31. Brock Jones
Chapter thirty-one
Brock Jones
I sink into my seat as the jet I chartered takes me to LA. Five hours. I’m trapped on this thing for five hours when I should already be there dealing with the issue.
I bury my head in my hands. This is all my fault. If I would have stuck to my plan, then I wouldn’t be letting anyone down. Instead, I was playing arcade games while one of my biggest MLB clients, Vincent, was facing down the media and cops on his own.
I try to watch most of my clients’ press conferences.
Of course I miss the one where someone came after Vincent’s family so the champion hitter came after them.
The video is something to see. Which is probably why it’s everywhere right now.
Every sports news account and channel is playing it.
Podcasts are already dissecting the interaction.
People are taking sides. And I’m a day behind.
My phone buzzes in my pocket right as the pilot comes on the speaker announcing we’re about to take off.
I buckle my seatbelt and pull out my phone.
Since the jet has WiFi, I should be able to handle some work, but nothing beats being there in person.
Vincent isn’t going to feel taken care of if I’m across the country making calls from a different time zone.
Jason: Did you guys see what happened with Vinny on the news? Brock, do you know if the reporter pressed charges?
Shaw: That punch was killer. I kind of want to call and ask if he’ll switch to hockey.
Miles: What did the reporter say anyway? I’ve wanted to punch the media, but it would take a lot for me to actually do it.
Emmett: They insulted his family. I’d throw more than a punch for that.
Jason: Look at Emmett being in the know! Did Hazel finally bring you out of the Dark Ages?
Shaw: You saying things like that is probably why he doesn’t respond to us often.
Emmett: Correct.
Miles: Brock must be working on this. And he thought we gave him a hard time. At least we didn’t punch any reporters.
Jason: It’s still early in our careers (minus Emmett, of course), we’ve got time.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is all a joke to them.
Brock: You guys realize that my livelihood is on the line, right? Vinny’s too. It’s not a time for jokes.
Miles: Sorry, man, was just trying to lighten the mood.
Shaw: Everything okay? Anything we can do?
My head falls back against the seat. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths.
Ariel’s words about hiring someone come back to me.
This proves that I don’t have the capacity to do that right now, and the guys probably wouldn’t even take it seriously if I asked for their help.
I open my eyes and type out an answer before muting the group chat.
Brock: I’m on my way to LA. Thanks for the offer, but no. I have to handle it.
My phone buzzes again, then another time. I let out a frustrated growl and check my messages. There’s one from Sutton. I open it first.
Sutton: I’m sorry you’re dealing with this whole fiasco. I know being on the wrong side of the media is hard. And I also know the guys can be dumb sometimes, but they care about you. We all do.
I exit out of our chat without replying and click on the next unread text, which happens to be from Ariel.
Ariel: I know you’re mad at me, but can you let me know when you land? So I know you’re safe.
I run a hand across my forehead, trying to massage away the growing headache building there.
This is too much at once. The past few weeks have been exhausting.
There’s no way I can keep up with seeing my family and friends all the time without running this business into the ground.
Between taking hours off to spend with Sutton and Shaw, to being distracted by Ariel all the time, the business is suffering.
And if I try to communicate that, I’m met with insults and mild to severe threats.
Slater was right. No one else is going to understand.
At the same time, I can’t deny that I’ve felt better than I ever have while being with Ariel.
She makes me laugh and relax. When I’m around her, it’s like I’m myself again, instead of the guy I have to be for my clients.
She challenges me and pushes my buttons, but it makes me feel alive.
The past year has felt like a haze of late nights and long days.
Until she waltzed into my office in those sky-high heels.
From that moment on, I’ve been scrambling to be a good businessman while also soaking up every second with her.
I look out the window next to me and watch as the city gets smaller and smaller.
If only my problems would do the same. I wish there was a way I could have it all, but the evidence points to that not being true.
How can I choose between my dream career and the people who care for me?
The decision should be easy, but it’s not.
I chose this because of my family. If I give up now, I’ll have let them and myself down.
Another sigh leaks out of me. I don’t have time for an existential crisis right now.
I need to focus on what’s in front of me.
The medicine will hold back the worst of things.
Once I make it through, I’ll deal with my issues.
A feeling of deja vu slips over me as I realize I’ve made that promise one too many times. But what’s one more?
I squint in the harsh light as I step onto the tarmac. Hot, dry air mixed with the scent of smog fills my lungs. I pull out my phone.
Brock: I made it. And I’m not mad at you. Sorry I was a jerk.
Ariel’s reply comes fast.
Ariel: Good–and I’m used to it by now. I hope you can smooth things out quickly. Call if you need anything.
I sigh. I’ve messed up too many times. This morning I tried to make up for my mistakes with breakfast and music, but I managed to hurt her yet again. I shoot off a quick reply.
Brock: Thanks. I will.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and head toward the car waiting to take me to Vinny’s mansion in the hills.
The traffic will probably take just as long as the flight did, but at least I’m in the same state as him now.
That should help my case. He hasn’t expressed any anger toward me, but I want to be sure he’s happy.
The drive is–as predicted–unreasonably long. It’s early evening by the time I make it to Vinny’s estate. I tip the driver, then lug my carry-on suitcase to his front door. I won’t be staying here, but there’s no way I’d go to my hotel first in a situation like this.
The front door opens and Vinny’s wife, Renata, stands there.
She’s wearing a long sundress that probably cost thousands of dollars, with stacks of gold bangles and matching layered necklaces.
Renata is the type of woman who’s never caught not looking like a model.
Last year, I organized an interview with a prominent magazine all about fashion for the wives and girlfriends of professional baseball players. She got on the front cover.
“Brock,” she breathes, “thank goodness you’re here. Vinny got a call from the channel that reporter is from. They agreed not to press charges if he comes on the show and apologizes. He said no.”
I take a deep breath as I process this information. “Let me talk to him. I’ll make sure this gets handled, don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” Her voice grows shrill. “He can’t go to jail.”
“I’m not going to jail, Ren,” Vinny’s deep voice drawls as he walks up. “Why don’t you go lay down by the pool for a little while and relax?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Vincent James, if you think I’m going to leave your side after that stunt you pulled on the phone, you are sorely mistaken.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Okay, let’s go into the living room.” He looks to me as we walk through the grand foyer. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” I say sincerely.
He shrugs. “Not much you could have done.”
“Sounds like I could have prevented you from getting charges pressed.”
He scratches the back of his neck, revealing the tattoos decorating his arm. “Yeah, I might have laughed at them when they suggested I apologize.”
I try not to grimace. “Great. That’s going to make my negotiating a little harder.”
“Sorry, man. The stuff that guy said–”
I hold up my hand. “You were defending your family, now I get to defend you. Give me a rundown of everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours. From the moment you hit him until now.”
We settle in on the couch and he starts to go over everything, with Renata filling in any details he misses. By the end of the story, I’ve formulated a game plan that should fix everything.
“I’m going to make a few calls. There won’t be any apologies, but I will coach you on what to say during future interviews,” I tell Vinny, then look to Renata. “And he won’t spend so much as a day in jail. You have my word.”
Her shoulders relax. She gives me a grateful smile. “Thank you, Brock. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”
I smile. “You won’t have to find out.”