Chapter Thirty-Three
After a few days of rest, Amy and I get a visit from Phil and Ray that might end our mini vacation.
They've both decided that I "absolutely must" go on a publicity tour to promote my record-setting fastball pitch—and also to promote the team's World Series win.
I hoped it might be a low-key thing. But no, Ray and Phil insist on a whirlwind event complete with photographers, reporters, and magazine write-ups.
The crazy train is about to leave the station.
"It'll be a three-city tour," Phil explains as we sit in my living room. "Jacksonville, New York, and Los Angeles. Maximum exposure."
I rub my temples, already feeling a headache forming. "How long will this tour be?"
"Two weeks," Ray says, checking his phone. "We've already booked everything. The team's PR department has set up interviews with ESPN, Sports Illustrated, and a dozen local stations in all three venues."
Amy, sitting beside me on the couch, places her hand on my knee. The subtle gesture is comforting. "Let's not overwork our star player. He might reinjure his arm. After all, you did mention having him replicate his record-setting fastball multiple times in different venues."
"Charlie's arm will be fine," Ray interrupts, glancing up from his phone. "The doctors cleared him. Besides, he won't be pitching—just talking. Smiling for cameras. Signing some baseballs."
I glance at Amy, whose nostrils are flaring. I know that look well. It's her I'm-about-to-say-something-that-might-cost-me-my-job expression. "With all due respect, Ray, Charlie's recovery has been miraculous, but he's not invincible. We need to be strategic about his public appearances."
Ray lifts his brows. "Are you suggesting we cancel the tour, Coach Keller?"
"No," she replies evenly. "I'm suggesting we modify it. Cut it to one week, focus on quality over quantity, and make sure Charlie has adequate rest between events."
I clear my throat. "I appreciate everyone's concern, but I should probably have some say in this, right?"
Three pairs of eyes turn to me expectantly.
"Look, I understand the importance of publicity. I get that this is part of the job. But I also need to make sure I'm ready for next season. So, Amy's compromise does sound reasonable to me."
Phil puckers his lips, tapping one finger on his knee. "One week could work. We'd have to consolidate some interviews, but—"
"Absolutely not," Ray interjects. "This tour is about capitalizing on momentum. One week isn't enough time to hit all the markets properly."
I throw my head back and groan. "Ugh. Ray, I respect you as an owner, but this is my body we're talking about. My career. I came back from an injury that nearly ended everything, and I don't want that to happen again."
The room falls silent for just long enough that I'm starting to get worried. "Tell you what. Let's shoot for ten days. We'll hit all three cities, but we schedule in proper rest days. And no demonstration pitches unless I feel one hundred percent."
Ray studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighs, nodding in resignation. "Fine. Ten days it is, with rest periods built in." He points a finger at me. "But I want your A-game when you're on camera. The fans want to see Charlie Braddock, not some exhausted shadow of him."
"You'll get my best," I vow. "Every time, rain or shine."
Phil scribbles notes on his tablet. "I'll rework the schedule tonight. We leave in three days."
Once big guys are gone, Amy and I collapse back onto the couch.
She curls into my side, her head resting on my shoulder. "That went better than expected, huh?"
I laugh, but the sound feels hollow even to my ears. "Yeah, Ray only looked like he wanted to fire me twice."
"He wouldn't dare. You're the golden boy right now. Record-breaking fastball, remember?" She wriggles closer, lowering to a sexy register. "Besides, I think you handled that perfectly. You stood your ground without burning bridges."
"Ten days is better than two weeks. We also have our wedding coming up, ya know. Our moms won't be happy if we cut the nuptials short."
"We won't skimp on the wedding craziness. But first, we do the publicity tour. Agreed?"
"As long as you're coming with me, baby, I'll go anywhere."
She smiles, that special smile she reserves just for me. "Someone has to make sure you don't overdo it. Besides, I'm your coach. It's literally my job to monitor your physical condition."
