Chapter 31
Grizzly
The morning after the event, I made the mistake of checking my phone before I was fully awake.
That was the whole problem, really. My eyes were still adjusting, the room still dim, and I had the phone angled close to see without having to put my glasses on.
I found a slew of notifications waiting for me.
Two were from Cheyenne, which was unusual for a Sunday.
Multiple ones from various Bellport family members.
Even Monty had dropped in with a string of emojis I couldn’t make sense of.
Cheyenne’s messages came first since they were the most out of place. The first had ‘Don’t panic,’ followed by the second which was just a link. Obviously I clicked it while wondering what I would possibly need to do damage control on.
I read the headline twice to make sure I was understanding it correctly. It was about a client, just not in the way I thought.
Blue Jays’ Wells and his agent: More Than Business?
Oh, that fucking asshole. There was no need to check who wrote it. I’d known the minute I saw Lexington Beads approaching my Daddy that there would be trouble.
I set the phone face down on the nightstand. Then I stared at the ceiling for a while.
The ceiling was a very neutral surface. It had no opinions about what I’d done or not. It simply existed, which felt like the correct energy for the moment.
Just existing.
My attempts at remaining calm didn’t last long. I replayed the exchange with the reporter more times than I could count. Royce had been kind enough to call me from their phone so I could hear the full interaction while keeping my distance.
As much as I wanted to stand beside my Daddy – who had to be THE Paxton Wells in the moment – I let other people handle the problem. Didn’t mean I was going to be in the dark about stuff.
Paxton had been steady through all of it. He’d stood there with a reporter pointing questions at him like weapons, and not once did he flinch. He also didn’t deny me or minimize what we were by offering the reporter lies.
I’d stood there listening with a mix of pride, anger, and utter need. How did one man elicit such emotions from me without even trying to?
I wasn’t the one who had faced the question, yet I felt just as victorious when the reporter was put in his place. When he’d passed by me on the way out, I went so far as to raise my bottle of water his way as if toasting his loss.
To be fair, that’s probably why he went ahead with the article.
I was Paxton’s agent. He was barely a few months into a contract with a new team in a city he had moved to partly because of me—not that anyone aside from his dad knew as much.
He’d walked into a professional relationship with me that was already complicated by what we both wanted personally, and he had navigated it with more grace than most people twice his age could manage.
And now there was a news story intent on tearing us down. Ugh! No wonder Cheyenne had reached out.
Guilt settled over me as I pondered how this needed to be handled. My business mind wanted to fix it all as fast as possible. My Little mind wanted to have Daddy come over to cuddle and tell me it would be fine.
I got up eventually because staying in bed was doing nothing productive. The thoughts I kept rotating were too jumbled. I showered, made coffee, then I stood in the kitchen in my softest socks and watched the backyard through the window.
It was peaceful. One of my favorite things about Bellport was how beautiful the town really was when you stopped to look around. Even better were early mornings like this when every bit of nature appeared to be just waking up. The calming effect was well worth the mortgage I’d paid.
My phone buzzed on the counter, pulling me from the relief. I looked at it without moving for a moment, half expecting it to be Cheyenne with a detailed breakdown of the press cycle or Moseley with a list of things he thought we should do.
Instead it was Daddy.
Daddy: Still asleep?
I picked up the phone.
Grizzly: No. Up for a while. Are you at practice?
Daddy: Heading in now. Wanted to check on you first.
I stared at those words. He was heading into practice, and he wanted to check on me first. The man played professional baseball. He was a top-tier athlete, who obviously took his craft seriously.
And yet I was on his mind.
Grizzly: I'm okay.
Partially true.
Daddy: Baby.
I exhaled through my nose.
Grizzly: I feel responsible. I know that's not entirely rational. I just do.
The three dots appeared and stayed for a moment.
Daddy: I know you do. That's why I'm not arguing with you about it. But we're going to talk about this properly tonight. It deserves more than a text. Okay?
Grizzly: Okay, Daddy.
Daddy: Don't spiral all day.
Grizzly: I'm not spiraling.
Daddy: You're standing in your kitchen holding cold coffee and staring out the window, aren't you?
I looked down at the mug in my hand.
Grizzly: It's not that cold. And did you put in cameras? That’s super specific, mister.
