat because this is just about the most open I’ve ever heard her.
And I like it.
This version of Reese . . . this version is dangerous for me.
She swallows hard. “Look, this needs to stay between us, but my grandfather wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention the last few years. He was spending far too much money and now our budget is a mess, and I feel partly at fault for that.”
My brows cinch together. “How is any of that your fault? You weren’t there.”
“Exactly. But I was supposed to be. He wanted to retire years ago and I was ready to take over, but there was one problem.”
Everything we discussed last night comes flooding back.
“You were still married,” I realize.
“My grandfather wouldn’t sign the team over, for good reason, until he was sure that Jeremy would have no legal claim to it.”
“Wow.” I sit back in my chair. “I had no idea. I knew Arthur was ready for retirement, but I assumed he was holding out because he still loved it.”
“He did, but he wasn’t invested the way he used to be. He wanted to be home with my grandmother more, so he made decisions like hiring Scott to run the baseball side of things and spending money just to make others happy.”
There’s something in the way she tacks on that last part that feels directed at me, but that wouldn’t make sense. Arthur never spent extra money on me, unless she’s referring to that extra video coaching position that I’m still not entirely over.
But hearing her speak about the love and responsibility she feels to this team brings a whole new wave of understanding that I didn’t have before. Maybe she really did have to cut that position, and that realization makes me feel like an absolute dick for not being the one to do it.
Reese refocuses on the field, clapping as our first batter makes his way to the plate. “Let’s go, Braden!” she yells, hands cupped around her lips.
I glance in her direction, a little confused. “You sound like you know him.”
She seems just as puzzled when she looks my way. “I do.”
“You’ve met him?”
“Of course I have. I’ve met his whole family. His mom made one of the best lasagnas I’ve ever had.”
“You’ve had dinner with him? And with his family?”
“Yes, Emmett,” she says with a slight chuckle. “I’ve met all of them. During the offseason, I traveled the country, introducing myself.”
I’m shocked silent but somehow am still able to exhale a question. “Why?”
“Wouldn’t you be a little freaked out if the franchise you’re signed with got a brand-new president and owner all in one go? I wanted to be able to put faces to names and ease any concerns they might have. These guys are our future players.”
I should probably focus on reiterating how impressive that is, that she went out of her way to do that. But instead, I’m still having a hard time finding words, so again, I give her only one.
“Our?”
She shoots me a deadpan look. “We’ll see.”
“What about the guys on the Warriors?”
“I met most of them last year while I was shadowing and they’re kind of stuck with me all season. Plus, they don’t need as much assurance. They’ve already made it.”
“You seriously made sure to meet every single one of these guys and their families?”
She nods as if it were no big deal, eyes on the game.
I’ve never known an owner or president to take that kind of initiative.
But when I think about my own time, coming up through the developmental system and hoping to one day play in the majors, I would’ve felt so valued as not only a player but also a person if the team owner went out of their way to meet me.
“Well, Reese. For someone who views baseball as just a business, you sure met a lot of families.”
She slightly shakes her head, still unable to take her eyes off the game.
And when Braden hits a double, it feels like I’m watching the baseball fan version of Reese next to me as she cheers for him.
She tells me all about the second and third batters in the lineup as they each make their way to home plate.
She tells me where they went to school, how long they’ve been playing, and where they’re from.
She even spews out some of their stats from memory.
And I’m not talking about the simple stats like their batting percentage that’s displayed on the jumbotron.
She recites their weighted on-base average and their OPS all from the top of her head.
Then she follows it up with things like, “His sister is a senior in high school this year,” and “He’s also very talented at the guitar.”
I swear I’m living in an alternate universe where everything I thought I knew about this woman has flown right out the window. Yes, she’s business savvy and will be great for the franchise in that regard, but she also knows the game. Far more than anyone realizes.
She also cares for these players’ well-being far more than she realizes, but that’s a conversation for a different day.
That apology I already owed her becomes even more imperative.
“Reese.” My tone is serious as I turn slightly in my chair to face her. She hears it too, evident in the way her smile drops soberly. “I need to apologize.”
“It’s fine, Emmett. I promise.”
“It’s not, though. I shouldn’t have undermined you the way I did during and after that advisory board meeting. I’m sorry.”
She offers me an understanding smile. “Well, thank you for saying that. And I’m sorry for not giving a heads-up about wanting to trade one of your players.”
A concessions worker slowly scales the steps, a hot dog sign plastered to the heated bag he’s wearing.
“Want one?” Reese asks, and though I know she’s trying to change the subject, I’m starving, and a hot dog sounds delicious.
Reese starts to reach into her purse.
“Yes, but put your wallet away. I can buy you a goddamn hot dog.” I hold up two fingers to the concessions worker, exchanging cash for two hot dogs. “But I’m capped at that.”
Chuckling, she pulls out the relish and mustard packets, assuming the prior conversation is over, but I need to explain myself.