I pull her close, planting a kiss on her forehead. "So, you're coming as my coach, not my fiancée?"
"Both." She traces a finger along my jaw. "Always both."
That night, I lie awake staring at the ceiling.
Amy's delicate breathing beside me is the only sound in the room.
Can I make it through ten days of being paraded around like a prized racehorse?
Ten days of repeating the same stories, answering the same questions about how it felt to throw that pitch, how it felt to win the Series?
The press will also want to talk about the arrests of Coach Rivera and Jared Morris.
I shift around on the mattress, careful not to wake Amy. What if Ray pushes too hard? What if I can't say no when some hotshot reporter asks me to demonstrate my famous fastball for the twentieth time? What if—
"I can hear you thinking," Amy murmurs, her voice thick with sleep. She rolls over, propping herself up on one elbow. In the dim light filtering through the blinds, I can make out her concerned expression. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
I sigh, turning to face her. "It's nothing. Just some pre-tour anxiety. Cameras. Questions. People expecting me to be awesome at all times."
She grazes her lips over mine, speaking in a sultry tone. "But you are awesome, twenty-four seven."
I hesitate, considering what she said. Then I sigh and shake my head. "You're absolutely right. I shouldn't have let midnight doubts creep in. My fastball set a record. I've got nothing to worry about."
And I mean that. Amy is the most amazing coach and the most amazing woman.
In three days, the publicity tour will begin. But apparently, I have momentous decisions to make in the meantime.
"You need new clothes," Amy declares over breakfast, scrolling through her phone while I shovel cereal into my mouth.
"What's wrong with my clothes?" I ask around a mouthful of Frosted Flakes.
She gives me a look that could wilt flowers. "Charlie, you have exactly two dress shirts that fit properly, and that navy suit you wore to the awards dinner has seen better days."
I glance down at my current outfit—gym shorts and a faded Admirals T-shirt with a small hole near the collar. "Fair point."
Shopping isn't my favorite activity, but Amy makes it bearable.
We hit the upscale men's store downtown where a salesman named Marco fusses over me like I'm royalty.
Two hours later, I've got three new suits, five dress shirts, and a pair of shoes that cost more than my first car.
Marco insists the navy suit is a "timeless classic" that will photograph well on camera.
Amy's gaze travels over me while I model the final ensemble. "You look like a million bucks."
I adjust my sleeve cuffs. "I'm more concerned about pleasing you."
She steps closer to straighten my tie. "Mission accomplished, then."
Once we're home, I find a detailed itinerary in my email. The schedule is packed tight—morning shows, radio interviews, photo shoots, fan meet-and-greets, charity events. Even with the compromise of the ten-day timeline, it still looks exhausting.
I scroll through the endless list of commitments. "This is intense."
Amy peers over my shoulder at my laptop.
"Ray wasn't kidding about maximum exposure.
There's barely time to breathe between these events.
" She commandeers my laptop, her coach-face settling in as she studies the schedule.
"Hmm. The rest periods we asked for are technically there, but they're minimal.
And look—they've got you doing a pitching demonstration at Dodger Stadium on day eight. "
"I can do that. Don't worry about me."
As she scrolls through the list, her frown deepens. "And here, on day five in New York, they've got you scheduled for a 'friendly competition' with some Yankees relievers. That wasn't part of our agreement."
"I want to do everything that's asked of me. But I hope there'll be some events with kids too."
Amy scrolls a bit more, then points to the screen.
"Actually, there are a few kids' events.
You'll be visiting a children's hospital in Jacksonville and a youth baseball clinic in Los Angeles.
" She freezes for a second, then breaks into a wide grin.
"Look, Charlie, August Murphy will be there for the Jacksonville event. "
"That's fantastic! I've been texting with him, but it'll be fun to see August in person again. His mom says his cancer is in total remission."
I love working with kids—their enthusiasm, their unabashed joy for the game. It reminds me of why I fell in love with baseball in the first place.