Game Changer, page 7
"You’re kidding me?" Sasha eyes widen as she visibly shudders. "They steal from the Kings?"
"All the time," I reply, inwardly chuckling at her outrage. I guess I’ve become jaded. These violations of privacy don’t even faze me anymore. "I’ve had an engraved watch stolen, a monogrammed shaving kit, you name it. I wouldn’t advise packing anything you don’t want anyone else to see in the luggage that’s being checked. Keep it in your carry-on. If they can link it to you, they’ll snatch it. And don’t travel with such a noticeable suitcase. They’ll know it’s yours and single it out. Try to blend in as much as possible."
"Yes, sir," she deadpans trying to act like having strangers go through her personal belongings isn’t freaking her out.
"And see how you have these shirts folded lengthwise? You’d have a lot more room if you’d roll them in a ball like this." I demonstrate as she looks on.
"Won’t they get all wrinkled?" she asks, a little annoyed when I unfurl her now heavily creased T-shirt.
"That’s why you’re not gonna travel with anything made of cotton. Stick to non-wrinkle fabrics that you can just shake out and put on. No fuss, no muss." I begin laying all of her clothing out on the floor as I start to rearrange everything.
"Since when did a guy like you learn about non-wrinkle fabrics?" She sits on her heels, watching me work.
"From your brother," I admit, hearing her snort. "He taught me the ropes and now I’m teaching you. It’s the least I can do to return the favor."
My fingers tingle as they glide over the softness of her pajama bottoms. I never pegged her as the skimpy lingerie type. I like that she’s wholesome like that. So many of these groupies leave little to the imagination, and that’s in public. It’s hard to come across someone who’s pure and innocent. Sasha’s a little spitfire, but at heart, she’s still that down-home girl who doesn’t have to try so hard to get a guy’s attention. She is who she is, take it or leave it. She’s not going to get all sexy. She’d rather be comfortable.
"What’s this? A pink Kings cap? Oh, Sasha," I groan as I flick it across the room. "Don’t you dare bring that within a mile of the guys or they’ll never take you seriously."
"Don’t go throwing my grandma’s hat around, Sandy!" she rebukes me, scrambling to her feet to retrieve it.
I instantly regret my action as she places it on her head, cupping the brim. It looks cute on her, but I’m not sure if she wants to hear that. She seems furious at me for hurling it aside.
"My grandma was the first one I called when Heimlich said yes," she confesses, scooting closer to me. "And you know what she said? ‘It’s about damn time.’"
I can’t help but laugh, and she joins in right along with me, easing the tension. I could listen to her laugh all day, every day, and never get tired of it. It doesn’t just sound good. It feels good, like she’s casting a warm glow on my heart.
"Her big sister, Ruth, played professionally during World War II when the guys were off fighting. She always believed that women deserved to reclaim their place in the sport. Once upon a time, she even told my dad that he had better put me on his Little League team, or else." Her eyes sparkle as she talks, conveying just how much her grandmother means to her.
She reaches into her purse for her phone, scrolling to a picture of her grandmother wearing the pink hat. "See? She’d always wear it to my games. It was like her good-luck charm. Here she is with it on at the World Series two years ago, cheering on Kyle."
"But that doesn’t explain why you have it." I watch the expression on her face change as she slowly takes off the cap.
"When I left for school last fall, she gave it to me to take with me," she responds, her voice sad. "She knew how upset I was that I wasn’t going to get to play for a college team, and she didn’t want me to think that this was it. She said that, every time I looked at the hat, she wanted me to remember that my playing days weren’t behind me and that somehow I’d find a way to get back in the game, and I did, even if it was just an amateur softball league that played behind the American Legion on Thursday nights. We didn’t even have uniforms. We wore our own shorts and sneakers."
I reach out and rub Sasha’s back, letting my fingers stray to the area behind her neck. It’s been such an emotional twenty-four hours for her. The ups and downs have been pretty intense. I want nothing more than for her to relax. Let her know that, even though I don’t agree with her decision to do this, I’ll always be on her side. Just like her grandma.