“Reese,” I say again, placing my hand over hers to stop her from unwrapping her lunch. “The reason I was so upset after that meeting is not just because you wanted to trade one of my players.”
Slowly, she turns in her seat, giving me her full attention.
“You’re making history this year,” I remind her.
“And I’m not sure if the weight of that has fully set in for you yet.
And no, I don’t think you should base your decisions on the scrutiny you’re under, or the fear of what others may say, but in that moment, it felt like you were about to make this career-defining decision, and I wouldn’t be able to protect you from the aftermath of it. ”
I expect her to interrupt me, to say something along the lines of “I can handle it,” but she doesn’t. She simply hears me out.
“And it’s not just protecting you for this one season,” I continue.
“It’s about protecting the legacy you’re going to leave for all the women who will come after you.
There are girls who love this game the same way you do, who are going to be looking up to you.
I think about the little girl I raised and the world that’s not set up for her success.
I think about how much I would’ve loved for there to be women in positions of power for her to look up to the way you are now.
And it scared me to think about what they were going to say about you in the press.
Trading Kaiser would put so much heat on you, Reese, and I was afraid that you didn’t fully grasp the weight of that, and I was scared for you.
I took it out on you, and I’m sorry for doing that. ”
She swallows hard, eyes bouncing between mine. Her lips open then close, no words coming out, so I press her for them.
“What?” I ask.
“I think . . .” She shakes her head. “I think I’m starting to get the hype surrounding you.”
I exhale a laugh, and the tension breaks in such an easy way.
I pull my hand away so she can eat, but before I can, she grabs it, stopping me.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “For looking out for me. I try not to focus on the bigger-picture-type things because they feel heavy and overwhelming when I think about them. I already feel so much pressure every single day just doing my job, that if I think about the history books and the girls I want to inspire, I’m afraid I’ll be paralyzed with expectations. ”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “I can see that.”
“So how about I focus on the task at hand, making this team the best it can be, and if I make a decision that you think could harm the legacy I want to leave behind, you raise that concern to me and we talk it through. Deal?”
“Deal.”
She lets go of my hand, but I don’t want it back.
I like listening to her speak. I like the way she handles herself. I like her sharp mind and her quick wit.
I think I might just like her, which is a real problem when I think about protecting her legacy. The last thing she needs is her employee crushing on her.
“This is why I wanted to bring you here,” she says, nodding toward home plate. “That’s Milo Jones.”
The name sounds vaguely familiar, but not enough for it to scrounge up any memories.
“He’s twenty-two years old. From a small town in New Mexico. Played center field for his local community college and is the player I wanted to call up as Kaiser’s replacement.”
“Why have I barely heard of him?”
“He was undrafted. I found him a few years ago because my car broke down and the auto shop where I was towed was next to a community college and there just happened to be a game going on. He’s wildly talented but didn’t grow up playing competitive ball or anything like that, so he’s needed some polishing.
He started all the way at the bottom in the rookie league but has quickly moved his way up, just starting triple-A this season. ”
My eyes flit to the jumbotron displaying his batting average, but that’s not a clear enough number to let myself get excited.
“OPS?” I ask, referring to the combination of on-base percentage and his slugging percentage.
“It’s .920.”
“Jesus.”
On the third pitch, I watch as Milo swings the bat in the most natural and athletic way, connecting with the pitch. He hits what looks to be a double, the ball landing near us in right field, but with how fast he is, he stretches it to a triple, sliding into third base.
If he’s that fast in the infield, I can’t wait to see him let loose in the outfield.
“Damn.” I exhale a laugh and when I look at Reese out of the corner of my eye, I find her watching me knowingly. “You think he’s ready?”
“Only one way to find out.”
I like the confidence. I like that she’s willing to bet on herself and the player she found.
“In case no one has told you today, you are very good at your job.”
She smiles proudly. “Thank you.”
We get back to the hot dogs in our hands, dressing them with a couple of condiment packets. But there’s no onions on it and hardly any relish in the packet so my hopes aren’t too high for it.
We take a bite at the same time.
“Oh, that’s so bad.” She spits it right back into the foil wrapping.
“That’s terrible.” I find the will to swallow down that single bite but wrap the rest for the trash can. “Ours are so much better.”
“So much better. We need to get back to Chicago.”
There’s this ease and playfulness between us today, including a whole lot of honesty, which has me asking the question I’ve had lingering on my mind all week.
I take her hot dog and re-cover it, getting them both ready for the trash while trying to keep my question as casual as possible. “You were pretty adamant about trading Kaiser, and that vote didn’t mean anything. You don’t need the advisory board’s approval.”
“I know I don’t.”
My eyes meet hers. “So, why haven’t you done it yet? Just because they didn’t want you to?”
“No.” Reese’s voice is soft and earnest when she admits, “I haven’t done it yet because you didn’t want me to.”