19. TIM
Chapter nineteen
TIM
I was obsessed with looking at everything anyone posted about me online, and now I’m wondering how anyone stays sane on these things. It’s not right that anyone can just post anything they want, even flat-out lies. There is no accountability. The negative stuff is spreading faster than the positive comments in large part because of the super-obsessed Banana-Ramas clogging the feeds with their crap. Not surprising but still really disappointing. I head into the main offices and find the PR Manager, Enzo Grey, is waiting for me, a binder in his hands.
“Oh good, we can get started,” he says, opening the door to the GM’s office. “Bart, he’s here.”
“Umm, Enzo, do you think you could maybe get security to check on Lion?”
“He’s here?” he asks, eyes widening in a way that makes me really glad I’m bringing it up.
I nod. “He said he wasn’t going to let this all stop him from being there for me, which is sweet, but the last few posts from the Banana-Ramas were pretty bad, and I saw a few with signs on my way into the field demanding the league ban Lion for life. I just would feel better if maybe security stayed nearby in that Big Banana Season Ticket section.”
“We’ll send someone to collect him,” Enzo says, and he touches a finger to his ear. “Do you know the seat number?”
“No, but he’s the only gorgeous giant wearing a Tim jersey with strawberry blond hair, should be easy to spot.”
Enzo shakes his head with a slight smirk, then talks into a mic sitting at his collar. “Please collect Lion Matherson from the Big Banana section. He’ll be wearing a Tim Sage jersey, is about six-feet with… reddish-blond hair.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s probably best that he isn’t out there right now. Shall we?” he asks, and I follow him inside.
“This is Officer Meskan, she’s going to ask you a few questions, and it’s important that you’re honest with her,” Enzo says, gesturing to a mid-thirties woman with deep brown hair that’s tied back in the sleekest bun I’ve ever seen. That shit would give me a headache in a minute for sure.
“Okay,” I say, sitting on the couch to her left. She’s sitting in an armchair, and I’m not lost on how much this setting resembles a therapist’s office. My stomach is in knots. I haven’t had much contact with police, and while Officer Meskan is dressed in a lovely pinstripe pantsuit, I can still make out the bulge of her gun at her hip.
“Tim, there have been some concerning statements made, and before your manager and PR team get into any plans they have, we need to ask you a few questions, okay?”
“Umm, sure.”
“A simple yes or no is all that is needed here.”
“Got it. I mean, yes.”
My palms are sweaty, and I rub them on the front of my pants.
“There is no need to be nervous. There are no wrong answers,” she says, and I nod, but I still feel like a kid called into the principal’s office at school.
“Do you know a man named Lion Matherson?”
“Yes.”
“Are you now or have you ever been afraid to be in a room with Lion Matherson?”
“No, why would you ask that? These posts online are all bullshit. It’s the fucking Banana-Ramas you should be going after, not Lion.”
“Just a yes or no, please, Mr. Sage.”
“Okay, hurry up then because he’ll be here soon, and I don’t want him hearing you asking stupid questions like that. You aren’t going to ask him this stuff, are you?”
Enzo steps forward. “The authorities need to determine if this is a matter for them or something we can manage in-house. They just need to know where you stand.”
“Where I stand. Okay, well, where I stand is with Lion. He isn’t a stalker. I didn’t pay him to post about me, he did bring me soup because Ryan told him I was sick, and he has been to my house, but I haven’t been to his yet. He works as a waiter, and at a cafe with his best friend, he has season tickets to this year’s games and already has stays booked and flights and all that ready to follow our tour all over America. You want to ask if he’s a fan, yes. He is. He’s probably my biggest fan, but that doesn’t make him a stalker.”
“Thank you for that, Mr. Sage. Just one more question if you would oblige?” Officer Meskan asks, and I sigh, slouching back against the couch.
“Sure, what do you want to know?” I sigh.
“Has Mr. Matherson threatened or coerced you to say these things today?”
“Fuck, what? No. Oh God, come on.” I look over at Bart Erricson, who’s sitting in his desk chair, arms folded over his chest and an odd smirk on his lips.
“I think you’ve gotten everything you need,” Bart says, and the officer nods, gets up and leaves. “Now with that over, we can talk about options.”
I lean forward, raking my hands through my hair.
“What option are we looking at?” I ask, and Enzo sits on the chair the officer vacated, opening up the binder in his lap.
“Well, thanks to a few similar situations in the past, we actually have a couple of ideas for you to choose from. The first being, do nothing. Ignore the statements and wait for the media to get a hold of some other story and the Banana-Ramas to calm down.”
“So, just let them spread lies and get Lion fired and just pretend not to care?”
“Lion was fired?” Bart asks, a greater concern in his tone than I would have expected.
“Mary Beth couldn’t open her cafe with a bunch of the Banana-Ramas picketing the place, so he can’t work until it’s settled down. He’s not actually fired. I mean, he told them he was so they would leave her cafe alone. Those fans are the ones you should be worried about.”
