He peers down at me again, a small squint in his eye. Releasing the papers he had in his hand, they float to the desk as he sits back in his chair. He just stares. He should intimidate me, but he doesn’t. I want this more than anyone else he is considering. So, I tilt my chin up, showing the confidence I have in myself and what I just said.
“I have a lot to offer. And I’m ready.” It’s not cocky, it’s realistic and honest.
“I like your stats. They outweigh the risk. But you’re also a known playboy. I’ve heard about your ‘ladies’ man’ reputation. I don’t like that wild shit running around my team. It’s distracting. The media thrives on making a mockery of it, and I can’t have that here. That’s a huge risk to the image I’m trying to preserve for my team.”
My first year on injury reserve, I used women and alcohol as a crutch to get by. I was the instigator of every party andprobably every problem that had to do with the media, but over time, I eased up. Somehow, it has stuck with me ever since, even though I had no reputation before or after that.
Hiding my internal frustration, I close my eyes and see a blanket of red. Not the violent red caused by rage. The kind of red you see when the sun hits the hills of the horizon, after the blending of yellows, oranges, and reds, that causes a chain reaction spreading through the sky, before taking your breath away.
My little red.
I’m not sure what comes over me because I’m unable to stop the next words that come out of my mouth.
“I’m married, Coach, and quite obsessed with my wife, actually.” The shock penetrates his face as if I physically attempted to punch it.
Mine, too. I just hid it better.
Usually I’m a terrible liar, but neither is a lie, technically.
His neck snaps over to look at his assistant coach, who seems to be sifting through papers, like that was partially a deciding factor that they missed.
My eyes widen as I silently scold myself. I look down at my shoe to avoid them seeing the horror that is written all over my face and shift uncomfortably in my seat.
What the hell was I thinking?
“Well...” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t aware, but I’m very happy to hear that. The last thing I need is some philandering womanizer running all over town when he should be makingthishis first priority.”
It’s unbelievable. You can live your whole life doing the right thing, uphold a standard code of normalcy, and never get into any kind of trouble. A few short-lived mistakes during a rough stint of time and your reputation becomes that and only that.
People do not forgive easily and they sure as hell don’t forget.
I don’t have the energy to defend my actions, nor do I feel the need to. But I do need to stand up for myself and fight for this.
“I’ve made some mistakes in the past, sir. I know this. But that was then. I’m here now, and I’m invested. I’ll be the first one here and the last one to leave. I guarantee you, if you give me the opportunity to bring what I have to this team, I won’t let you down.”
He sits back in his chair and inhales so long, it’s abnormal. Finally, at its peak, he huffs out an exhausted breath, crossing his arms over his chest. He stares through me, being his own personal polygraph, pausing for what feels like a light-year.
“I’ve always gone with my gut, Hudson. In my role, you have to. I’m gonna sign you. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
Holy shit.
This is it. My second chance.
Trying to hide my shock but show my genuine excitement is a balancing act I was not prepared for.
“Sir, I’m beyond honored.” I smile and stand, throwing out my hand to him.
He stands, sliding his hand into mine. He’s still stern as hell, but not even his sour face can erase my smile.
“I’ll get you set up in one of our leasehold estates, effective immediately. We have condos across the street from the stadium that all our players stay in.
“Practice doesn’t usually start for two more weeks, but I’d like you here, starting now, so the coaches can work with you on a few things before pitchers and catchers report for the season.”
“You got it. Not a problem, Coach,” I reply.
“What’s your wife’s name?” he asks.
“Ember.” Just saying her name makes my stomach drop, remembering my lie. Well, non-lie. Half-lie.
