Game Changer, page 6
"B-but—" I stutter, scrambling to form a coherent thought.
He just goes on, ignoring my attempts to contradict him. "I’d only be interested in you as a gimmick, a novelty, something to draw fans to the stadium. You’d create a sensation—one that we could definitely capitalize on. I don’t know what you were thinking of in terms of salary, but I was thinking somewhere around—"
This time, I interrupt him. "I don’t want a salary."
"Excuse…me?" he sputters like he can’t believe what I just said. Those words have probably never been uttered in this room. I can’t blame him for needing me to clarify my position.
"This isn’t about the money. It’s about keeping my brother’s place on the team," I respond earnestly, and he looks even more taken aback. I must be blowing his mind.
"Everyone always wants something. Nothing’s free in this world. So tell me, what’s the catch?" He tosses his glasses onto his desk, swiveling back in his chair.
"I’m only here until my brother’s able to come back. That’s it." I watch Terry’s face for any clues to how he’s leaning, but he’s not giving anything away.
"And if he’s not able to?" Okay, he’s definitely not being sentimental about this. But then again, I didn’t think he would be. "I assume you’ll be with us until…he passes away?"
Hearing him say it like that takes the wind out of my sails. My brother’s mortality is staring me in the face, but it’s not something I’ve come to grips with. Not fully. Kyle’s here now, and that’s all that matters. It’s the only thing I have the power to do anything about. If I could, I’d rip the heart out of my body and give it to him. But I can’t. This has to be the next best thing.
"That sounds about right," I mumble, fighting back the tears that are threatening to fall. I can’t get all emotional now. I’m negotiating with one of the most powerful men in baseball. If he sees me go all girly on him, it’s over.
"Let me get Mr. Heimlich on speaker. I was supposed to pull the trigger on a trade with Detroit after I spoke to you, but you just presented me with a much more interesting scenario—one that’s too good to pass up. But it’s not my team, and I have to get the go-ahead from the boss man before we can even think about making this a reality."
Terry starts punching in Heimlich’s number from memory, not even bothering to ask his secretary to make the call and patch him through. He must talk to Heimlich a lot, especially on days like this. I shouldn’t be surprised that Heimlich still has such an active role when it comes to the day-to-day management of the team, but I am. After his stroke, it was widely assumed that he’d pulled back and was letting his sons and Terry handle most of the heavy lifting, but apparently not. A decision like this can’t be made at the lower levels of the organization. It has to come straight from the top.
I tell my hands to stop shaking when Heimlich’s voice comes on the line. It seems like he’s been waiting for Terry’s call. His speech is garbled from the stroke he suffered, but I’d recognize that baritone anywhere, even if all he’s able to say is, "Yeah?"
"Arnold, I have a new proposition for you. It came out of nowhere, but it’s something I think you’ll like." Terry glides in, knowing how to butter him up. "How would you like the chance to make history?"
"Huh…?" Heimlich utters.
But it seems like he and Terry have their own shorthand way of communicating because Terry doesn’t wait. Instead, he just plows ahead, determined to convince his boss of my inherent value. "We all know that Kyle Roberts is one of your favorites and has been for a long time. You always wanted one of the Roberts boys to play for you, and he hasn’t disappointed you, sir. When we selected him as our first-round draft pick, there was a lot riding on our decision, but he’s lived up to his advance billing and then some."
It’s good to hear my brother being praised like that. It’s so rare for it to be coming from someone like Terry. I only wish that Kyle were here so he could hear it too.
"Sir, I know how much it’s upsetting you to have to replace him. You envisioned him leading us to another championship this year, and you’re not alone. We all share in your disappointment. It was the worst thing that could have happened to such a promising, young player who was just reaching the height of his potential."
Terry is really laying it on thick. I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing as I squirm in my seat, waiting for him to bring up my name.
"But what if we could keep it in the family and give the fans something they’ve never seen before?" Terry gears up for the big push, throwing me a look full of intent.
