Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
KENNETH
“What’s the long-term prognosis, Sandy?” I ask once everyone grabs a seat at the table.
We’re having a meeting about Tollide, as well as a few general housekeeping things for the team today. By ‘we’, I mean Royce, the trainers, the coaching staff, Bellamy Bellport, Finn Bellport, and myself.
I admit the appearance of Royce’s family for this is a bit odd. But I can recall how close they were to Bellamy when they were growing up. It really shouldn’t be a surprise.
There’s also the fact that the team was originally purchased on behalf of Finn. His desire to have another sports team under the Bellport family tree is the real reason we’re all here.
Sandy shakes his head. “You spoke with the brother, right?”
“Royce and I spoke with North when we went a couple of days ago. He said it seemed like Tollide was out for good. I still want your official report on him though.”
“In my professional opinion, North is right, and so is the team at Bellport General. Tollide’s career as a player is done. Which, if you ask me, is a damn shame. Kid had the potential to be a Hall-of-Fame level guy.”
Everyone gives a collective noise of agreement to his words. It’s no denying Tollide is—no, was—our best player. Losing him is a big blow, especially this close to the season starting.
“What’s the plan to fill his spot?” Bellamy asks the room. “I’m not trying to step on toes. Just curious.”
“No one thinks you’re stepping on toes, big brother. This team is an investment for you and Finn. We all understand you want it to be its best.” Royce says with a finality that makes my skin light up.
Finn raises his hand. Bellamy smiles at his husband as I give him the go ahead to speak up.
“What are you thinking, Finn?”
He drops his arm slowly, his gaze moving around the room to look at everyone. His shyness is fascinating considering the very public relationship he’s in.
Granted, just because one person is extroverted and lives in the spotlight doesn’t mean the person they choose to spend their life with will be the same. That whole opposites attract thing has merit.
“I think Bardot should take his place.”
Raising my brow, I wave my arm for him to continue. It will be interesting to see his reasoning.
Finn continues. “Bardot is a solid player. He’s got the potential to be even better. I think…”
“Go ahead, little one. Tell them what you told me last night,” Bellamy encourages.
“I told Da—my husband,” he quickly corrects, “that I think Bardot hid behind Tollide's skill. The footage I’ve seen of him practicing on his own or with someone one-on-one suggests he’s just as good. I’m not sure why he won’t show it during team practice.”
Leaning back in my chair, I steeple my hands in front of my mouth. I have thoughts on the subject. Having been with these guys for years, I know how their minds work.
Surprisingly, Royce is the one to chime in next.
“You might be on to something, Finn. I’ve seen the same footage. Some as recent as last month when one of the trainers caught him in the batting cages. He’s good. Damn good, really.”
“Still doesn’t explain why he hasn’t played to his full potential,” Sandy adds.
I hum, which draws everyone’s eyes my way. For a second, I don’t speak. Not because I’m nervous. More so because when Royce looks at me, I lose the ability to finish my train of thought.
It’s becoming a real problem.
Forcing myself to focus, I explain what I’ve been ruminating over.
“Tollide and Bardot were both drafted in back-to-back years. If you look at the records, they’re the same age.
In fact, Bardot didn’t accept that first year due to personal reasons.
If I have to guess, he’s likely kept Tollide on a pedestal of some kind due to this.
Or maybe he’s simply not all that competitive with his own teammates.
We all know some guys who play at this level are simply happy to be on the team.
They don’t need or want the MVP status others chase. ”
I can remember chasing my own dream years ago. Before the injury that took my baseball career, I’d thought I’d be one of the greats too.
Some things aren’t meant to be though.
Much like Tollide, I had to start over and find my place without the ability to play. Owning a team seemed like the best option at the time.
While selling it felt wrong at first, I can admit that getting to be friends with the guys instead of being the boss will be nice. I’ll also get to come to games without worrying about things like profit projections or ensuring inventory in the food courts is up to standard.
I'll get to enjoy baseball again.
“If that’s the case, then we’ve got a secret weapon, and things aren’t as helpless as they first seemed. Do you think we can convince Bardot it’s time for him to show his true skill?” Royce’s voice tears me from those tough memories.
Finn nods excitedly. “If anyone can do it, it’ll probably be Kenneth.”
“Me?! Why in the world do you think I’m the one who can help him?” I sit forward, my hands moving to the top of the meeting table.
While I’m honored he thinks I have this level of connection to the team, I’m not sure I have the ability to do what he’s asking. Being close to the guys doesn’t mean I can make them do things they don’t want to do.
“First off, you’re the one who mentioned you suspect Bardot is holding back,” Bellamy says, jumping in to help his husband. “Second, you're the closest to the team. Third, you’re charming.”
I cough out a laugh. “Charming? Me?”
Bellamy nods, his lips tipping up to one side in a casual smirk. “Yeah, you. I didn’t remember you being that way in the past, but you’ve learned how to charm people in the years since. Bardot might actually listen to what you say because of that.”
Charming.
Me.
Kenneth Meyer.
I’m a bit shocked at the assessment, especially from someone of Bellamy Bellport’s caliber. The man is practically a model. While his status as the eldest in the family definitely gets the media’s attention, his looks and kind disposition give him a rabid fanbase.
For him to say I’m charming is like Prince telling an artist they’re one of the best performers he’s ever met.
