Page 6 of Draft Pick
Especially with season-opener weekend just two weeks away, I can’t help but ask myself what my “why” is.Whydo I play ball, only to be away from home more often than not?Whydo I want to retire early from the best game in the world?Whyam I still single after all these years?Whycan’t I seem to meet the right person for me?
That’s the million-dollar question.
I’m thirty-six and feel every year of it, down to my aching joints. But fuck if I’ll ever let aging stop me from trying.
All heads hang low in the clubhouse, nothing but the sounds of quiet breathing echoing between us. “You need anything from us in the meantime, Coach? You know we got your back,” Kingston asks, and hums of agreement follow.
Coach shakes his head. “Not at the moment,” he murmurs steadily. “But I’ll let you know if that changes. First game is two weeks from Friday. You’ve got the weekend off to be with your families, then it’s back to the grind come Tuesday morning. Be ready to put in the work, boys. Let this be our comeback season.”
Letting two World Series Championships slip through our fingers has not done well for the team’s ego. We’ve got a damn good dynamic going, some of the best infield players in the league—along with our outfield. I was ranked number one centerfielder last season. An honor and one I don’t take lightly. However, I’ve busted my tail to be the best.
The outfield is often a position in baseball most people consider to be like second string. They couldn’t be more wrong. We hold the game together.
When you’re playing with big-time athletes who hit dingers with their morning breakfast, you’ve gotta be quick on your feet with an accurate arm.
I’ve got that.
Add the pressure of making this World Series win happen for Leggins to my list of stresses. I tap my foot repeatedly against the wood-grain floors, wondering what’s so important that Hilary needs to call me so urgently. She never bothers me to talk on game days, not that I’d mind, considering we co-parent together, but still. Her text scared the shit out of me.
Come on, Hil. Get me out of this meeting and my worried mind.
“What’s the plan for the fundraiser at the end of the year? We supposed to show up solo, or can we bring our families?” Callaway, our starting pitcher, quickly changes the subject.
Almost forgot about that.
Coach seems to appreciate the new direction. “You can. Everything is currently in motion. Tenley has already begun the marketing process to make sure the turnout is worth it for the amount of funds Makers Park is contributing. The auction is estimated to sell out in minutes.”
“God, she’s sexy when she party plans,” Gus adds, complimenting the mother of his child and now wife. Long gone are his playboy ways. The man is a whipped motherfucker and proud of it.
“Pretty cool we get to be a part of it,” Bodhi deadpans, finally deciding to chip in his thoughts. “I know it’s a ways out, but Navy and I will be there.” Hard to believe there was a day I dated Bodhi’s wife, Navy. Mind you, he still had his grumpy head in his ass, but now, I’ve never seen him happier.
He’s a damn good catcher, too.
“Us too,” resounds over and over again in what seems to be a team consensus. “You comin’, Briggs?” Gus turns toward me in the corner of the room. It’s now that I realize most of my thoughts have been in my head and not actually voiced out loud. “Bringing Doodle?”
I nod, a grin escaping my lips just thinking about teaching Addie to roller skate for the first time. “That’s the plan. I’m sure she’ll have me dressed to the nines for it.”
The fundraiser is at a local roller rink, all proceeds benefiting the local mental health foundation, Headspeed, in order to support teens battling stability and working through mental health struggles. Bodhi and Callaway have both been huge advocates for the mental health community in Atlanta over the years, so when the opportunity to give back as a team and city was suggested, it was a no-brainer for human resources here at Makers Park.
I have yet to tell my daughter about it because, well, we’re still working on learning the concept of time, and it’s not until the end of the season. To Adeline Briggs, nine months from now means tomorrow, no matter how much I try to explain it. Better off just saving the fun for the week of.
Not to my surprise, however, Addie has the entire team and staff wrapped around her little finger. She has that effect on most people, luring you in with her bright blue eyes and curly brown ringlets. Especially Gus. I like to think they do it because they know I’m a single parent and want to give my little girl all the extra love she can get. That may be so, but she really is incredibly easy to love.
Anytime we’re home for the week, we make sure to plan a dinner playdate for Addie and Apollo, Gus and Tenley’s four-year-old son.
They’re best friends, whether Apollo wants to believe it or not. He may or may not be forced against his will to wear princess dresses and attend Addie’s choreographed tea parties. Eventually, he’ll learn that when a woman says jump, you ask how fucking high, Queen.
“I heard the plan is to auction off some of us. That true, Coach?” Kingston says curiously, and everyone falls into laughter.
“Like hell if you fuckers think Dakota will let me be auctioned off,” Callaway chimes in, reminding us of how protective Kodi is of him. Must be nice.
“Tenley would be grateful to be rid of me,” Gus adds, only escalating the laughter in the room another notch.
“Sure as hell would,” a feminine voice resounds from behind us. That’s when we spot Tenley Graves, formerly Tenley Abrams, passing our locker room on her way out with a fist held high. “See you at home, honey.”
“Oh, Mama’s getting it tonight.” Gus grins, hands rubbing together in eagerness.
“Thank you, Tenley,” Coach calls to her before steering his attention back to us. “Not all of you will be auctioned off, but some will. Most likely, those who are single.”