For a moment, I blank out, barely cognizant of what he says next.
"What if we placed his sister at second base?"
I don’t think I breathe as the line crackles, and Heimlich doesn’t say anything.
"Sir, did you hear what I said?" For the first time since I entered his domain, Terry seems unsure of himself, like maybe this time he crossed the line and went too far.
"Mr. Bloom, this is Mr. Heimlich’s personal care aide, Roberta. He just indicated to me that he wants to hear more, it’s just too hard for him to speak right now."
Terry and I exchange an anxious glance. Did we send the old man into a seizure? Oh God, this can’t be good.
"Arnold, Miss Roberts is sitting with me now. She’s the one who brought the idea to my attention. She understands the precautions that will have to be put in place, a separate shower area, extra security, hair and makeup people, you name it, but she’s willing to forgo a salary of any kind in order to make this happen, and I don’t think we’re going to come across a better deal than that." Terry smacks the top of the desk for emphasis, knowing that he’s pulling off a major coup.
Up until now, they thought they’d have to give up a top prospect or spend millions on Kyle’s replacement. Instead, they’ll be making a mint off of me without paying me a dime. But I’m not stupid. If this actually works out, I’ll still have the memorabilia market in my back pocket. A significant portion of my brothers’ incomes comes from collectibles, signings, and endorsement contracts. If I’m the first woman in baseball, I’ll have nothing to worry about. I’ll be set for life.
"Sign ’errrr," is all that comes across the other end.
Terry pumps his fist, relishing the sweet taste of victory. "Will do, sir. I’ll call you back when I have all of the details sorted out. The Kings have always been trailblazers, and Sasha Roberts will be no exception. I’m proud to welcome her to the team."
"Thank you, Mr. Heimlich!" I yell a little too loudly into the receiver. "You won’t be sorry. I’m honored to be a part of your team. I promise that I’ll do everything I can to bring home another World Series."
"Humph," Heimlich mutters, checking my sudden burst of confidence at the door. He’s going along with it, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he likes it.
And with that, the dial tone echoes through the room. Wow. He actually hung up on us. I wonder if that’s a good thing, a bad thing, or just the way he operates.
"Don’t read too much into it," Terry advises, hitting the button to end the call. "He’s known for being abrupt and abrasive. It’s his team. We just make sure to staff it with players who can win. He thinks, if we’re going to win a championship, it’ll be up to the other twenty-four guys on the roster, not you. Like I said, he doesn’t expect you to contribute much either offensively or defensively, and truth be told, neither do I."
I’m insulted, but I bite my tongue. I got what I wanted. I should be thrilled, but this whole meeting is leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth. Like I’m being used to further their agenda. They don’t give a hoot about me personally or the tragic circumstances surrounding my brother.
"I’ll set up a press conference before tomorrow’s game. It’s short notice, but I want to get you out there as soon as possible. You’ll have to play your first game on the road when the team flies to Baltimore in the morning, but it can’t be helped. I’d rather kick things off at home, but what are you going to do? You’re going to be thrown into the fire eventually. Might as well hit the ground running."
Terry’s talking a mile a minute, his mouth working furiously to keep up with the thoughts that are steamrolling out of his brain.
"We’re going to have to redesign the uniform a bit for you. I don’t think you should tuck in your shirt. The pants are too tight. I don’t want to sexualize you in any way. We’ll make sure your jersey drapes over your body instead of clinging to it. I assume you’ll be keeping number twelve in honor of your brother? It’ll go a long way in working the sentimental angle we’re selling. We’ll also have to work on coming up with a hat that has a hole in the back for your ponytail."
He’s talking so fast that I’m not sure I heard him right.
"My ponytail?" I ask, crinkling my brow.
"Yes, Sasha," he responds like he’s talking to a two-year-old. "By the time I get done with you, you’re going to have the most famous ponytail in sports."