Lion is nothing like them. They treat us like we owe them our lives because they cheer for us on a baseball field. They demand photos and autographs, they never ask, and then they outright bully anyone online who doesn’t think the same way they do. Look at what they’ve done with Lion. All their posts about him, all the lies about him have grown into a full-blown social dumpster fire. Security better find him soon because some of those people sit in that section.
“We agree, the Banana-Ramas are a concern, and we have people looking into any of the threats made online,” Bart says, and Enzo touches his ear with his finger just like the last time, only this time his gaze moves to the floor, and a frown deepens on his forehead.
“And the two involved?” he asks into the mic, trying to keep his voice low. “Very well. Thank you.”
My heart is pounding.
“Is it Lion?” I ask the second his stare returns to me.
“Yes, they have him and are escorting him up here.”
“Is he okay? Were the Banana-Ramas…?”
“He’s fine. Security has it in hand.” He jots down a note in the binder, then looks back toward me with a carefree expression, like he didn’t just allude to some kind of incident with my boyfriend.
“You asked about two people being involved in something, was that about him?”
He exhales slowly, his gaze momentarily flitting to Bart but returning to me just as fast.
“There were two patrons who were escorted out before anything could escalate. No one was hurt, they were making a scene and disturbing others in their section. Lion is fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, now if we can please get back to the matter at hand?”
My heart is still racing, but I believe him when he says Lion is fine. I’m not sure why exactly. Maybe it’s the way he talks. It’s always so calm, so cool.
“Okay, go for it, what are we looking at?” I ask.
“Option one. The PR team can release a statement, covering all the Banana-Ramas’ claims. We’ll need you two to provide some context, but the statement would come from the league, in our support of you.”
“Maybe. Is there another option?”
“Yes, but it is riskier.”
“What is it?”
“You hold a press conference and address the allegations of the Banana-Ramas yourself.”
Bart leans forward at his desk. “The press would have their questions screened, but it wouldn’t be the first time they decide to throw out an unapproved one just to rattle you. It’s how you react to that question that is a higher risk.”
I love being in the spotlight out on the field, but the press meetings after games are pretty nerve-wracking, no one wants to say the wrong thing, and this would be just me. What if I say something and make it ten times worse?
“Can we ask Lion what he thinks?”
“Sure. While we wait, how about you fill me in on exactly what your story with Lion actually is?” Enzo asks, leaning back with his pen in hand.
“I mean, I don’t even know where to start.”
“How did you meet?”
“At a game, I mean technically. He asked for an autograph, though, I didn’t remember meeting him then, or at Stevie’s wedding, he was a waiter there. It was in line at Riverside Barbeque that I think of as our official first meeting. It was when we were properly introduced, I guess, and it was when I first really noticed him.”
“Okay, then what happened?”
I go through everything, well, not everything because what we do in the bedroom is no one’s business, but I tell them we kissed, and when I say, “then we slept together,” I look up and Lion had just walked in the room. Fuck, for a massive guy, he knows how to be stealthy quiet.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, rushing to hug him. My arms have to stretch up to reach around his neck, and he pulls me tight against his chest, wrapping me in his warmth and for the first time all day, I feel okay.
“Are you alright?“ he asks.
“I’m fine,” I reply, releasing him. His hand slides down my arm until his fingers lace with mine. “The Banana-Ramas, did they try to…”
“They were worried about you and asking a lot of questions about us.”
“But you’re okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“Mr. Matherson, thank you for coming,” Bart says.
“Sure, anything for Tim,” he replies, sitting on the couch, and I sit right beside him, our joined hands resting on his thigh.
“We were just going through the options,” Enzo says, holding out his hand and leaning forward. “I’m Enzo, the PR manager for the League.”
Lion shakes his hand.
“I assume you recognize Mr. Erricson,” he adds, glancing toward him.
“Yes, nice to meet you, too,” Lion says, resting back against the couch with me. “Tim told me you wanted to talk to him about this mess online, and I was kind of thinking I might have a solution,” he says, and Enzo looks at Bart like he needs his permission or something to listen.
“What was your idea?” I ask Lion, turning a little in my seat to give him my full attention.
“I thought I could talk to the Banana-Ramas, like on the field, over the speakers, or out the front of the stadium, or even a media thing. I could do that, and I could explain what happened. I could make them see they have it all wrong.”
“That is…” Enzo begins, glancing over at Bart again.
“That is sort of what we were already thinking,” I say, giving his hand a soft squeeze. “We were thinking we should hold a press conference.”
“That’s not exactly what we advised,” Bart says, and Enzo cuts in.
“We suggested a press conference as an option, but…”
“It’s a good idea, right? Then they can see that I didn’t stalk Tim, we met, and we became friends, and then we became… more than friends. We are more than friends, right? I mean, we didn’t talk about exactly what we are, but we are, right?”
