43. JACKSON #3
“I’m sorry, Jackson. I don’t want to scare you, and I’m not trying to tell you it’s a bad idea. I just want you to think through everything. Most harassment would be online or verbal.” He grimaces. “Don’t forget what happened to that pitcher when he was going through a slump.”
My stomach knots. His family was the target of death threats. His children. God, what is wrong with this world?
That same heartbreaking question reflects back at me from Stone. He lifts a helpless shoulder. “The world can be pretty dark,” he says quietly. “When you find your sunshine, you need to hold on tight. That’s not a ball you can afford to drop.”
And just like Shane is Stone’s sunshine, Frankie is mine. I may not have worn my clouds on my sleeve like Pebs, but my life was nothing but shades of gray before Frankie blew in and infused it with color—and topped it off with glitter. They say glitter’s nearly impossible to get rid of.
I fucking hope that’s true.
“I do think violence would be rare,” Stone adds.
“He’d have extra protection being in the family section, and we do live in a more progressive part of the country.
But fights break out at sporting events—sometimes for no reason at all.
Mix hate with alcohol and the risk of something imploding goes way up. ”
“What would you do?” I groan. Now it feels impossible. I refuse to do anything that jeopardizes Frankie’s safety.
I’m taken aback by Stone’s slightly self-conscious grin. “What would I do? I’d hire a full security detail. But I’m also absurdly rich and realize that’s not really possible until you’ve spent some time playing in the big leagues.”
I shake my head—then freeze. “Wait. But I might know a guy. Who’d do it for free.
” Until I get the call-up and can afford my own security detail.
My heart shoots back up into my chest and soars like a hit you know is gone.
This could work. My attention falls to my shaking hands.
God, this is perfect. “I wouldn’t need him unless we were outed.
And it’s not like Frankie would be at every game.
He’s not as busy during his off-season—which is most of our season—so I think he could drive in for the occasional game. ”
“You’ve lost me, Olander.”
I meet Stone’s searching gaze.
“Jake,” I whisper. “My brother could attend with Frankie. He’s even bigger than me. And played college football.” If anyone even looked at Frankie the wrong way, Jake would lay them flat.
Before, I wouldn’t have ever thought it was a possibility, but how Jake responded when I came out…
our talk afterward…I finally feel like I have a big brother looking out for me.
And I know he’ll want to help. Then, once I make it to the big time, I’ll pull a Stone and hire a security detail. I like the way he thinks.
Stone’s smile grows. “Looks like you have a couple calls to make, then. This sounds like the start of a good plan.”
My lips curve to mirror Stone’s, and then we dig into our meal.
I can’t believe this actually feels…possible.
Holy shit. I’m fucking terrified.
But good terrified.
I pull into Frankie’s driveway and kill the engine of my old pickup. The rain beats down on the windshield, a comforting, consistent drum. I let my head fall to the steering wheel.
Holy fucking shit.
I’m going to do this. I’m going to be brave.
On the drive home, I decided I’m going to talk to Dominguez tomorrow.
Right now, I have no idea how to go about any of this, and the uncertainty has my skin crawling.
I need a plan. Jackson, do this. Jackson, do that. Stone’s right—I really need an agent.
I pick up my phone and stare at the agent’s number: Charles Wentworth III. Sounds prestigious. My phone lights up with an incoming call…from Charles Wentworth III.
What the fuck?
I blink a couple more times, but the call is still flashing, ringtone filling my car.
Answer the damn phone, Jackson.
Right. I press the green button. “Hello, Jackson Olander speaking.”
“Jackson, nice to meet you. Jed gave me a quick call and filled me in on your situation. I’m Chuck Wentworth, an agent at Wentworth Elite Athlete Agency.”
Shit. Does he, like, own this agency? He sounds way too young for that.
“I’m going to get straight to it. I’d like to represent you. I can take the train up to meet you tomorrow late morning. I checked your schedule, and it looks like that should work with your night game.”
My head is spinning. He wants to represent me? Does he know anything about me?
“I’d like to sit down to chat. Just to talk. I want to explain why I want to rep you, but I’d prefer to do that in person. Then the decision is all yours. Given what Jed has told me, I wanted to connect quickly.”
“Uh, okay, um…” Wow. Sound less coherent, Jackson. “I was actually planning on talking to my skipper tomorrow. About things…that Jed probably informed you of.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer you wait until after we speak.”
“Okay. I can do that. Tomorrow morning works.”
“Great. I’ll text you the details of our meeting. Looking forward to meeting you.”
“You too.”
The call ends, and I stare blankly at my phone. What the hell just happened?
I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.