I look at him like he’s crazy, but the scary thing is…what if he’s not?
Chapter Seven
Brooks
Sasha’s awfully quiet as she turns the key in the lock, opening the door to her brother’s old apartment.
We squeaked out a two-to-one victory, thanks to the brilliance of our pitching staff. Toby Riordan started the game, only giving up one run through eight, before Jilly came in and shut the door in the ninth. The only blemish was the error I made in the third that put the runner on who eventually came around to score. It was my fault. I wasn’t concentrating. I was too caught up in thinking about how Sasha was getting prepped by Terry’s PR staff and how Kyle was lying in his hospital bed, reduced to watching the game on TV.
But now that we’re home, I can unwind, at least for a little while. It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning and Sasha looks dead on her feet. I’m used to keeping these kinds of hours, but she’s not. Just wait until she starts playing. She’ll be achy and sore. Yeah, she said that she’s been keeping up her skills by participating in an amateur softball league once a week near campus, but that’s nothing compared to what she’s going to go through now, and just wait until the fatigue of traveling starts catching up with her. The baseball season is a grind. It’s definitely not for those who require a lot of sleep.
"Do you mind if I come in?" I ask, and she hesitates, adjusting the shoulder strap on her bag. Great, she doesn’t want me invading her space. I should’ve just kept my big mouth shut.
"I don’t think it’s such a good idea. It’s late," she states, stifling a yawn. "I really should get some rest."
She’s blowing me off, and quite deliberately too. It’s not like I’m trying to make a move on her. I just want to tell her some things I think she should know. Tomorrow’s going to be hectic enough, and I don’t know when I’ll have another opportunity to talk to her alone. I’m sure the Kings are going to tell all of us to stay far away from her hotel room. They’re not going to want a whiff of misconduct getting out. It’s going to be a delicate balance having a girl play on an all-male team. The repercussions of any impropriety would be catastrophic.
Wait a minute. Is that what she’s worried about? Is that what those PR drones were drilling into her head all night? Telling her to stay away from me?
"Sasha, do you not want me to come in because you’re tired or because the Kings told you to keep your distance from me?" I cross my arms in front of my chest as she walks into the room and collapses on the couch.
"Both," she mumbles, burying her face in the cushion.
I pick up her feet, placing them on my lap as I sit next to her. I probably shouldn’t be taking such liberties, but at this time of night, I really don’t care. I hate that they’re already getting involved in our private lives. It’s none of their business.
"What else did they say?" I prod her cautiously.
"They don’t like the fact that we’re living in the same building, much less the same floor," she responds, turning her head to the side and closing her eyes. "Someone in the front office is looking for a new place for me. They want me to move as soon as we get back."
"You’re not moving anywhere," I say a little too forcefully, causing her to sit up.
"Why are you freaking out about this?" she asks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "I’ll still be in the city. It’s not like we’re never going to see each other."
"It’s better if I’m nearby…so I can keep an eye on you," I insist as she struggles to get up off the couch while I stubbornly hold on to her feet.
"So that’s what this is all about?" She’s angry with me, but I don’t know why. "You made some kind of promise to Kyle that you’d be my watchdog. Well, you don’t have to worry about it. Kyle thought that it’d only be for a couple of days. He never would’ve put you up to it if he knew how long I was going to be here. It’s not fair to ask you to babysit me. I’ll be fine. The Kings will make sure of it."
"And that’s what worries me," I grumble, absently stroking her ankle. "I don’t want you falling under their influence. You need someone in your corner who will watch out for you, someone who cares about you."
She whips around to face me. Shit. Did I really just say that? I can’t control my thoughts whenever I’m around this girl. They just come tumbling out.
"What do you mean by that?" She levels me with her gaze, daring me to lie to her. "You care about me…how exactly? Like a friend? Like the sister you never had? Or something more?"
