Chapter 25 - Emmett
Emmett
“This is the training room,” I tell Milo. “And this is Dr Rhodes. She’ll be overseeing any treatment you’ll need.”
Kennedy holds her hand out to shake his.
“Hi.” He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out a pitch too high and it has me questioning just how long ago he went through puberty. “Nice to meet you.”
“Welcome to the team. Let me know if you need anything on this end of things, and if you need anything out on the field, my husband Isaiah can help you out.”
His eyes go impossibly wide. “Isaiah Rhodes? You’re married to him?”
“I am.”
“I’m a huge fan.” He catches himself. “I don’t know if I can say that anymore though, since I’m his teammate now.”
Milo Jones is young enough that he’s fanboying over his own teammates. Got it.
“That’s okay. I’m kind of a fan myself sometimes. And heck, I’m married to the guy.” She offers him a wave before she gets back to work. “Congrats on the call-up.”
I cup Milo’s shoulder, moving him along. The poor kid is practically shaking like a leaf under my palm. He’s been a ball of nerves since he walked into the building earlier today and it hasn’t subsided since we started this tour.
I don’t particularly blame him. The day you get called up from the minors is one of the biggest days of your life. It’s equal parts exciting and terrifying, but that fear is definitely compounded on this particular day.
Unsurprisingly, the city and the league have been in a state of pandemonium over Reese’s decision to trade Harrison Kaiser to Houston.
It cleared some room in the budget as well as a spot on the roster, but the fans have been in an uproar all day and I have a feeling it’s not going to let up anytime soon.
It’s far worse than I was expecting, and while yes, it could be perceived as a controversial trade to offer up a well-known veteran before we know our playoff potential, the headlines have been less focused on the move itself and more so on the fact that it was made by a woman.
Even if I didn’t know Reese, I’d be disgusted by some of the things being said online. But I do know her. I know her intentions. I know her heart and love for this team.
Don’t get me wrong, scrutiny from fans and media outlets over trades and pickups is all part of the game. But this is on a different level, and everyone in this building knows it.
I haven’t gotten a chance to speak to Reese today.
It’s been a bit of a whirlwind with the media, Milo’s arrival, and the usual changes that happen when a new player joins the team.
All I can do is hope that she’s stayed offline.
The things people have been saying, the names they’ve been calling her .
. . it doesn’t matter how tough you are or how solid you stand in your business decisions, it’s enough to make anyone break.
“What’s in there?” Milo asks, pointing at a set of closed doors as we pass them.
Images of last night run through my mind as I stand outside the gym where I got Reese off. The way she moaned my name. The way she tasted on my fingers.
Thankfully, I did a deep clean of the mirrors before I left last night.
“That’s uh . . .” I clear my throat. “That’s just the gym, but let’s keep the tour moving, yeah?”
He gives an unconfident nod of his head, and I feel for the kid. He’s young, and the scrutiny of today isn’t just landing on Reese—he’s getting his fair share too. The pressure on his shoulders is far greater than it should be for someone’s first day in the major league.
“You nervous?” I ask quietly.
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t you be?”
“Oh, I was fucking terrified on my first day in the league.” Out of the corner of his eye, I watch as he looks up at me. “Everyone has a first day. Then you’ll have a second. Then soon enough you’ll lose track of the days, and you’ll forget why you were ever nervous in the first place.”
“Pretty sure I’ll never forget why I was nervous today. I just got called up for Harrison Kaiser. What the hell?”
“Yeah,” I state confidently. “You did.”
“No one thinks I’m ready for this.”
“Okay. Do you think you’re ready?”
He hesitates with his answer. “I don’t know. The fans are pissed.”
“Let us handle the fans. You just focus on doing your job.”
He nods, but the fear is still evident, so I place a hand on his shoulder, stopping our walk down the hall to make sure he’s looking me in the eye.
“This was not an unplanned decision. A lot of thought went into this. You’re not here by chance. You’re here because Reese thinks you’re ready. I do too. So instead of worrying about the fans, how about you focus on proving them wrong and proving her right?”
He swallows hard. “Yes, sir.”