His whole upper body turns toward me, and he places his other hand over mine, fully encasing my hand in his grasp.
“We are so much more than friends,” I tell him, and his face lights up in a giant smile, and he turns back to rest against the couch.
“Then we hold a press thing, and we tell them about us,” he says, and Enzo stands, closing the binder and placing it on the table between us. I really want to know what’s in the binder. Is it all the stories, all the posts, is it every photo? What secrets hide inside that black plastic folio?
“I think you’re right, but Lion, I am worried that if they see both of you up there, they might think that Tim isn’t speaking his truth,” Enzo starts, and Lion is frowning now, his grip on my hand tightening a little.
“What do you mean?” Lion asks.
“Well, they are claiming you manipulated him, tricked him. If they see you up there with him, they might try to say that you made him say everything.”
“But I’m not making him do anything.”
“We know that. Tim explained everything, and we have had our people look into the claims. But just to be sure that it goes over the way you want, we think it would be best if only Tim speaks to the press.”
“I mean, sure, if that is what will help Tim. Okay.”
He’s so trusting. I know they don’t want Lion to talk in case he says something that makes it worse, but even I could do that. Having him there would help me. But I guess people could think he was coercing me if he’s there, too.
“Okay. When will we do it?” I ask.
“After the game today,” Enzo says. “Assuming you’re still playing.”
“Why wouldn’t Tim play?” Lion asks, his worried stare back to me. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt during warm-up?” His eyes trail over my body like he’s got x-ray vision and is scanning for injuries.
“I’m fine. Coach just offered to give me the game off if I didn’t feel up to it with all this media drama.”
“You are sure you’re fine?”
“Yes. I’m fine,” I repeat. “Are you sure you still want to watch the game?”
“Wait, umm, I don’t think,” Enzo starts, but Bart holds up his hand, and like magic, Enzo shuts his mouth. Wow, he’s definitely the boss in here, isn’t he? I let out a small laugh at the thought of Bart bossing Enzo around in another kind of way with whips and collars.
“We can host Mr. Matherson in the manager’s box today,” Bart says, and Lion squeezes my hand.
“Really?” Lion replies, bouncing a little in his seat like an excited child waiting to go on a ride.
“It’s got the best view in the house. Then, hopefully, this is all sorted out after today,” Bart continues.
“Oh, wait, Mary Beth is coming tonight, can she come, too?” Lion asks.
“Mary Beth?” Bart repeats in a questioning tone, and Enzo nods.
“His boss at the cafe.”
“Your boss that fired you?” Bart asks, and Lion shakes his head.
“I made her. I mean, I told the Banana-Ramas that she fired me to get them to leave her shop alone, so she could open and pay rent. I have enough savings to cover me for a week. Plus, I can still do odd jobs to make some cash. You don’t think it will be like this for longer than a week, though, do you?”
“Hopefully not, but we will figure something out. Don’t worry, we’ll look after you,” Bart says, and he nods to Enzo. “Let Enzo here know your seat numbers. He’ll bring Mary Beth to the manager box as soon as she arrives. Now, you should probably start getting ready, Tim, your opening number is in less than an hour.”
“Yes, okay. Umm, can Lion come down with me to the locker rooms? Just until the start of the game. Then Enzo can take him up to the box.”
“As long as the coaches clear it.”
“Thanks,” I reply, standing and leading Lion out of the office and into the hallway.
“I’ll come down soon and collect you,” Enzo says as the door closes behind us.
“Are you really okay?” Lion asks, and he looks me up and down again.
“I’m fine. I’m so sorry you have to deal with this.”
“With what?”
“With the media and the Banana-Ramas, and stories and photos and lies about you. I would totally get it if you wanted to run away.”
“From you?”
“From all of it.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to leave, then I’ll go.”
“I can’t imagine playing tonight without you here. I need you. I need to know that out there in the stands of who knows how many people, there is a man who thinks I am the greatest in the world because just knowing that stops all the chatter in my head screaming at me that I’m no good. You are like my personal brand of white noise, making everything better whenever you’re around.”
“Aww, that’s sweet,” he says, leaning down and kissing me lightly on the lips. “I’ll be your white noise anytime you want, boss.”
A ripple runs through me.
“Don’t start that now.”
“No idea what you mean… boss.”
“Yes, you do,” I say playfully, slapping him on the chest. “You know what that does to me.”
“And you know how much I love to reward you, so how about I’ll only say it again if you hit that second home run we were talking about.”
Fuck. I know he has faith in me, in my ability, but hitting a home run isn’t just something you can choose to do and then do it.
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, the back of his fingers lightly sweeping across my cheek and sending warmth flooding under his touch.
“I’ll still reward you for the amazing game either way, the home run just gets you the bonus word.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“You always do.”