She’s someone whose opinion I value and deeply respect.
Except at a time like this, when I know she’s coming over to ream my ass over my aggressiveness on the field.
Her job was to create the Monarch team from scratch. Working with the former team owner before he passed to trade and offer deals to the best in the league. And she managed to get every single player on her list. Unlike most managers, she often heads down to the dugout to observe us from up close.Looking for strengths and weaknesses, and putting everyone on alert that we’re all replaceable if we’re not playing to the best of our abilities.
That’s why, when I see her coming my way with a fierce look on her face, I’m put on notice that she’s about to hand my ass to me.
And if I thought Coach’s chats were bad, I’m in for a hell of a wake-up call with Luisa. Not only is she smart, formidable, and talented at her job.
But she’s also Dominican.
And she’s free to let loose any Spanish curse words that I’m sure Isabella has on the tip of her tongue every time I’m dead set on pushing her buttons.
“Yo, Martinez. What the fuck’s crawled up your ass today?”
“Why’s everyone got something to say about my ass all of a sudden?” I ask defensively.
Her brows raise, as if I’m a toddler who just spoke back to his mother. And somehow, it makes me feel guilty.
“Sorry. I’ll reel it in.”
“Which part? The over one-hundred-miles-per-hour fastballs or the mean mug on your face? Because personally, I’m liking how you’re playing. But the aggression, the loud shouts after you pitch, and the evil eye you’re throwing the whole stadium? Yeah, that bit has to go before you scare off all the kids sporting your jersey tonight.”
I wince at the mention of a fucking jersey.
It shouldn’t be taking up this much space in my head. Especially during a game. I pride myself on being a true professional, so why the hell has this gotten so deeply under my skin?
I should shake it off. Rise above it all. I’m a grown man, a father, and a leader on this team.
Or…
I could…
A slow smile starts to creep over my face as I look up at Luisa.
“Ay dios mío. What the hell are you gonna ask me to do for you, Martinez? It better not be some weird superstitious shit.”
I chuckle as I shake my head. “I just need you to make a special delivery for me.”
twenty-four
Mateo’s been playing likehe’s about to rip someone’s head off.
For the first inning, I think it’s all in my head, but then I hear the crowd around me commenting on it too.
I try to engage Anna in conversation when their voices get a little too rowdy, not wanting her little ears to hear something she shouldn’t about her father. But it doesn’t take long before she takes notice of his change in demeanor.
“Wow, Papi looks mad. Do you think someone said something mean to him? Or is this a World Series game?”
I warm at her innocence. “No, sweetie. This is a regular season game. And I’m not sure what’s gotten into your dad. I’m sure he’s just very focused on the game,” I say, more to placate myself than her, I think.
“Do you… do you think it’s something I did? Did he not actually like the rhinestones on my jersey?” she asks worriedly.
“Oh, sweetheart, of course not. He absolutely loved it, I promise. But there’s nothing we can do to change his attitude right now, because he’s in the zone. I’m sure he’ll lighten up at some point.”
She takes a bite of her stadium hot dog. I’m pretty sure it was longer than her arm when she started to tackle it. I ordered one as well, because when in Rome and all.
“I wish there were something I could do to cheer him up. His face looks super grumpy, and he’s never like that,” she pouts.