“Jesus.” I exhale a laugh. “Call me Monty. You make me feel old as fuck when you call me sir.”
Milo chuckles and it’s nice to hear the kid finally laugh on one of the biggest days of his life.
“And this is the clubhouse,” I tell him as I open one of the double doors.
If I could get inside his head, I’d imagine it sounds a whole lot like the gates of heaven opening right now. His eyes are wide in awe, and it just makes him appear even younger.
I know I’m harping on his age, but it has me nervous. This is a lot of pressure for a grown man to handle, let alone a kid who’s still coming into himself.
But then I remind myself that he looks around the age that I was when I came into the league for the first time.
And that makes me think about Miller and how I became her dad shortly after that.
Looking at Milo has me realizing just how young I was when I took on that role, and if I could handle becoming a single father of a five-year-old, then he can handle this.
“Guys,” I call out, and every one of my players who is fucking around in the locker room turns in my direction. “This is Milo Jones. Milo, these are the guys.”
There’s a beat of silence, and I’m sure Milo is entirely in his head right now, thinking this team is pissed about Reese trading Harrison and pulling him up in his place.
But they’re not. I think they’re all relieved, even if they can’t admit that out loud.
“Hey, man.” Cody is the first to step forward, putting his hand in his and swinging his arm around to tap him on the back. “I’m Cody. First base. Congrats.”
Milo breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Thanks.”
I can see him fighting the urge to tack on “I know exactly who you are,” but it’s probably for the best if he doesn’t come on too strong in the fan department.
The rest of the guys introduce themselves and though I already knew they’d be welcoming to the new guy, I’m also proud that it’s something I didn’t have to worry about.
We have a really decent group of guys, and though the team is currently under a ton of scrutiny after the trade news that broke this morning, they make it a little easier knowing their team dynamic isn’t on my list of concerns.
“Isaiah,” I say, calling over my shortstop. “Do me a favor and take care of him for me. Show him his locker stall. Make sure no one from the media is getting him to answer any questions. I’ll be back. I just need to go check on . . . something.”
“How’s Reese doing?” he asks quietly, his voice laced with sincerity. For being a complete goofball most of the time, he’s quick to pick up on exactly where my head is.
The guys have seen the headlines today too. They’ve all seen the names she’s been called. They’ve seen their team owner undermined publicly more than any other owner has been before.
And I hate that for her for multiple reasons, but I can’t imagine how hard it’s going to be for her to continue to run this organization with confidence, holding her head high as she walks these halls, knowing her entire staff has witnessed her name being dragged through the mud.
She’ll do it because she’s a fucking boss and has bigger balls than any other owner in the league, but I hate that she has to.
“I’m going to go find out,” I tell Isaiah.
With Milo settled with the guys, I slip out of the clubhouse and head straight upstairs for her office.
The top floor is brimming with stress. The offices are packed on this Monday afternoon.
People move from room to room. Conversations are hushed but frantic. It has my feet picking up pace to get to Reese’s office while also hoping she’s not in there. Hoping she’s not surrounded with this kind of energy today.
I turn into her receptionist area, where, shockingly, there’s still no receptionist sitting outside her office. And with how feral people are regarding this trade, the last thing I want is for anyone to be able to get to her.
Well, besides me. I still want to be able to get to her.
I push through her door, and when the field comes into view from the massive windows lining her office, I find Reese’s desk chair empty.
She’s not in her office at all, and it fills me with both relief and worry. Relief that she’s not surrounded by the current chaos. Worried that she’s getting even more shit about this trade somewhere out there than she would be if she were hiding in her office right now.
It doesn’t take me long to piece together where she might be.
I tend to find her in the dugout when the players are gone and there’s no baseball to be played. And while the guys are still here, today’s practice is already over, so it’s worth a shot.
I take the elevator down to the clubhouse level once again, keeping a casual stride down the tunnel to not draw anyone’s attention or cause someone to join me outside. The boys are still chattering away in the locker room when I pass, but the tunnel is empty.
And so is the field when it comes into view.
I can’t see anyone in the dugout either.
Until I turn the corner around the partition that separates the field manager’s seat and find Reese sitting on the ledge above the bench.