Page 21 of Whoa There Cowboy
Campbell: And you are a pain in the ass. But you’re worth it.
My breath hitches slightly, a strange, light feeling blooming in my chest.You’re worth it.I look back toward the empty hallway leading to the field, thinking about the look of pride on my dad’s face in that video, and then down at the text from the fancy girl who is currently occupying a whole lot of my thoughts. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I stand up from the bench feeling happy. Like maybe they both see something in me that I’ve been too stubborn to notice. And if they see something . . . maybe the coaches will too. And then Texas.
I quickly throw on a clean pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, slinging my gear bag over my shoulder. As I’m walking out the clubhouse doors toward the parking lot, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting Campbell, but it’s my teammate, Jayden.
Jayden: Bro, you hear about Brooks? Someone left him with a baby. Well, it’s his baby. I mean WTF! Brooks is a dad.
My mouth forms a wide O as I walk to my truck.
Jake: Holy shit. For real? How’s he handling it?
Jayden: He’s terrified, man, but he’s already talking about setting up a nursery in his apartment. Says he’s hiring your high school coach’s daughter to nanny for him. Says he’s gonna make both work, no matter what. Fatherhood and ball.
I stare at the text as I start the engine of my truck.Gonna make both work.
Instead of turning toward my lonely, quiet apartment near the highway, I shift the truck into reverse and head the other direction. I need to be around family. I need to see my mom before she heads into Earl’s for the night shift.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into the familiar gravel driveway. The sun is setting now. If she hasn’t shoved a quick frozen dinner in the microwave yet, maybe she’ll let me grill her some chicken. I kill the engine, but I don’t get out right away. I simply sit in the cab, staring at the front porch.
My mind runs in circles. I think about Brooks, a guy my age—younger even—stepping up and choosing to fight for both his kid and his dream. I think about the look on Roddy’s face at the picnic table, the heavy, aching regret, and the love he claimed he never lost. Was it really that complicated back then? Is it possible for a man to love his family and still get swallowed alive by the monster that is professional baseball?
I look down at my phone, Campbell’s last text still burning a hole in my screen. She’s doing this on purpose. She’s sliding into my life, softening my edges, making me look at my father, making mefeelthings I’ve spent yearsnumbing out. Campbell Hines is hell-bent on breaking me, so I intend to break her first.
I smirk, my thumb flying across the keyboard.
Jake: I’m game for another interview. But it’s gonna cost you another spin on the dance floor first.
I hit send and lean my head back against the headrest, watching the golden light fade over my mom’s roof. A few seconds later, the phone buzzes.
Campbell: I’ll think about it.
A smug, slow grin spreads across my face. I slide the phone into my pocket, shove the truck door open, and step out into the cooler evening air. For the first time in a decade, I feel like I’ve actually got a shot at something—with the game, with my dad, and with the girl.
EIGHT
CAMPBELL
The analytics dashboard on my monitor is a beautiful cascading wall of green upward trends. I lean back in my ergonomic desk chair, a satisfied smile playing on my lips as I watch the view count on Connor’s video tick higher by the second. The digital feature dropped early this morning, and the internet has not stopped eating it up.
I knew this story was gold. Now to shift that spotlight onto Jake and get people curious about what he can do behind the plate.
The comments section is flooded with emojis of baseballs and cowboy hats, people raving about the beautiful generational legacy of the McKinney men. I chuckle softly.
“If they only knew how far from beautiful it is, and how damn hard it was to get to this video,” I mutter to myself.
This piece is a masterclass in narrative spin, and I am extremely proud of it.
The bullpen outside my office window is quiet. It’s the end of the day, and a sleepy energy has settled over the ballpark campus since the team is traveling tomorrow. Whilethe players and coaching staff are jumping on a charter bus to Arkansas, I’ll be driving myself down to Little Rock for the weekend series. I like having my own wheels on road trips, a little bubble of control where I can make phone calls and decompress between games. Plus, my car, my music.
“Knock, knock. Still hitting refresh on repeat, Hines?”
I look up to see Kevin leaning against my open doorframe, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and a leather briefcase in hand.
“Have you seen it recently? I swear, the views double every time I look!” I say, spinning my monitor around so he can see the social media analytics graph. “The McKinney piece is outperforming our standard engagement metrics by three hundred percent. National syndication sites are already picking up the b-roll Connor shot of Jake at the farm.”
Kevin chuckles, nodding with genuine approval. “Outstanding work. Seriously. You’re proving to be worth every dime we’re paying you.”
“Uh, you aren’t paying me a thing. I believe my checks say Texas on the payer line.”
