Chapter 40 Hawk
FORTY
hawk
I sat in the stands at our spring training facility and watched the first few practices as an observer. Later that day, we had a meeting planned with the coaching staff before I flew back to Boston on the team jet.
I felt good about the pitching rotation; our starting catcher had finally agreed to terms right before training began.
But in watching the infield, there was something just slightly off about the chemistry.
Our starting shortstop was mouthy and seemed to piss other members of the team off just as badly as he pissed me off.
When he commented on what he wanted to do with Austin Monroe’s wife after hours, I thought it would come to blows.
I would have cheered on our center fielder and supported him when the union met in the discipline hearings.
The only one on the team who seemed amused by his antics was Elijah Griffen, our third baseman, who had always been a guys’ guy, and while he portrayed himself as a family man, everyone on the team knew about his exploits.
It was too soon to talk trades, but when the time came, he would be the first to go—if I could find any takers.
Me: Landing around 9:00.
Kendra: At my place. Will you be hungry?
Me: No, don’t wait for me. But I’m coming over. I missed you.
She never responded. But once I got to her place, I would do what I needed to figure out what was going on with her. I had felt more than the physical distance over the last week, and I couldn’t shake the thought that what had happened in the shower had caused most of the issue.
What I loved the most about Kendra was her drive and stubbornness, which also unsettled me. If something were wrong, would she tell me? Or would she attempt to handle it herself?
The coaches’ meeting had gone well, but our pitching coach, Luc, had seemed less enthusiastic than I remembered.
He said nothing about his recent breakup, likely because it would lead to questions that could impact his relationship with our ace pitcher.
All stark reminders that the team had significant family connections for Kendra and me.
Maybe her connection to the team was why I trusted her implicitly with my decisions, or maybe because I had always wanted a partner connected to all aspects of my life.
Yeah, I wanted someone who understood me, and she did.
While on the flight, I reviewed Colby’s social media plan for the next few weeks.
She planned to stay in Florida for the duration of spring training and get as much footage as possible.
Her first series was a getting to know you media blitz for our new and returning players.
She’d also planned to capitalize on the attention that Lindy Griffen and Kelsey Drummond’s podcast. Kelsey had more of a supporting role and mainly focused on drawing attention to the non-profit she’d helped to support Boston women.
I signed off on the first few plans and then moved on to her ideas for Tucker Milligan.
Yeah, she struggled. It seemed as though he’d also managed to piss off my sister.
We usually celebrated some of the more popular players by naming an item at the concessions after them.
She presented me with two options: Tucker’s mini dogs or Milligan’s Swill.
The beer she’d selected was from a local beer company that sold cheap beer and had a reputation for tasting like swamp water.
My e-mail response:
To: Colby Crosby
From: Jonathan Crosby, III
Re: Concession Rollout
Colby,
I don’t share your vision for the concession rollout. If this is the best option available for our new shortstop, I suggest we hold off. Maybe run a social media contest?
Best,
Hawk
My HR-friendly response provided her with everything she needed to know. He wasn’t getting a concession item, and she knew I didn’t give a fuck.
When the team jet landed at Logan, I deplaned quickly, and made a beeline for the hired car. When I finally knocked on Kendra’s door, I was ready to collapse.
“Come on in; it’s open.” My initial instinct was to lecture her not to leave her door unlocked. I hated that she was on the first floor, street level. Safe neighborhood? Yes. But it was all relative if someone wanted to break into her apartment.
I dropped my bag just inside. The only light came from the television, and was just enough for me to see her outline on the couch.
Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she was wearing the Minutemen hoodie she’d stolen from me.
Her laptop lay open on her lap, a sign that she had brought work home with her—again.
Pulling the laptop off her lap, I carefully placed it on the coffee table before crawling on top of her. Her fingers threaded through my hair, and her nails scratched my scalp rhythmically.
“How was your day, dear?”
“Better now.” That was the last thing I remembered until Kendra shook me awake in the middle of the night.
“Come on, let’s go to bed.”
She pushed and prodded me as I changed out of my work clothes and into a t-shirt and shorts I left her the last time I stayed over.
Yes, we usually spent more time in my penthouse, but Kendra had stressed the importance of us also spending time at her apartment.
Her comfort level with my wealth changed almost as quickly as the New England weather.
She would prefer it if money never came up, an attitude that was both refreshing and concerning.
We brushed our teeth side by side before crawling into bed.
“God, your bed is so much more comfortable than mine.”
“That’s because I didn’t have someone pick out a mattress they thought was best for me. I tried these all myself and picked out my favorite.”
I pulled her into me, spooning her before falling asleep.