He’s not talking to me, though.
He’s talking to Sullivan, looking right at her.
“Interim General Manager, until I get back.”
Sullivan backs up a step and then another until she’s barely an inch away from me and that soft scent invades my senses when I inhale. It takes a lot of self-control to not reach out and put a steadying hand on her shoulder. I’ve never seen her so thrown before. It’s so stunning that the creeping panic I was feeling in this godawful place melts away.
“Stew, you can’t just . . . there are other guys who have been . . .” she stutters, but he shakes his head.
“There’s no one else. I know you have what it takes to run this team and you’re going to prove me right. Okay?”
“Okay,” she agrees.
“And you,” he says, his eyes flickering over her shoulder to me, as she finally realizes just how close we are. She steps away quickly, glancing back at me as she does. Her eyes are still wide in shock and I’m not sure if she’s actually taken a breath. “You’re going to help her.”
“Stew, I’m noGM.”
“No, you’re not. You don’t have the head for it. But the organization is going to need to know you have my back re this decision.”
“Done,” I agree.
“Good,” he affirms, and lets out a heavy breath, his eyes flickering closed. “You can kick them out now.”
I don’t realize who he’s talking to at first, but then a voice calls from the doorway.
“Your ten minutes was up ten minutes ago,” the nurse from earlier says. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Sullivan leans over and presses a kiss to Stew’s forehead. He waves her away. Then I approach and press my hand to his forearm. He’s warm to the touch and that’s a relief. I somehow thought he’d be freezing cold, but, no, he’s warm and alive and he’s going to be okay.
“I mean it. You’re going to help her,” he whispers, his eyes still closed. I’m sure Sullivan doesn’t hear it.
“I promise.”
Then he pats my hand and, with a final squeeze of his arm, I follow Sullivan out the door and back to the elevator.
It’s empty this time.
“You don’t have to help me,” she says, as the doors close, turning to me and looking me dead in the eye.
“Skip asked, so I will.”
“Then I need one thing from you.”
“What’s that?”
“The best way you can help me is to stay out of my way.”
“What? No, that’s not . . .”
“You and I don’t see eye to eye on what makes a great baseball team. We never have. Do I have that right?”
“You do.”
“Stew entrusted me with the team in his absence and he wants you to help. So I’m asking you not to interfere with my decisions. I have a plan for this team. It’s why they hired me and it’s why Stew asked me to take over. If you want to help, you can stand there and look pretty and agree with everything I say when I pitch to ownership on a decision.”
“I don’t think that’s what Stew meant when he asked me to help you.”
“What was with you back there, anyway?” she asks, and I nearly get whiplash at the change of subject.