She shivers when I play with a loose tendril of hair at the nape of her neck. "Maybe you should go," she says, briefly shutting her eyes as I withdraw my hand. "I think I can take it from here."
I stepped over the boundary I promised Kyle I wouldn’t cross. She’s only abiding by my wishes. It’s my fault that I can’t stop touching her. It’s too hard being alone with her, having her right beside me. She’s resisting because she thinks that’s what I want her to do. I get to my feet, upset with myself.
Things are so screwed up right now. We should be enjoying each other’s company after so many months apart, not pushing each other away. She wants it. I want it. But Kyle’s the one calling the shots, and now even the Kings are getting involved.
Last night, after we spoke on the phone, I thought that this was it. Finally, I was going to get my chance to make things right with her. But Kyle’s holding firm, and the Kings don’t want a scandal. If Sasha and I get caught in a compromising position, the press is going to label her the team slut. I can’t have that happen. I respect her too much to jeopardize her reputation. I have to be there in the background building her up, not front and center tearing her down. Maybe we’ll get our chance at the end of the season, but for now, it’s for the best if we just remain friends.
Sasha follows me to the door. I pause with my hand on the knob.
"If you need anything—"
"I know… You’re right next door," she finishes, an intense fire blazing in her eyes as she stares up at me.
"Be ready by six." I’m all business, fighting every instinct in my body not to turn around and ignite the passion that’s smoldering in her gaze. "Goodnight, Sasha," I grunt, stepping into the hallway without looking back.
"’Night, Brooks," I hear her say before closing the door and twisting the lock.
Yeah, I may be locked out of her bedroom for now, but I hope I still hold the key to her heart.
Chapter Eight
Sasha
The guys don’t seem as friendly as they did yesterday.
Before they heard I was joining the team.
Before they knew I was going to be one of them.
They gaze at me with suspicion as they wait in line to board the plane. This time, no one approaches me to ask how Kyle’s doing. Suddenly, I feel like I’m back on my dad’s Little League team, getting the cold shoulder from the boys who thought I didn’t belong there. If Brooks wasn’t walking alongside me now¸ I don’t know if I’d be able to do this alone. I can feel the hostility rolling off of them in waves.
"Well, if it isn’t the girl who’s going to make us the laughingstock of the American League," Drake Schultz sneers as we reach the end of the line. "And her ringless boy wonder, too."
Some of the guys snicker, but very few. No one likes to rub it in Brooks’s face that he was denied the chance at a ring. He’s the only everyday position player currently on the team who doesn’t have one, and it has to bother him.
I know it bothered Kyle. He got into a fistfight with Drake last year when he wouldn’t shut up about it. The Kings lost a game in Toronto when Brooks got caught stealing in the top of the ninth. Drake had to be the one at the plate, no doubt salivating over the RBIs he could rack up if he could hit one out. It was a bonehead move on Brooks’s part, but Drake wouldn’t let it go. He wanted to be the hero and be lauded for winning the game. So he kept harping on Brooks, taunting him in the locker room, saying that he was no Chase Whitfield and that they were less of a team with him as their shortstop. That he didn’t know what it meant to be a champion, but they did. That’s when Kyle snapped and lunged at him. The other guys broke it up, but not before Brooks’s ego was thoroughly bruised.
In fact, it was the first piece of Brooks-related gossip that dropped from Kyle’s mouth since his wedding, and I ate it up. Any news about Brooks was better than none at all, even though it sounded bad for him. Kyle was in one of those moods where he just wanted to ramble on about what an asshole Drake was, and he called me instead of venting to Casey, knowing that she’d kill him if she knew he’d been in a fight. I can only guess that Nate and Matt must’ve been busy and I was his third choice, but he went on and on about how Brooks was just as good a player as Chase and that Drake didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.
