Chapter 26 - Reese
Reese
I don’t know if I’ve ever walked as slow as I am now, going from the parking lot to the team plane out on the tarmac at O’Hare. Trying to delay the inevitable of seeing everyone on board.
I’ve already addressed the team of course.
I’ve spoken to the staff. But we’ve been under constant question since I made that trade, and it doesn’t just extend to me.
Every person in this organization is being scrutinized for my decision.
And now, I have to get on an airplane with each and every employee I’ve unintentionally added stress to.
Are the remaining players good enough to bring this team to the playoffs?
Are the coaches supportive of losing a power hitter like Kaiser?
Is Reese Remington setting the tone of being the most impulsive owner in MLB history?
Actually, I think the wording was “emotional and impulsive,” if I remember that headline correctly. Because of course I had to be labeled emotional by a bunch of fucking men. I’m a woman, after all.
I’m not an emotional person when it comes to business, but it feels as if I’m real close to becoming one.
I pride myself on having a thick skin, but these past few days have shaken me.
The headlines have been far worse than I was mentally prepared for.
They’ve made me question my confidence, and I hate that I’m allowing other people’s thoughts and feelings to cause me to second-guess my ability to do my job.
People were loud when I took over the team, but the hate was never to this extent. And the overwhelming thought that’s been playing on a loop in my mind since the trade announcement became public is that maybe my ex-husband was right. Maybe he should’ve been the face of this team.
Maybe if a man made this same trade, the chatter would’ve died down by now. Maybe my entire staff wouldn’t currently be operating in crisis mode because the first big decision that the first female team owner ever made was to trade away a majorly sought-after vet.
I’m not ready for this plane ride, but we need to get Milo’s first game under his belt and hopefully everyone will just move on.
I pass my suitcase off to one of the linemen just outside the aircraft and make my way up the stairs. As soon as I turn the corner and stand at the front of the aisle, every pair of eyes lands on me in a way I’ve been dreading all day.
Standing here splayed out for my entire staff to see, looking like shit because I’ve hardly been able to sleep or eat, all while knowing they’ve seen the headlines.
They’ve seen the forums and the name-calling.
They’ve seen me be undermined by every single reporter who has covered the story.
They’ve seen the horrible things Harrison had to say about our club.
It’s humiliating. No one wants to look weak in front of those they’re leading, but it’s a whole added layer of complication when it comes to my particular role. Me being my age. Me being a woman.
If a different owner makes a mistake, it’ll be forgotten soon enough. However, if this trade is my first business mistake, it’ll follow me forever.
I, more than anyone else, have to be perfect, and right now, I feel anything but.
My skin prickles with embarrassed heat as I stand in the aisle for everyone to see, and I wish I could just run away.
I want to hide. To let this blow over. To apologize profusely for adding stress to anyone else’s plate.
But I’m in charge here. I made this decision.
So, I do my best to hold my head up high and own it as I get to my seat in the third row.
Except today, my seat is currently taken. My entire row is taken, in fact, by a man and woman I don’t recognize.
“These are the Walkers,” one of my staff members tells me. “They were the winners of the charity fundraiser’s silent auction we held toward the beginning of the season. They’ll be joining us for this road trip.”
Fuck. I completely forgot we were going to have guests with us on this trip and I’m in no shape to be seen by fans.
“Of course.” I find my most convincing smile. “Welcome. I hope you have a great time with us.”
They beam up at me, thanking me for allowing them to join, and expressing their excitement to see the behind the scenes of team travel.
I don’t have it in me to tell them I completely forgot they were coming, but they also donated a ton of money to Chicago’s public school system in exchange for this trip, so the least I can do is give up my seat on the plane for the week.
Emmett stands from his seat, the one that’s directly in front of my usual place on the plane, and for the first time today I make eye contact with him.
It’s shocking to me how centered I feel when he’s around now. A bit more confident too, like I have a partner in this mess. Yes, it’s just a work-related partnership, but it’s nice being part of a “we.”
