Years of practice representing athletes had given Marcus Howell enough practice with keeping his tone neutral when he’d replied, “You know teams are always looking for the best competitive advantage. They have that with you, but I just want you to be prepared in case they start shopping contracts and you hear rumors.”
“I think I’ll be okay.” CJ had cut him off. “This is my team. I think I’ve more than proven to them how much I want to be here. Plus, if they were thinking of trading me, someone in the front office would have given me a heads-up.”
“CJ.” Marcus sighed. “Trust me when I tell you that isn’t how things work. You don’t get a heads-up if they’re thinking of trading you. Hell, I only get notified when there’s actually a deal in place.”
“Okay, fine. If a trade happens, it happens. Just make sure they know I don’t want to leave,” CJ conceded eventually. “I suppose as long as it’s not San Diego, it will be fine. Make sure you tell them that if you get a call.”
There’d been a long pause. “What is it about San Diego?” Marcus questioned. “You’ve been there on road trips. I know you like visiting the city. They have a relatively new facility and a great fan base. Hell, you’refromCalifornia. Why is it at the bottom of your list?”
CJ hadn’t answered, and Marcus let it drop, but the question hung between them. The truth wasn’t something CJ wanted to explain.
So, yeah, being traded was something every player had to consider at some point. But CJ knew he was safe. Which is why, when his phone started vibrating at seven-fourteen a.m., like it was trying to dance its way off his nightstand, he ignored it. The buzzing didn’t stop.
“Goddammit,” he muttered, fumbling for the phone.
He thumbed the screen on and it lit up with the team’s group chat. Thirty-three unread messages, some in all caps, GIFs of exploding fireworks, and one video of a crying baby.
Van
HOLY. SHIT.
Tuck
Dude. CJ. You seeing this???
Griff
Sorry, man.
CJ frowned, half-awake, squinting at the screen. “Seeing what?”
Then the news notification from ESPN popped up.
TRADE ALERT: Barracudas Acquire Outfielder
Chris Hartman from Blazers in 4-Player Deal
For a moment, the words didn’t compute. His brain stalled, still clinging to the idea that it was a mistake.
“No. No, no, no—” He sat up, leaning against the headboard, before he clicked on the link. He scanned the article, like maybe he’d find a line that saidjust kidding. His stomach dropped, and for a second, he thought last night’s dinner might make a reappearance.
There it was, in neat little paragraphs: the Barracudas “bolstered their outfield” and “added veteran presence to their roster” in exchange for two Double-A prospects and a rookie third baseman. The phrasing was diplomatic, but CJ could read between the lines: Chicago couldn’t afford to keep him.
His phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Marcus.
Marcus
Call me. Now.
He swung his legs off the bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor as he dragged a hand down his face before he dialed. Marcus picked up immediately.
“What the fuck, Marcus?”
“I didn’t know,” Marcus said without preamble. He sounded like he’d been up for hours. More likely, he hadn’t been to bed yet.
CJ headed for the kitchen and sandwiched his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he prepped the coffeemaker to brew. In his ear, Marcus was talking, but CJ wasn’t giving him his full attention and missed half of what his agent said. He hit start on his coffee and then made his way to the windows in his living room.
He studied himself in the reflection of the glass, taking in broad shoulders that tapered into a lean, athletic frame built for speed and open space and running down baseballs. His light-brown hair stuck up in every direction from sleep, longer on the top than the sides and already falling into eyes that shifted between blue and green depending on the light. He shoved it back with an impatient hand. More than one person had told him he looked more like a surfer than a professional athlete, and standing barefoot in a worn Blazers T-shirt and athletic shorts, he couldn’t entirely disagree. The face staring back at him looked tired and irritated, and CJ still didn’t understand how that face had landed him sponsorship deals despite his complete lack of interest in being photographed.
