Austin signs his name with a defensive flourish, then slides the document to Sarah and stands up. He catches my eye one last time, a slight smirk still playing on his lips.
“Looks like I hired the wrong Hines. If you ever want a job that actually pays what you’re worth, give me a call.”
He grabs his jacket and walks out, leaving the door open in his wake.
My father stays behind for roughly three seconds. He shoves his files into his leather briefcase, his hands trembling with a mixture of professional humiliation and the short temper he always had but showed me more after my brother passed. He finally looks at me, his eyes cold enough to freeze water.
“I won’t forget this. Ever.” His voice is flat. I almost wish it hurt more to hear, but somehow, I’m all out of surprises.
“Same.”
He storms out of the conference room, slamming the heavy oak door behind him so hard the glass partition rattles. Through the transparent wall, I see Jake waiting in the hallway. He’s standing there in his blue warm-up gear, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes tracking my father’s furious departure with a quiet, protective intensity.
When the hallway clears, Jake looks at me through the glass. I stand from the table, my spine perfectly straight as the massive, invisible weight evaporates from my shoulders. The suffocating cloud of family obligation has been like a poisonous gas, and even though I thought I stood on my own when I walked away from law, I really didn’t. Not until today.
Jake smiles at me through the glass, nodding once.
You did it.
Sarah and I sit at a small metal table near the concourse concession stands, two hours prior to the gates opening for tonight’s game. There’s a pleasant breeze, albeit a warmone. I’ve never felt more relaxed. Jake isn’t playing tonight, but I might stick around simply to watch him stand tall in the dugout.
Sarah takes a long sip of the iced tea I spiked with a touch of rum from the upstairs specialty bar. There are perks to having worked here. She looks out at the manicured green grass of the diamond, her gaze fixed on the lone grounds crew member spraying down the dirt.
“I spent years managing scorched-earth political campaigns and handling Fortune 500 crisis communications, Campbell,” she says, shaking her head with a soft chuckle. “I’ve spun DC scandals and stopped corporate bleeding for the most ruthless people in the country, and I have never seen anyone dismantle another soul the way you just did. You didn’t just win us that settlement, you completely dictated the terms of their surrender. And you did it all without touching the law.”
I shrug and take a healthy sip of my spiked tea.
“I had a lot of motivation.”
Sarah leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, her lips twisting with a thought.
“I have a proposition for you.”
I tilt my head.
“A proposition? No, Sarah. I’m only into one at a time.”
We both laugh hard, the tea doing its job.
“Seriously, though,” she continues. “Look at what we just did. You’re brilliant with media strategy. You have incredible instincts. I know the dark arts of crisis management and how to pull the levers on political machinery. Small towns all over the country are being systematically eaten alive by predatory developers and private equity firms just like Summerhill. They don’t have the playbook to fight back.”
She taps her fingers against the table.
“I want to open a specialized crisis PR and political consulting firm,” Sarah proposes, her voice confident and unyielding. “A permanent partnership. You and me. Sweetwater is our home base. I’m done traveling the country, chasing the professional challenge. I’d like to be around for this next phase of life. My daughters might be grown and doing their own things, but they need me still. My oldest with her twins, and, between me and you, I think there’s something going on with her and Brooks Callahan.”
My brow lowers, and I scoot in close, intrigued by the gossip.
“Really?” I whisper.
She nods.
“Huh.” I sink back in my seat, folding my hands behind my neck as I mentally filter through the clues. I’ve been rather preoccupied with my own bullshit, but yeah. I can see what Sarah means.
“Anyhow,” she starts, bringing me back to the point. “God knows the locals will protect us forever after today, and we can take clients nationwide, helping them from here, traveling only when we need to. We go to bat, so to speak, for the little guys. What do you think?”
I’m touched, and it’s a tempting business model. It would be a huge professional opportunity and an offer born from mutual respect. And for a second, the idea of rooting myself here, in this tight-knit town that took me in when I was completely lost, feels right.
But then my eyes drift past Sarah’s shoulder.
