Page 58 of Leave It On The Field (Grand Slam 3)
“I’m in favor of it, Fred,” Alex says, leaning forward on the podium. “If you had to deal with Seb’s impatience and grumpiness during a rain delay, you would be glad he has a timeout room too. Right, Dane?”
Dane slaps my arm. “One hundred percent. I’m thinking Seb could use a timeout in his room right now.”
Everyone starts laughing.
Fred points at me. “You still didn’t answer my question about your wife before the game today. I have a source who saw her go in there.”
When I leap to my feet, the media jolts backward in their chairs like they were all just hit with a tidal wave. Alex grabs my arm.
“As Ken said,” I snarl at Fred, “I don’t talk about my family to the media. Don’t mention my wife again.”
“Okay,” the MLB woman says, locking her eyes with mine and nodding to my chair. “That’s plenty on that subject. How about a question for Alex or Dane?”
I sit back down slowly. Everyone in the room is staring at me.
“Does anyone have questions about the game?” Ken asks. “Like maybe ask Alex about how high he got off the ground to catch that liner in the eighth. That was the play of the game.”
Ray Franklin stands up. “That was the play of the game. They would have tied it up if you hadn’t caught that. You’re having the best year of your career. Are you sure you want to retire?”
“Why? Are you going to miss me, Ray?”
Everyone starts laughing again. Fred finally sits down. I’m still glaring at him when I see someone waving from the back of the room. I look up to see Evelyn. She points to her face and smiles. I nod and try to smile back. I somehow make it through the rest of the press conference. As I come off the podium, Evelyn catches up with me.
“Thanks for the save, Ev.”
“No worries. Your head was getting close to blowing. It was a nice win. Concentrate on that.”
“Yeah, I’ll try.”
She pulls my arm. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”
“Do you need me to sign an autograph for one of your clients or something?” I look around. “I can do it quickly, but I need to get into the shower.”
“No,” she says, looking over her shoulder. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “You know I don’t usually gossip, and I don’t want to get in trouble. Will you vault this? Or at least not tell anyone you got it from me?”
“Yeah, I’ve got you,” I say, shifting impatiently. “What’s up?”
She looks around the hallway one more time, and then whispers, “I saw your buddy Ricky talking to that TMZ reporter after the game. The reporter was waiting for him right outside the club entrance. You know the one where the people with VIP seats enter the stadium?”
“Yeah.” My teeth clench up again. “Did you hear what they were saying?”
“No,” she says, leaning closer to me, “but the reporter was scrolling through his phone while they were talking—like he was looking at Twitter or something.”
“Okay. Thanks for telling me. I have to go. All I want to do right now is get home to Sophie.”
“Get home?” She tilts her head. “I thought the team was leaving tonight.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” I say as Joe steps in front of me.
He puts his hand on my chest and tries to move me toward the clubhouse. I don’t move. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning. Right, Joe?”
“In the clubhouse,” he says, pushing me a little harder. “We can talk about it there.”
I look up at the ceiling and shake my head. “We’re leaving tonight, aren’t we?”
“Drew changed his mind,” he says as we walk toward the clubhouse. “We’re wheels up to L.A. tonight.”
I squeeze my water bottle so hard that the top flies off, sending the remainder of the water shooting out. I slam the bottle against the wall and walk into the clubhouse. Drew’s waiting by my locker.
