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Gran called us all back into the kitchen, the spot in the house where she felt the most comfortable and in control. “This whole thing is nerve-racking,” she declared. “Why aren’t you nervous?” she asked Jack, but he only smiled.
“Because there’s nothing more I can do. I’ve worked my ass off and left it all out on that field every day for years.” He shrugged. “It’s out of my hands at this point.”
“How’d you get so smart?” She cupped his face with both hands and planted a kiss on each cheek.
“I learned it from you. Now come sit with us and relax.” He led her by the hand toward the table when the chime of the doorbell stopped them. “You sit, Gran. I’ll let them in.” Jack handed her off to me, and I urged Gran to sit.
Jack walked back in followed by two cameramen, a reporter, and a producer. They discussed how things would work—that we would basically be filmed waiting for the phone to ring and for Jack to get his offer. They would film his reaction and ours when the call came, and then interview Jack afterward. The producer kept reminding us not to look at the cameras and to act natural, as if it was completely normal to have two cameramen shoving lights and equipment in your face while you sat at your dinner table.
The draft had already technically begun, and when the sound of a reporter talking on the television in the other room filtered into the kitchen, I had to fight the urge to go watch the TV instead of sitting at the table.
I watched as Marc and Ryan kept busy texting on their phones, and realized in that instant that what they did for a living not only intrigued me, but excited me. I loved baseball, and if I couldn’t play it like Jack did, maybe I could still pursue it as a career in a different way.
Our landline phone rang and Jack walked toward it, suddenly looking a little unsure. It was literally his moment of truth, and I held my breath as he answered. We all knew that Jack didn’t care who drafted him. He simply wanted to play ball, and which team he played for was a minor detail at this point.
“Hello?” His gaze was drawn to the table, connecting with us as he talked. “Speaking.” He paused only for a second before smiling. “Thank you so much. Yes, sir. I’ll be in touch. Thank you.”
He slammed down the phone before shouting, “Arizona!” and the room broke out into cheers and congratulations. “I’m a Diamondback!”
Jack gave me a hug, and I was surprised to find my eyes burning with tears. Not like a baby or anything, but tears of pride and joy blurred my vision, and I had to blink rapidly to force them back. I was overwhelmed, filled with genuine happiness for my big brother and everything he’d worked so hard to achieve. It almost felt like my win as much as his.
“Carter, come on,” Ryan said. “Do we have to call these guys back and negotiate or what?”
The business of the draft was just getting started. These guys had a job to do, and getting an offer was only the first step.
“They said five,” Jack said, and I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. I must have missed something as I was lost
in my thoughts.
“Yeah? Did they say five?” Ryan’s eyes widened.
“That’s what they said.”
“Well, all right! How do you feel? Should we push?” Marc scribbled notes furiously onto his pad, and I realized they must be referring to his signing bonus.
“I think five is more than fair. I’m happy with it,” Jack said, and I wasn’t sure if he meant five hundred thousand or five million.
“I know it sounds like a lot of money right now, Jack, but you’ll lose half in taxes and we take our cut. You won’t be making much for the next few years in the minor leagues. We could probably get them to budge some,” Marc suggested, still scribbling like a madman.
“I’m happy with it,” Jack said with confidence. “I just want to play ball.”
Marc stopped writing. “All right then. We’ll accept the deal as is. Congrats!”
“Five million isn’t a bad signing bonus, right?” Jack asked Cassie, and she choked on her surprise.
“That’s what it is? Five million dollars?”
“What did you think?” He laughed as he pulled her in for a hug.
The reporter tossed Jack a Diamondback hat and a jersey with his name already on the back, and he immediately put them on.
“How do I look?” he asked with a grin, modeling the dark red jersey with D*Backs emblazoned on it.
Gramps lifted his hand for a high-five. “Like a million bucks.”
I grinned. “More like five.”
“Can I get my camera?” Cassie asked. “Are we allowed to take pictures?”