I knew that Kyle was just being loyal to his friend, and while Brooks was good, he was still learning. He was a natural talent, but he was rough around the edges. Chase was an icon of the game, respected at his position. It was a tough transition for Brooks, filling the shoes of such a legendary player. The New York crowd was familiar with Brooks’s style of play, but they were more comfortable with him when he was subbing for Chase, not taking his place. Needless to say, it took the fans a while to warm up to him. But once Brooks started producing, getting key hits in big situations, and making the tricky plays look easy, the fans gradually came to accept him.
Looking back on all that Brooks went through, I can only imagine what the fans are going to think of me, especially if I’m already getting snubbed by my teammates.
"Girl, you said you were gonna intern with the Kings, but I never thought it’d be ninety feet away from me," Scott calls out before walking back to us and pulling me in for a hug. Chase follows behind him, clearing his throat, and Scott immediately lets go of me. "Sorry, Whit. I forgot. No touching."
Chase draws Brooks and me aside as the other guys look on, curious as to what drew their first base coach over. We haven’t even gotten on the plane yet and they already think we’re in trouble.
"I wish you’d told me what you were up to," Chase says, his voice barely audible. "I can’t say I’m happy about this turn of events. I tried to talk Terry out of letting you do this, but there’s no way he’s going to listen to me now. He said you already signed a contract without an agent, without a lawyer, without anybody looking out for your best interests. You should’ve known better, Brooks."
I flinch, realizing that the bulk of Chase’s anger is being directed at Brooks. He doesn’t deserve to suffer the fallout. He didn’t put a gun to my head. In fact, he was dead-set against it.
"It’s not his fault, Chase," I cut in, ready to defend him. "It was my idea. Brooks tried to talk me out of it. I swear. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me, and I’m not sorry for what I did."
"You will be, sweetheart," Chase murmurs sadly. "You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. The pressure. The scrutiny. The Kings are going to turn you into a publicity stunt, and there’s nothing to stop them from doing it. You signed on the dotted line. They own you now."
"Nobody owns me," I respond vehemently, my voice carrying as nearly every head cranes in our direction. "I made it clear to Terry that I’m only in it for my brother."
"Yeah, but is this really what Kyle wants? Did you even run it by him first?" Chase’s questions are direct, and I feel like I’m being interrogated.
"She doesn’t have to," Brooks speaks up. "She can do whatever she wants."
"And you agree with this?" Chase fires back.
"No," Brooks admits, hanging his head when I glance over at him. "But I support her no matter what, and you should too. If we’re gonna get the other guys to rally around her, we need you, Chase. The guys listen to you. They respect you."
"He’s right," I admit. "Chase, you’ll always be the leader of this team, even if you’re not playing anymore. If you’re not on my side, no one will be. I can’t do it without you."
Chase falls silent as he mulls it over. He knows he’s responsible for me now, whether he likes it or not. He has a baby girl at home. He knows what it’s like to want to protect someone who’s counting on him. He won’t leave me hanging. I know he won’t. His ties to Kyle run too deep.
"I’m only doing it to save your skin," Chase mutters after what seems like an eternity. "I won’t turn my back on you, not when you need me. I’m not that heartless. But I think what you’re doing is foolish."
"Do you know a better way of saving Kyle’s job?" I retort, not liking how Chase is insinuating that I’m trying to stir things up just to cause problems. "Because I don’t."
"Sasha, this isn’t a sure bet. So many things could go wrong." Chase stares into my eyes, and I have to look away. I’m not used to being on a first-name basis with him, someone I’ve admired for so long.
"There are no guarantees, but this is the closest thing she’s got and you know it, Whit," Brooks jumps in, realizing how flustered I am. He gets it. I think he still gets a little starry-eyed too.
"You’re placing way too much trust in the Kings. It’s dangerous." Chase runs his hand over his head, trying to come to grips with everything. "They’ll take everything they can get out of you then toss you aside. I’ve seen them do it too many times not to know what they’re capable of. I just don’t want to see you get hurt."
