He could not look more put out. “We’re not here to make friends. We’re here to win.”
“No. That isn’t how it works.”
“All due respect—only one of us knows baseball.”
“And only one of us pays your checks. Fletch, I’m not asking you to strap on a hat-cam and do choreographed dances for TikTok. I’m asking you to interact with the fans.”
“You want the team to, you mean.”
“You, too.”
“I’m the coach. I’m here for them.”
“Are you? Or are you here because you’re too angry to be anywhere else?”
I went too far with that question. I can feel it as soon as it’s out.
Shoot. What if he gets offended and quits? I really need him not to quit. He’s the interim coach for a reason: no one else would take the job.
I’m about to apologize when he snorts.
“Maybe.”
But then he gives me a shrewd look. The rest of the team has gone into the locker room, leaving just the two of us. “But aren’t you in the same position? You may not be here because you’re angry, but Mullet Ridge is no one’s end game.”
Three weeks ago, I would have enthusiastically agreed. But three weeks ago, I hadn’t seen Sean again. I hadn’t found someone to help me navigate the nuances of a different kind of South than I grew up in. I hadn’t discovered the power in having a teammate.
A teammate whose jersey looks so flipping good on me.
“That’s a pretty broad stroke you’re painting, Fletch.”
“Prove me wrong.”
“I could be anywhere else. I’m choosing it. Sean’s choosing it. His brother, Patty—you know, famous rockstar Patrick O’Shannan—he’s choosing it. I get Mullet Ridge has an image problem. Leaning into the mullets probably isn’t helping it. But you have to stop acting like someone forced you to be here. Life gave you some hard knocks. But you chose where to get back up. You need to stop punishing everyone for that choice.”
Fletch’s frosty blue eyes go wide. “Wow. When you put it that way, I sound like a jerk.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You sort of did.”
“Yes, but onlysort of.” I smile. “You’re a good guy, Fletch. You’re out there every day giving the guys what they need. I see how early you get to the field. How late you stay. You’re committed, and that speaks volumes about you as a person.”
Fletch takes off his hat again, scratching his head before replacing it. “Thanks.”
“Does that mean you’ll talk to fans?”
“No. But I’ll tell the boys to.”
“That’ll do. For now.”
I walk with him toward the locker room. I won’t go all the way in—men’s locker rooms aren’t my scene—but we can catch up for a minute, at least.
“How’s your brother doing?”
“Happily making wedding plans.”
“Are you going to bring a date?”
