That sounded casual, right?
He smashes the plastic water bottle and tosses it in the trash can as if it’s a basketball. Sinks it with ease.
“She’s got some background in event planning, charities, fundraisers.” He glances at me as if I’ve said something mildly interesting and he didn’t hear the hitch in my voice. “She knows the calendar, knows the families. Better than someone on the outside.”
“Right.”
“You’ll work together on the logistics. She handles the vendors and the venues, you handle the players and the communication on our end.” He picks up a pen and twirls it around his fingers. “Should be straightforward.”
I close the folder.
Straightforward. Yeah. That’s not a word I would use, but hey, everyone’s different.
“Sounds like it.”
I think about Penelope in the hallway minutes ago. The way she held that folder against her chest like a shield over her heart. The way she looked at me twice, thought better of it, then invented an excuse to get as far away from me as she could.
She must know I’m a part of this. And yet she agreed. I turn that over for a second. I don’t know if it means something or if I’m doing that thing where I find meaning in things that have absolutely no meaning at all.
She might not care I’m on this project with her. She’s moving on. Dating and looking for the right person to spend the rest of her life with. Maybe it’s about time I try to do the same.
Ripley studies me for a moment as if he’s surprised I have no other questions.
“Good.” He drops the pen on his desk. “We have to meet with Whitaker first. He has some stipulations. The meeting date and time are on the second page.”
“Okay.”
In a boardroom with the woman I love, her clueless dad, and a man who wants me off the team. Sounds like a good time if I’ve ever heard one.
“Does Shane know you’ve chosen me?”
“I told him I’d take care of it.” He leans back in his chair again, linking his hands behind his head. “Listen, Deck, I think this is a good opportunity for you. Show the front office the guy you are. Or I guess, remind them of the guy you are. You’re a Colt. You bleed red and blue. And I believe you’re the guy for third base. We need to show them they need you in the clubhouse and in the game.”
I smile. Ripley has believed in me since I was eleven—longer than my own father.
“Thanks, Mark.”
“We’ll show them how wrong they are if they don’t sign you next year.”
“Sounds good.” I stand and pick up the folder.
Ripley is already turning back toward his laptop. Meeting adjourned.
When I reach the door, he says my name, and I turn around.
His eyes are trained on the monitor now, not on me. “She’s working hard to build a life here. Her and Hazel both.” A pause that lands a little heavier than it should for a sentence about event planning. “I’d like to see this go well.”
I tell myself it’s not a warning. It’s a man talking about his daughter moving to a new city and settling in.
That’s all it is.
“Understood.” I nod.
He returns my nod, and I leave, pulling the door shut behind me.
The hallway is empty. I stand there for a moment longer than makes sense, as though I expected something different. Of course it’s empty. Why would Penelope have stuck around?
I walk toward the locker room and try to figure out what just happened.