Daddy: Grizzly. There are no cameras. I know you, baby.
Grizzly: True. Go to practice. I promise I’m okay.
Daddy: I love you. I’ll see you after.
I pressed my lips together. The words still moved me every single time, which I suspected they would continue to do for a very long time. I wasn't sure I would ever be fully prepared for them.
Grizzly: I love you too. Go. Don’t get into more trouble.
Daddy: Trouble with you would be worth it. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
Grizzly: That’s not even a worry. I’m not leaving this house for any reason.
He sent back a laughing emoji and then he was gone.
I set the phone down, then went to heat up my coffee while avoiding the reality of how right he was.
A knock at my front door about an hour later startled me out of my zombie-like state. I was on the couch with Wells in my lap and a throw blanket around my shoulders. Not quite Little, not quite Big.
I’d told myself I wasn’t spiraling. I would not spiral. I was merely sitting very still and thinking very loudly and contemplating all my life choices up to this day.
Another knock reminded me of what had pulled me out of my own head. I unfolded myself from the couch, careful to place Wells in my seat to keep it warm.
When I opened the door, Paxton's dad was standing on my porch with a paper bag, two steaming cups of coffee, and a sympathetic smile. He had on a black hoodie and some jeans. He looked relaxed in a way that made me want to relax too.
"I figured you'd either be working or staring into the distance.” He lifted the bag and container of coffees. "Either way, I brought provisions."
I blinked at him. "Paxton didn't tell me you were coming."
"Paxton doesn't know I'm here. I've got a black coffee, something with oat milk and a concerning number of pumps of something, and two of whatever those flat pastry things are they had in the case.
The woman behind the counter called them something French.
" His grin went wider. "You gonna let me in? "
I stepped back from the door on autopilot. For as laidback as the man could be, he still had some dominant moments. Must be another thing Paxton picked up from him.
The minute he crossed inside, he set the bag on the kitchen table and headed for my cabinets.
"Sit down," he called out over his shoulder. "You've got that look my son gets when he's pretending he's not tired."
"I’m not tired."
He pushed one of the cups over to me as I dropped into a seat. Then he put a plate down, following it with a pastry. "That one's yours. Paxton might have mentioned how you like your coffee a time or two."
“Thank you.” I wanted to say a heck of a lot more, but I didn’t know where to begin.
He folded himself into the opposite chair and wrapped both hands around his own cup. "So… Rough night."
"The event itself was fine," I replied on autopilot.
He gave me a look that was so similar to Paxton's that I had to glance away briefly.
"The event itself was fine," I tried again, with slightly more honesty behind it. "The end of it was less fine. I imagine you saw."
"I saw the article, yeah." He took a sip of his coffee. "I also know my son, and I know that if he had a problem with how things shook out, he would have said something last night instead of texting me this morning to ask if I'd mind checking in on you since no one else had answered him."
I went still. "He texted… other people… checking…"
"Yes, he did. He said, and I'm going to quote this directly because it was a good sentence, 'He's going to feel responsible for something that isn't his fault, and I need someone to go remind him that he's a person and not just a professional.’ Of course I agreed to call, which means I didn’t lie earlier. I figured if you weren’t answering for other people, then I’d likely be ignored too. It was nothing to get my butt up and come here.”
My eyes burned with unshed tears. I didn’t want to break down in front of this man. It would be embarrassing.
Then again, considering how much he was like his son, he’d likely not be bothered at all by it.
"He knows me too well," I said after a moment.
"He does. That's what love looks like when it's real. It pays attention." He nudged the plate toward me again. "Eat something. I can't have a serious conversation with someone who's running on coffee fumes and guilt. You won’t know to laugh at my corny jokes."
I took a bite mostly to smother the snort I knew would turn into a sob if I let it out. The food was good. Buttery and flaky in a nostalgic sort of way.
"I'm his agent," I said, once I'd swallowed. "That's not a small thing. Whatever happens to his career, I'm connected to it. And if an article like this makes things complicated for him—"
"Then he deals with it. Same as he'd deal with any other thing that came at him. That's who he is."
"He shouldn't have to."
"Nobody should have to deal with the hard parts of life. And yet." He spread his hands. "The hard parts show up anyway, and we find out what we're made of."