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“Sean, it’s good you’re here.” The Tigers GM, Doug, pulls me from my thoughts and my eyes away from Andie, who’s at the other end of the room talking to Ed McNeil’s granddaughter. “Sounds like things are coming together for next weekend. It’s a good job sweeping the mess under the rug.”
I’ve never had an issue with Doug or how he manages the team. I know this is all business to him. He’s happy as long as things run smoothly and we’re winning, but that comment has me clenching my fists. I’m not trying to hide anything. He’s making it sound like this is just another publicity stunt, and it’s all for show.
“It’s a big deal to the kids and families attending. An opportunity they’d likely only dream of.” I want to clarify exactly why Andie and I are doing this.
He slaps me on the back. “Well, I’m sure the press will eat it up. Postings on social media are receiving lots of attention.”
I want to wipe the arrogant, smug look off his face, but I shove my fist in my pockets instead, turning to address him. “This is so much more than social media likes and good press. These kids live each day not knowing what the next will look like. Will they sleep in the same bed? Will they finally be placed in a home…with a family? Will they be safe, or do they need to fear what might happen to them in their new quarters?”
I take a breath, letting my words take root in his ignorance and insensitivity to what these kids and these families face daily.
“And the veterans and military families…some have been wounded or live with PTSD, knowing they’ll never be the same. Their families live with that, too. Those with loved ones overseas never know when it might be the last time they speak with their husband, wife, or mom or dad. It’s everyday life for them and a hardship you and I will never understand.”
I look him in the eye. “This isn’t about covering up anything. The few hours we’re with these families next weekend is one hundred percent about them.”
Doug nods, looking like he didn’t care for my little speech, but I don’t give a flying fuck. If he doesn’t like the press I’m bringing, he can trade my ass and find someone willing to stroke his ego or make him look good.
“Well, I look forward to seeing how it goes. The sooner it's over, the sooner you can get back to your life and focus on what’s important. All this stuff with Andie Parks is taking its toll, and she doesn’t have as much to lose as you do. You’d be wise to steer clear after this.” He smiles, slaps me on the back, and walks away.
I have to process what exactly he just said, and I’m about two seconds away from going after him when I’m stopped. It’s likely good because my fist might have done the talking this time.
“Do I want to know what that was all about?” Tyrell’s deep voice hits my ears from behind. “That looked…a little intense.”
“Just making it clear what next weekend is really about. He had the idea that it’s all covering my indiscretions.” I survey the room, trying to find Andie, but I don’t see her.
“How’d it go with Morgan? Don’t think the whole room wasn’t waiting for a catfight to break out.”
“Really? Andie’s way too cool to let Morgan get the best of her. She wished her luck finding her way out of her miserable life.”
Tyrell’s head rolls back, and laughter booms out of him. “She’s something. My wife would’ve handed me her earrings and forced me to hold her back. Hair would’ve been flying everywhere.”
Like her name conjures her up, Andie steps up beside me. “Have we met the requirement to be able to blow this pop stand?”
With her beside me, I toss my irritation and agitation from the last fifteen minutes overboard. Before I can tell her I’m ready to go, Tyrell’s wife joins us in a tizzy.
“Hey, baby.” Tyrell swings an arm out and pulls her close. “Where’ve you been?”
Her eyes dart around like she’s hunting for someone. “I have no idea where that woman gets her nerve. Seriously, whoever brought her should be kicked off the team. I mean, who would do that? And she just won’t quit running her mouth.”
Tyrell groans, but she continues.
“She’s over there licking her wounds and carrying on, but there are no tears. If she was smart, she’d at least go to the bar and squirt lemon juice in her eyes. Now, she’s trying to convince everyone that Andie can’t really sing. She said the whole thing was dubbed. Can you even believe it? What will it take for her to zip her double Botoxed lips?”
Andie shifts next to me, putting her hands on her hips, and I hear her suck in a breath and hold it. When she lets it out,she turns to face me. The calm, controlled Andie that addressed Morgan a bit ago is gone. Now replaced with the Andie, who looks like she’s about to throw down.
Her fierce eyes hit mine. “You still good with not giving a shit, Pretty Boy?”
I smile. “Yep.”
One side of her perfect mouth tugs upward. “The best way to kill a lie is with the truth.” She leaves my side and disappears.
“What’s she going to do?” Tyrell asks.
“Stab that lie right through the heart.” I step away from them to find the perfect spot to stand back and watch.
I settle into a quiet space along the back wall. A second later, she’s marching across the room with Mr. McNeil’s granddaughter by her side, who’s carrying a guitar. At the bar, Andie leans over to say something to the bartender before using a stool to give her the boost she needs to climb up and sit.
Crossing her legs, she gets comfortable before the girl hands her the guitar. As she strums a few chords, the room begins to take notice and quiets. She leans over to ask the girl something, then messes with the tuners and strums again while the girl sits beside her on a stool, starstruck.