Damn. She doesn’t mince words, does she? It’s her first night here and she’s laying it all on the line. She wants answers. She deserves answers. But I’m not ready to give them to her yet. Not when we don’t know what’s going to happen to Kyle. He trusts me to look out for her. I can’t let him down, especially once he hears about what she’s gone and done.
But Sasha doesn’t give me a chance to respond. I relax my grip on her legs, and she scoots them underneath her, drawing herself in next to me. She’s so close. I can see the gold flecks in her eyes. Our lips are inches apart. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss her. I remember how she tasted that night on the beach, sweet and soft. I couldn’t get enough of her.
Until Kyle interrupted us and told me to get the hell out of there before he beat the crap out of me.
Seeing his angry face in my head, I pull away from her, and she sighs in disappointment. Ever since she arrived, we’ve been caught in this dance I don’t understand. She moves forward, I push away. I come closer, she freezes up. Something’s off between us, and it’s all Kyle’s fault. He’s trying to be the good older brother, but he has to know that I would never hurt her. He’s just getting all territorial because he’s afraid that he’s lost control of everything. When Matt went down, his whole world shifted. I was there. I saw it happen. He was never the same after that. And now that it’s happening to him, he’s going off the deep end.
"Maybe you’re right," I say, getting up. "I should go. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, living so close to one another."
"Stop," she demands, grabbing my arm.
But I don’t face her. If I do, I’ll give in, and I won’t stop until we’re naked and going at it on the couch. I want her so badly it hurts. I’ve dreamt of this moment for over a year, and all I have to do is reach out and take it. But my damn sense of loyalty is keeping me from going after the kind of night I’d never forget.
"I don’t want you to leave," she whispers, breaking my resolve. Her fingers run up my arm, and I do everything I can to control my breathing. "I get it that you don’t want to have a relationship with me. When I didn’t hear from you after Kyle’s wedding, I thought you made that pretty darn clear. I won’t keep bringing it up if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’ll drop it and pretend like Jamaica never happened…if that’s what you want."
It’s not what I want. It’s the exact opposite of what I want. But I can’t tell her that.
I shudder as she stands, pressing her cheek against my back, and wrapping her arms around me from behind. She feels so good pressed up against me. Her right hand lands on top of my heart, and there’s no hiding how fast it’s beating. She knows I’m not being honest with her. I think she suspects that my hesitation has something to do with Kyle, so she’s not going to push it—at least for now. She understands that Kyle and I go way back. She doesn’t want to rock the boat, but what she’s doing is making it clear that she’s not giving up on me either.
I place my hand on top of hers and will myself to speak. "Let me show you how to pack."
My response has the desired effect as she drops her arms from my body, giving me a playful shove. "I’m not a child. I know how to pack," she huffs in agitation.
"Not like you should," I banter back, finding the guts to turn around. "Is that your suitcase over there?" I point to the zebra-print wheelie in the corner.
"Yeah, so?" She crosses her arms defiantly. "Casey must’ve had someone bring it over from the hospital."
"It’s got to go. There’s no way you’re boarding our charter plane tomorrow with a piece of girly luggage like that." I step forward and kneel down, flipping it on its side and sliding the zipper around the base.
"Hey! What are you doing? Who gave you permission to rifle through my stuff?"
She attempts to swat me away, but I don’t budge. The first thing that assaults my eyes is a Chase Whitfield T-shirt. For a moment, I freeze, just looking at it, unsure if I should touch it or not.
"You’re certainly obsessed with him, aren’t you? I hate to break it to you, but he’s married with a kid."
She grabs it, folding it up and shoving it under her arm. "I know that. It’s just something I wear when no one’s around, when I want to relax."
"Well, that’s rookie mistake number one," I mutter, trying not to be jealous because she has Chase’s shirt in her suitcase and not mine. "Never put stuff like that in plain view. We have a traveling secretary whose staff transports our luggage through security. The guards frequently open it up and take a look. And if you turn into the sensation I think you’re gonna be, I can see a guard swiping something like that and showing the tabloids."