"I won’t let her get hurt," Brooks declares adamantly, placing his hand on my shoulder.
I reach up and squeeze his fingers, even though I know I shouldn’t. Not in front of Chase. Not in front of the other guys. No one needs to know what’s going on between us—not that it’s that hard to figure out.
"And like Scott said, I’d keep the touching to a minimum if I were you," Chase cautions us, and Brooks quickly removes his hand. "That’s the number-one concern Terry has about this whole thing. He doesn’t want Sasha to be labeled as some kind of plaything, being passed around from player to player. We’re in uncharted territory, and Heimlich won’t stand for it if he thinks the reputation of his club is getting tarnished. Any hint of indiscretion will turn this into a sideshow. Sasha, you gotta understand that fraternizing with any of the guys, including Brooks, is forbidden."
"Then how am I supposed to feel like I’m a part of the team?" I blurt out, not understanding the logic behind this new rule. "I’m not even allowed to give someone a fist-bump after a home run?"
"It’s not that extreme," Chase continues, glancing at Brooks warily. "You’re just to remain professional at all times, especially when you think no one is watching, because that’s when someone usually is. You’re not to be seen coming out of a teammate’s hotel room, for instance, no matter how innocent it seems, and you’re not to go anywhere near the locker room."
"But where am I supposed to change?" I ask, getting ruffled.
"On the road, you’re going to have to resort to the women’s restroom. There just aren’t any accommodations set up for this kind of thing, especially in visiting ballparks." Chase gently turns me aside as the rest of the players start to board. "Terry said he’s working on providing you with more adequate amenities at Kings Stadium once we get back, but don’t count on having your own shower room or anything."
"That’s so unfair," Brooks seethes as he starts to pace back and forth.
"It is what it is," Chase states matter-of-factly. "However, Sasha, you will be assigned your own hair-and-makeup person before you’re to appear on camera for clubhouse interviews after the game or anything like that. Even if you’re out there busting your butt for nine innings, Terry doesn’t want anyone to see you sweat."
Brooks exhales sharply through his nose. "That’s ridiculous."
"That’s New York," Chase sums it up, rolling his eyes. "You’re a product now, Sasha, and while America is going to want to see the type of person you are behind the bill of goods they’re being sold, Terry’s going to control the kind of person they see, the one that never has a hair out of place."
"So they expect me to be perfect? I hate to break it to you, but it’s not going to happen." I take a step back, for the first time genuinely afraid of what I’ve gotten myself into. "I can’t deliver if that’s what they’re looking for. I have way too many flaws."
Chase starts to laugh, and I glance at him in alarm. This isn’t funny. This is serious. I’m being honest with him, and he’s cracking up. I look at Brooks and he just shrugs his shoulders.
"Sasha, I love how blunt you are. I really do, but you’re going to have to watch yourself when it comes to interviews. The press would eat you alive if you gave them a quote like that. Being so candid would only fuel the fire. Rule number one: never provide them with negatives—they’ll find them on their own. Always remain positive so that the only sound bites they’ll be able to get from you are upbeat and cheerful."
The flight attendant is waving us forward since everyone else has already boarded.
But Chase keeps talking as we move toward the connecting ramp. "You’re going to have a press conference as soon as we land. Terry is already on the ground, setting it up. He left last night in order to get everything prepared. You’re not going to be expected to say much. He’s even flirting with the idea of not letting you take any questions. He’s going to present you with your jersey, slip it over your shoulders, and shake your hand while you give a big smile to the cameras. You have the element of surprise in your favor because no one is expecting this. The press probably thinks they’re covering some big trade deal that Terry made overnight."
My mind races as I drag my wheelie through the enclosed space. That picture of Terry putting the number-twelve jersey on my back is going to go viral before I have a chance to tell to Kyle. I didn’t mean to keep him in the dark. I was just too much of a coward to call him last night. It was late and I figured he was probably asleep, but if he hears about this from anyone but me, there’s going to be hell to pay.