I don’t know if I’ve ever been part of a “we.” It’s becoming more and more evident that my previous marriage wasn’t a partnership at all, and with Emmett . . . at least I know that even if every other person in Chicago hates me, he doesn’t.
“Saved you a seat,” he says, brown eyes equal parts soft as they are concerned. “Window okay?”
I nod, thankful that I have a place to hide away from everyone’s attention. “Thank you.”
He steps out into the aisle, giving me room to slip into the window seat next to his. I tuck my purse under the row in front of me then practically exhale a sigh of relief when I sink into the chair.
Emmett doesn’t say anything when he sits back down, and I find myself thankful for the silence. It doesn’t draw added attention, but just having him next to me feels like I can breathe a little easier.
He’s really great at taking care of people, even if he doesn’t mean to be.
It’s taken everything in me not to call him the past couple of nights like he told me I could.
Especially when he’s the only person I’ve wanted to talk to about any of this.
I’ve found myself wanting to hear only his opinion, in hopes it might drown out the others.
To maybe let his steady confidence in me reignite my own sense of assurance.
But I need to take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years at this point and he’s got too much going on because of my decision to worry about the burden of my shaken confidence.
And at the end of the day, I need to remember that he’s still my employee, and though we’ve fucked around with some professional boundaries, I need to stay strong even around him.
I don’t know if any field manager has been called for more interviews than he has in the past two days.
And in each and every one he’s taken accountability and blame, recounting the game he grabbed Harrison by the jersey.
When asked what prompted the trade, Emmett has been constant with saying Harrison and the coaching staff couldn’t get on the same page.
He and I both know that’s not the case, but I appreciate what he’s trying to do.
It’s strange. After being married to someone who wanted to take this role from me, I haven’t been able to quite wrap my head around Emmett.
A man who not only wants me to have this job but wants me to succeed in it.
Wants to protect me as much as he can, and has done so willingly, without even knowing whether he’s going to be coaching here next season.
Emmett leans into the space between our seats, keeping his voice hushed. “When was the last time you ate?”
I shrug in reply because I don’t actually know. Maybe last night. Or maybe I was so busy reading online forums about how much our fans hate me that I forgot to.
“Reese.”
“I . . . I don’t remember.”
I tentatively allow my eyes to drift over to him only to find that he is pissed.
Emmett’s jaw goes hard before he quickly stands from his seat and slips into the galley where the flight attendants are waiting to close the boarding door.
Food is the last thing I care about right now. Sleep too. It’s kind of hard to focus on either of those things when all I want is to succeed in this role. I’ve been training for what seems like my entire life for this moment but am currently being told by everyone that I’m failing.
The only saving grace over the past couple of days, besides Emmett’s interviews with the press, are the players’ interviews.
They’ve supported the trade, and maybe that’s just a public appearance thing or maybe their field manager threatened them if they said something negative about my decision-making.
But whatever the reason, them publicly having my back makes me feel as if I’m part of this team.
“Eat this,” Emmett says, holding out a granola bar as he retakes his seat next to me. “Lunch will be served in the air.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Reese.” His tone holds no room for argument. “You need to eat. Then you need to close your eyes and try to get some rest. I’ll wake you up when food comes around, but you need sleep.”
I’ve come to learn that though Emmett will bend on certain things, there are other beliefs he holds strong conviction in.
And judging by the way he’s forcing this bar in my direction, apparently something as minor as me not eating breakfast is a hard line for the man.
Pretty sure he might feed it to me if I refuse to do it myself.
I’m sure that wouldn’t raise any suspicions.
I take the bar from him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I turn my body toward the window to eat this granola bar, but I catch him out of the corner of my eye every so often watching me with concern.
“How’s Milo?” I ask quietly, attempting to get the attention off me.
“Don’t worry about him, Reese. The boys are taking care of him.”
I nod to myself.
“We should sit him the first couple of games, though. Give him some time to adjust.”