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“Tell your kids I said hello. Next time you get to a game, make sure to come and see me.”
“I will. And Max, do me a favor, will you?”
“What’s that?”
“No more suspensions this season.”
“No promises.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Secrets
SUTTON
We pickup steam in May, returning home from our midwestern road trip with a winning record for the first time all season. When our flight landed after the road trip, Max was waiting for me. He was worried I’d be too tired to drive home on my own and figured he’d offer his services. At least that’s how he explained things to the team. Once we were parked on the ferry, we didn’t leave the car. Thankfully my jersey covered the evidence Max left on my collarbone.
We’re both back to work now, and falling into rhythm with each other while sticking to the remaining ground rules: nothing anyone can see, and I’ve had to ban Maxwell from coming to my office alone. For one thing, he’s a pitcher, there’s no reason for him to be consulting the hitting coach. And for another…one of us usually ends up kissing the other.
A knock sounds on my office door and I look up to find Nico in the doorway, Maxwell’s large frame towering behind him. Doing my best to school my features despite the twitch at the corner of my mouth, I wave Nico inside and Max follows him.
“What can I do for you, Nico?” I ask, my voice laced with cool professionalism as I try to ignore the towering pitcher following behind poor Nico like a little puppy dog.
“I wanted to ask you about…batting practice?” His voice tips up into a question as if he’s unsure of himself.
“Batting practice.”
“Yes. If there’s anything I should be working on. Doing better. If you have any game film,” he turns and looks at Max with a pinched brow and it’s all I can do to smother a laugh, “or data you need me to look at.”
“Nico, I don’t think I need to tell you that you lead the team in extra base hits right now. You have an unusually high on base percentage for a catcher, and for a rookie your plate discipline is a thing of beauty. But, if you’re here because Maxwell thinks he can use you as a chaperone to get around our arrangement, fine.” I hand him a tablet with scouting reports for today’s game pulled up, all the while Maxwell has the audacity to drop into the chair across from my desk and grin at me, and I point a stern finger at him. “Stop that.”
“I said nothing,” he does his best to turn his smile into something more of a scowl but it doesn’t work. “I’m just accompanying my catcher. I’m here as moral support.”
“Moral support because she’ssoscary.” Nico rolls his eyes and gives me a good natured smile.
“Don’t you have a bullpen session to prepare for?” I ask Max, but he’s cut off by a shout from the clubhouse.
“Davis!” Roger roars, his voice bouncing off the walls of the clubhouse. I step out from behind my desk and slowly step into the clubhouse, all eyes on me.
“My office. NOW.”
My hands shake as heat and embarrassment flood my veins. This is it. This is the end of the road for me. I’ve had six good seasons, and it’s all coming to an end right here. Looking back into my office, I meet Max’s gaze and he looks just as confused and unsure as I feel. It’s a short walk to Roger’s office and I try to recount any moments between Max and methat could’ve been caught, and can’t pinpoint anything. My cleats click against the concrete floor and I steady myself with a deep breath before knocking on the door of the manager’s office.
Roger sits behind his desk, he’s removed his cap and has his hands clasped in front of him on the desk. Jose and Jerome are in the room as well, both with dire looks on their faces, neither of them will look at me. I got a better reception from the coaching staff following my suspension than I am right now, and every single worst case scenario that I can think of starts to play out in my brain.
“Someone go get Harrison.” Roger barks, startling me as I drop into the chair across from him. Jerome exits quickly, leaving the rest of us in very heavy, incredibly awkward silence. I can’t look at anyone in the room. My heart is racing, hands shaking.
There can be only one reason that he wants Max and I in here together: He knows. He knows that we’re dating and I’m about to lose my job. You don’t fire the veteran ace of your staff for dating the hitting coach. No. You fire the hitting coach. Thewomaninvolved. I’ll be the news story for weeks, the woman who dated one of her players, the woman who ruined the team. I’ll never get another job in baseball after this.
Max comes in and sits down beside me and I have to resist the urge to reach out and take his hand. That’s what landed us here in the first place. I have to keep my hands to myself and not give Roger any more reason to toss me out of this place on my rear. Roger stares at us from across his desk and my pulse pounds in my ears. A clock ticks nearby as Jerome and Jose leave the room, shutting the door behind them.
“It’s not his fault!” I blurt, the uncomfortable silence grating on my nerves. “I’m a coach. I have a responsibility to the team, and when we kissed during the playoffs, I shouldhave shut it down. I know better. I’m the one who should be fired. Don’t punish Max.”
My words come out in a rush, leaving me feeling utterly deflated and ill at ease as Roger stares at me open mouthed and Max whips his head to the side, staring at me with wide eyes. He grabs my hand and squeezes it tight, while Roger pretends not to notice.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that, do you understand me?” Roger waggles a finger between the two of us and at his raised brow, Max lets go of my hand. I fold my hands in my lap and lower my gaze to a spot on the desk just in front of Roger’s hands.
“Yes sir.”
