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I stareat the cursor on my screen as it hovers over the latest email from Avery Moreno. Corey’s PR agent and I communicate regularly to ensure we’re on the same page regarding Corey’s public image. My boss tells me it’s unnecessary, but I send Avery all the images with captions I think fit Corey’s personality while also endearing him to Lonestars’ fans. Things like posting his favorite burger joint or pizzeria—stuff I remember from our childhood. People like to feel connected, and fans enjoy learning their favorite ice cream parlor is the same as the baseball star who moved back town.
If Avery approves of the post, she passes it along to Corey for him to share on his social media accounts. Patti would rather I communicate with Corey directly, but she doesn’t know all the reasons why that’s a bad idea. Not the least one being that I act like a complete fool around him.
It’s been two days, and I still cringe every time I remember how I ran out of Soup Soul like a coward the moment lunch ended. Usually, I hang around and ask Erika or another director if they need help with anything else. I only make it there once a month at most, and I always feel like I should do more.
I started volunteering at the Soup Soul the summer before my senior year—the summer Corey left for college.
At the time, I still hoped Corey would get over whatever kept him away from me and my family after our unexpected kiss. I’d avoided calling him. Knowing Corey, reaching out before he was ready would only make him dive deeper into the hole of isolation he’d dug for himself. Fortunately, he still spoke with Carter. My brother would mention Corey from time to time when my parents asked about him, but other than that, I no longer had any connection to the young man I’d been pining for most of my life.
Desperate to feel some sort of connection, I finally let myself go through the duffle bag I’d found in Carter’s room when I was helping him pack for college. Corey used the worn, black fabric bag whenever he spent the night over the years. He must’ve forgotten he left it in Carter’s room. I wasn’t proud of myself for hiding it in my room. I’d planned to use it as a reason to reach out to Corey before realizing that would just push him farther away.
I held onto the bag until I couldn’t resist the temptation any longer and I opened it. There wasn’t much inside, just a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. But tucked into the pocket of the pants was a flyer for a food drive at a place called Soup Soul. The date of the event had already passed, but I was intrigued. Eager for a connection to Corey, I found myself taking my mom’s car to downtown Dallas. The moment I walked into Soup Soul, I felt drawn to the place.
Everyone had greeted me with welcoming smiles. The volunteers were happy and enthusiastic, and the citizens who took part in the services the organization offered were kind, thankful, and friendly. Soup Soul felt like a home. I didn’t hesitate to sign up to volunteer for their next event, and that wasbefore I saw the pictures of Corey on the corkboard collage in the director’s office.
From what I saw, Corey volunteered at several events over the past year, including a holiday gift exchange, clothing drives, serving holiday meals, and more. I found the connection to him I’d been yearning for in an unexpected way, and I clung to it over the years. Even after the hope of Corey getting over his hang-ups faded, I volunteered at Soup Soul. I enjoyed it. I tried to make it back at least once every other month when I went to college. Now that I live in Dallas, I make it to an event once a month at minimum.
But after running into Corey, I don’t know when I’ll go back.
Seeing the rich and successful Corey Johnson chatting with the most vulnerable members of our community like they were old friends made my heart swell with so much emotion that it caused me physical pain. It reminded me of the young man I fell for all those years ago, and knowing he’s still somewhere in that tall, muscular body affected me more than I care to admit.
So while it would be more efficient to communicate with Corey directly, it’s better that we don’t. I can’t be trusted not to fall back in love with him at the drop of a hat.
Even speaking to his agent about him feels risky.
Maybe I can get one of the interns to take over that task for me?
Patti won’t like the additional layer of communication. If she asks, I’ll have to come up with a reason why it’s a good idea without revealing I’m a hopeless romantic who can’t seem to let go of the girlish fantasy of being with her brother’s best friend.
I inhale a calming breath and open the email. It’s a short response, approving my last post suggestion and confirming she’d forwarded it to Corey.
I close the email and open the next one. It’s from Lawrence. I emailed all of the players last week to ask if they were interestedin participating in a New Year’s charity before the season starts. Technically, the players aren’t contractually required to do things for the team during this time, but a lot of the guys live in town and don’t mind helping out the community in their free time. And while I’m friendly with most of the guys, I make sure to utilize the professional relationship between us when I ask them this type of thing. Hence, the email.
I read Lawrence’s response, indicating he’s willing to participate in the event pending the date and time don’t interfere with his family’s plans.
I am in the middle of drafting my response with the details when Patti walks through my open door, tapping her knuckles on the doorframe. “Good morning, Carlee. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Sure.” I save the draft and click out of the email browser, giving her my full attention. “What’s up?”
She sits in the chair in front of me. “I just got off the phone with Charles Wilson.”
I straighten in my seat. “You did?”
She nods. “He wanted to convey his eagerness to see Corey’s image mended sooner rather than later.”
A frown pulls on my lips. “It’s only been a couple of weeks.”
“I know,” Patti says, sounding apologetic. “But he and the minority owners are eager to ensure their decision to trade for Corey is a profitable one. Jersey sales are set to release at the start of the preseason, and they expect them to sell out right away. Which means we have a little more than two months to work our magic and increase his popularity with our fans.”
Two months is a decent amount of time to make progress with Corey’s image, but my boss’s wary expression puts me on edge. “What happens if they don’t sell out?”
She sighs. “I don’t know for sure, but it isn’t good for us. Or Corey for that matter.”
I wish I could say I worried for myself more than Corey, but that would be a lie. I can hear Morgan criticizing my bleeding heart in my head.
“I’ll keep going with our current plan, but I’ll try to think of more ways we can engage the community.” Immediately, Soup Soul comes to mind. People would go nuts if they learned about the star pitcher’s involvement with the well-loved organization, especially if they knew he worked with them as a young man. But I doubt Corey would be willing to share that part of himself with the world. And I can’t blame him.
Corey came from nothing. He very well could have followed in his father’s footsteps and become a man who had no purpose and chose not to live up to his potential, but he didn’t. He made something of himself. He worked hard to get where he is, and I’m sure he doesn’t want the reminder of what he was. Which is why he never returned to Texas after leaving for college.