“I agree.” Royce says after the room is silent for a bit. My guess is everyone’s thinking through this plan to see if they can get on board with Bardot stepping up to the plate.
“You agree?”
At my question, they raise a brow. “I do. You very clearly have good rapport with everyone here. The fact that you noticed the potential there, and can likely convince him it will benefit everyone if he comes through for us, makes it obvious you’re the best fit.”
“Huh,” I mutter. Their words are somewhat flattering, but I don’t think he likes admitting it. If I were to guess, I’d say Royce still holds a grudge against me for the foolish things I did in the past. They have every right to. I don’t expect blanket forgiveness.
But that also means I’m going to continue to struggle with their words. Do they truly mean what they're saying or am I being set up to fail?
Although… it doesn’t matter all that much in the long run. I’m stepping down from my spot as manager of the team. Any and all things that happen once I’m gone won’t be my responsibility.
With that idea firmly planted, I nod sharply. “Then I’ll speak with him once he’s in for today’s practice. Maybe he'll even be eager to step into place.”
There are murmurs around the room. No one wants to bet money on that happening just yet.
While Bardot is a fantastic player, he is not the friendliest in general. He’s a loner. A man who shows up, plays the sport he loves, and heads home. He has no wife or kids. No pets.
Honestly, he and I are the same in that respect. Whereas I’ve been holding out for a certain someone all these years, I’m not sure why Bardot hasn't committed to anything.
“Next on the agenda is marketing and PR. Jexas, our guru in all things social media, will take the floor,” Royce says, waving their hand out to give Jexas the floor.
My mind wanders from there, only half listening. I know Royce will have it covered. I’ll ask them to catch me up later.
For now, I need to focus on all things Bardot.
Two mind-numbing hours later, I’m leaning against the wall outside the locker room to wait for Bardot’s arrival. Royce offered to come down with me to wait, but I turned them down.
Partially because I didn’t want them to see me sweat. Also because I didn’t want to intimidate Bardot with two authority figures.
As I go over my plan one more time, the man of the hour turns the corner at the end of the hall, bringing him into view. He startles for a second upon seeing me. Once he picks up his stride, a sort of determination takes over his posture.
“Kenny,” he greets.
“Bardot. Got a few minutes to talk?”
He nods, adjusting the strap on his duffel bag. I pivot down the hall to the media room. It’s a big space to give me room to pace, and it’s tucked away from eyeballs. The less people who try to interrupt this or eavesdrop, the better.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“You,” I say, ripping off the Band-Aid.
“Me?”
“Yup! We need to talk about why you’ve been hiding yourself.”
“Hiding myself?”
I crack a smile as I start wearing a hole in the carpeted floor. Bardot drops into an empty chair in the auditorium-like seating.
“From the moment I first saw you play, I knew you had talent above so many others your age. Back then, I had no doubt you’d get drafted and be one of the greats. Then things changed.”
“They did,” he confirms, voice rough.
“I’ve never asked what happened to delay you, nor do I want to know now. The fact of the matter is that you came back a different person. You're still great, but the drive to be the best wasn’t there. You’ve been ok being in the shadows when you were meant to be in the bright lights.”
He chuckles. “That’s some imagery there, Kenny. I’m flattered you think this about me.”
“I know it’s true. As recently as last week, you were hitting and pitching in ways you don’t present on the field. It’s like you refuse to compete.”
When I look his way, I see him frowning. “I’m not sure how to take that. I do compete. Each game and practice, I make sure to do my part to help us win.”
“Yes, but what about within the team? You never want to beat the others to win MVP or to have the fans cheering your name the loudest. Why is that?”
His brow dips low at the intrusive question.
“Why does it matter?”
Taking a deep breath, I tell him the news we’ve managed to keep secret since it happened. Normally, this type of injury would be all over sports news by now. The Bellports slipped more than a few people some funds to give us time to gather statements and all that.
“It’s important because Tollide is out for the season. I need a star player, and management knows it’s you.”
“Tollide is out? What the fuck!?” He bolts up from his seat. “What happened? I haven’t heard anything. Coach said he was out sick.”
I lift my hands, palms facing him. “We made sure you didn’t hear anything before now. We’re telling the rest of the team today. I wanted a chance to talk to you first.”
“What happened to him?”
There’s an edge in his voice I can’t make sense of. I’ve never seen him and Tollide close to one another. If anything, they kept their distance.
“He was in a car accident. A hit and run. Both legs broken. Fractured ribs. Lots more damage along with a broken arm. He’s never going to play ball again.”
“FUCK!” His roar echoes around us.
Keeping still, I wait to see what he’s going to do next. If I’d known he’d get angry like this, I’d have asked someone else to come with me.
Not Royce. No need for them to be put in danger.
Maybe Security or Sandy.
“You can take a few days to think about it if you want. I do need to know if you’re going to step up by the end of the week though. Because if you won’t, then I’ll need to look into training someone else for the spot.”
His eyes whip to me. They’re full of fire and something else. Something that looks a lot like regret.
Why would he have regret about this whole thing? It doesn’t make sense.
I don’t get long to think about it because he grabs his bag and storms from the room. Left behind, I look around the space and frown.
“That went about as well as I thought it would,” I mutter as I follow in the fumes of his fury.
It doesn’t register until we’re in an all-team meeting that Bardot is gone. My guess: He’s at Bellport General.