AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Turning on his heel, he walked to the front door. “Tell Vika I’ll pick up Max from school tomorrow.”
“I’m so…sorry, Jeff,” her voice broke on the words.
“Yeah, me too,” he said and shut the door behind him. She either realized they were stronger together or she didn’t. All he could do was show her. Then it would be up to her.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jeffstoodoutsidethemedia room and glared at the team publicist. “I don’t want to fucking do this tonight, Kirsty. Find someone else.” His head was nowhere near where it needed to be to speak to the press. He just wanted to go home, pour himself and drink and try to forget about Kia. Giving her space was damn near killing him.
Kirsty put her hands on her hips and stared at him. “Look Smitty. I understand that what happened with that tabloid reporter and your son was not ideal.”
“Not ideal? Are you fucking kidding me?” he roared. “Not ideal is when I have to wear the short ball pants instead of the long ones. That’s not ideal, Kirsty. Some reporter showing up at the park and chasing my son to get a story is way past fucking ideal.” Anger coursed through his veins, and he paced away from her, then back. “And don’t even get me started on the fucking person who videoed the whole thing and thought they should post that shit.” Given everything that had happened with the media, he’d be lucky if Kia ever let Max even come to a game and watch him play.
She hesitantly moved her arm toward him, then dropped it back down to her side before she made contact. “I know, and the situation was messed up, but that was some tabloid reporter, and some person at the park, not any of the people in the media room waiting to talk to you.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the room in question, then back at him. “You hit a grand slam against your old rival tonight. That’s what everyone in there wants to talk about.”
The media room door opened, and a man popped his head out. “We’re ready for you,” he said.
Kirsty nodded to the man, then turned back to Jeff. “I don’t want to be a jerk here, Smitty, but I need you to go in there and do this.”
Ryan slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll be right there with you, man. I can throw myself to the wolves if necessary.” Ryan scanned the area. “Maybe we need Gonzo. He’s always good at distracting the media with some stupid joke or something.”
“Sorry guys, you know the drill. Just be glad I don’t have Brandon down here as well.”
“Fuck,” Jeff growled. “That’s the last thing we need.” Sometimes this job sucked. He couldn’t go in there like this. The media would eat him alive. He rolled his shoulders to try to release the tension.
“I know that and that’s why he’s not here even after he made that ridiculous catch in left field to end the seventh.”
Ryan squeezed his shoulder. “You got this. In and out, quick and easy.”
Jeff glanced over at his friend and smirked. “If I’m going quick, it’s gonna be dirty, man.”
“That’s fair.” Ryan snickered.
“No.” Kirsty pointed and wagged her finger at them. “You two will not do some stupid sexual innuendo thing that has you both snickering through the entire interview because you think you’re so clever.” She pinned Ryan with a glare. “Because you’re not. I promise you, you’re not.”
“Ah, come on, Kirsty.” Ryan slung his arm over the publicist’s shoulder. “You know you love how we keep you on your toes. Besides, wouldn’t you rather the media bugged you about that then, because Smitty here broke some poor schmuck’s camera?”
Jeff smiled to himself. Breaking a camera sounded like a lot more fun than talking about some rivalry from the minors that had ended long ago.
Kirsty spun back toward him. “Don’t even think about it,” she snapped.
He grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it open. “I make no promises,” he said as he walked past her. He dimly heard her mumble something that sounded suspiciously like fuck.
Sliding into the vacant chair beside Ryan, he pulled himself closer to the desk and adjusted the microphone and water in front of him. As soon as they sat, camera flashes began going off. He took a deep breath and let it out.
“Smitty.”
He glanced at the reporter in the front row. Instantly he relaxed slightly when he realized who it was. Thank fuck. The national guys weren’t going to ask him questions about his family. They knew better.
“Hey Sandy,” he replied.
“So how did it feel to hit a grand slam against Campbell?”
“It always feels good to hit a grand slam, no matter who it’s against.”
Sandy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, of course. But it has to feel a lot sweeter when you do it against someone who’s made a habit out of trying to get in your head.”
Campbell was a fucknob, but he couldn’t say that on national TV, so instead he said, “He can try, but I think we can agree it’s pretty clear he wasn’t in my head tonight.”
