Dad smiles at Decker, quickly interjecting. “He’s the perfect fit. The players listen to him, and he’s never let me down.” A small pause. “It’s good for everyone.”
“Thanks, Mark,” Decker says.
My dad’s praise toward Decker isn’t subtle.
I know what a contract year looks like. I grew up watching my dad navigate them—the players who were pushing for new deals, the ones on the edge, the ones the organization was quietly evaluating. When my dad says someone makes the whole organization look good, he’s telling me that Decker doing this matters. That he’s being watched. That there’s something in it for him beyond a sparkly Mr. Congeniality ribbon.
I keep my face very neutral.
“So, tell me your vision.” Shane nods at me, and my anxiety kicks up.
“I haven’t had time to go through it with Decker yet, but this is what I have.” I open my folder of notes. “Since we only have two players who have a wife or girlfriend who is a permanent fixture in their lives, I think we should call ourselves the Dugout Social Club, and the events should be referred to as VIP Nights or Events.”
“I like it. I like it a lot.” Shane points at me and glances at my dad, giving him an approving smile.
We spend the next fifteen minutes going over the event calendar, the budget, and the overall vision, with Shane putting in his two cents on every topic. Decker stays quiet for most of the meeting except to flag some things that wouldn’t work for the players. By the time we stand to leave, I have three pages of notes and a clearer picture of what actually needs to be done.
Decker is quick to leave. He’s out the door before Shane has finished his handshake—which means I’m going to have to reach out to Decker directly to plan the first event. I’d hoped for more people around us to buffer our initial contact.
Shane shakes my hand again in the hallway. “I’m glad your dad suggested you. He said you were the best person for it.”
“He’s biased.”
“Probably.” He smiles and glances at Decker walking toward the elevator. “He’s biased toward a lot of people. Glad to see he’s right this time.” My dad’s smile falls flat, but Shane pats him on the shoulder. “Come to my office after you see her out.”
Then he’s gone. Although Shane doesn’t seem like a bad guy, my gut says not to trust him.
Once he’s out of earshot, I cross my arms and spear my dad with a look. “What don’t I know?”
He nods for me to walk, and by the time we hit the elevators, it’s not the manager of the Colts standing beside me, it’s just my dad.
“Penelope.” His voice is quiet. “He needs this.”
His eyes bore into mine, and something in my chest does that thing it always does when Decker Davis comes up—that complicated, involuntary tug I’ve never been able to argue away. I swallow down the sarcasm I’ve been directing at my dad all morning.
I think about what I’ve heard the commentators say during games when I reluctantly turn them on for Hazel so she can see her grandpa. That this is a big contract year, and Decker isn’t showing the team the best version of himself. That Chicago’s salaries are too high, and they need to trim some fat, and Decker might be the first to go.
I should’ve realized sooner why my dad would do this. He loves Decker like a son, even though he’s had to maintain some professional distance since he came to the Colts.
I hate baseball. All the contracts and negotiations feel so unfair sometimes.
And I don’t have to say anything to my dad—he knows I’ll help in any way I can when it comes to Decker.
So, I guess I’m officially on a mission to make the Dugout Social Club a success and keep Decker Davis on this team, which is either the most selfless thing I’ve ever done or the stupidest. I genuinely cannot tell which.
Chapter
Sixteen
Decker
* * *
I’m just out of the shower when my phone vibrates on the bathroom counter.
Penelope: Hey, it’s Penelope. For the first DSC, I’ve been able to secure a park, so it will be Dining in the Park. I’m in the middle of organizing food trucks, and I’ll get a clown or something to keep the kids busy. If you can just make sure all the players RSVP with the number of guests they’re bringing, that would be great. I’ll attach the sheet here.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry that she bothered to tell me it was her texting me. As though I wouldn’t have saved her new number the second she was put in a group message last year. I’ve opened a blank text to her four times since then. Just never pressed Send on my message.
