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None of it helped much.
The choices were clear enough. Sutter and what she always wanted. Or the Saints as she knew them. Maybe.
And it was a choice.
Unlike for Ollie and the players, there wasn’t an option B. Whoever she chose, she was under no illusions about that. If she chose Sutter and Alex won, he wouldn’t be extending an olive branch and asking her to come back to the Saints. And if Sutter won and she’d chosen Alex, then she’d be out of a job too. Sure, she might find something at another team or in the minors but it wouldn’t be the Saints.
Damned if she did and damned if she didn’t.
Which meant that, whoever she chose, she had to do her damnedest to see that they won.
All in or nothing.
Gah. She tossed the cushion she’d been twisting in her hands across the room, narrowly missing a vase of peonies.
Stupid choices.
Why was it hard? In these situations, you were meant to know in your gut what was the right thing to do, weren’t you? Know the path and take it. Instead she felt like a mouse in a wheel, running running running and never getting any farther forward.
She pulled her notepad toward her, chewing her lip while she skimmed over the pro and con list again.
Being CEO, that was definitely a pro. A big honkingly scary pro but a pro nonetheless. But it came with the equally honkingly scary thought of the Saints moving elsewhere … becoming a whole new thing.
Whereas in the team Alex column there was stability and tradition and everything she loved about the Saints.
But it came with not being CEO and having to find a new place for herself with the team.
Did it boil down to what was best for her or what was best for the team?
Did she have the right to be selfish when there were so many other people to consider?
Was it selfish if the idea of being CEO and doing things her way was appealing?
She didn’t know.
She’d watched Alex and Mal and Lucas these last few weeks. Three intelligent, efficient, and highly capable men swinging into action to save the Saints. Doing it with a delicate balance of charm and ruthless drive. She’d worked with them and laughed with them and they’d listened to her and taken up some of her ideas. They were a team. A solid unit. Strong and steady. They wouldn’t abandon the team if they could help it.
They were the guys who’d run into a burning building to save people. She’d done some digging after she’d finally gotten rid of Ollie. Found the old news files. Read about a bombing and deaths and about the people who’d risked their lives to reduce that death toll. Including a young pitcher, a catcher, and a slugger. Stars of their team. Promising prospects. None of them had played baseball again after the bombing as far as she could tell. Alex changed schools and took up a business major, and Lucas switched to pre-med at another school too. Mal had dropped out and joined the army.
She didn’t know why they’d given up the game—whether they’d been injured or couldn’t stomach it after what had happened. But it was clear that baseball ran deep in all three of them. And that they had, to quote her dad, the stuff.
And then there was Sutter. Equally rich. Not quite so charming. Never ran into a burning building in his life as far as she knew. But offering the brass ring she’d been stretching for all these years. She didn’t know him well, just had her old memories of him which, granted, didn’t work in his favor. But he’d been young and cocky back then and maybe he’d gotten a little wiser with time. People changed, sometimes. He’d acted like a jerk at the Giants, but he hadn’t been too bad at breakfast. Maybe he had changed. Maybe he could be good for the Saints. Maybe she and he could work together and turn them into something new and shiny and brilliant.
But there was a cost to becoming new and shiny and brilliant, and tradition would be the one to pay it.
Selling out her childhood, her heritage, everything her dad had done.
She could justify it if she had to but would she really be able to live with it?
Her phone buzzed beside her. Hana again. She’d called several times today and Maggie had ignored her. She had to be a hairsbreadth away from charging over here and kicking down the door to demand to know what was going on in her usual Hana style.
And quite frankly, maybe some kick-ass Hana style was what Maggie needed right now. Someone who really would tell it like it is.
“Hey,” she said, hitting the button to pick up the call. It came through on video, Hana’s expression both worried and angry.
“Where on earth have you been?” she demanded.
“Busy,” Maggie said.
