I HAVEN’T BEEN to New York City since Sandra’s Callahan Family Foundation gala a few months ago, so when the car pulls to the curb and I climb out alongside Cooper and Richard, I need to blink as I acclimate to the energy. It smells faintly of garbage, even though it’s not that warm out yet, but if I concentrate, I can smell freshly roasted coffee as well. I sidestep a puddle as I take in the tall buildings, hiding a yawn behind my hand. Richard showed up in the SUV at half past six, and now it’s eight. I need a coffee if I’m going to manage to keep my eyes open.
“It’s just a breakfast meeting. We won’t be too long,” Richard tells the driver as he glances at his watch. “I’ll call for pickup.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver says. “Have a nice meal, Mr. Callahan.”
As we cross the street to the restaurant—the source of the coffee smell, fortunately—Cooper tries to meet my eyes. I ignore him. The past few days have been full of awkward torture, but he hasn’t tried to apologize for how he treated Mia, and until he does, I’m not interested in chatting. I didn’t expect him to want to come to this meeting, but just before the car left the driveway, he slid into the backseat next to me. We tried to be cordial in front of Richard; he asked Cooper a bunch of questions about the road trip and wanted to know how my Albany trip went, but I doubt he bought it. He’s always been able to see through our shit with remarkable accuracy.
As we settle into a booth by the window, I adjust my shirt. I’m wearing slacks and a button-down—Mia and I decided that light blue was formal without trying too hard—and I slicked my hair back with gel. My jaw is smooth, too, thanks to a fresh shave. I tuck my dad’s necklace underneath my collar. When Cooper sits next to me, I shift a few inches closer to the window.
He rolls his eyes. “Seriously?”
“I don’t recall inviting you.”
“It’s good for him to hear these conversations,” Richard says. He fusses with Cooper’s collar. “Was this shirt in the bottom of your closet?”
“He’s here for Seb, not me,” Cooper says, even though he stays still until Richard, apparently satisfied, leans back.
“Still. You’re here, we’re sending a united front. You might learn something.”
“Not that he would listen,” I mutter.
Richard checks his watch with a deliberate air. “We have some time before Andy will be here. What’s the matter with the two of you?”
“Nothing,” we say at the same time.
“You’ve been glaring at each other all morning.”
The server walks over and says hello. I manage a smile as I order a coffee and an omelet. The moment she leaves, though, I scowl. “It doesn’t have anything to do with baseball. Don’t worry about it.”
“Sebby has a girlfriend,” Cooper says. “Just so you know.”
Richard raises an eyebrow. “Congratulations, Sebastian. What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t one,” I say before Cooper can reply. “It’s—don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I want to meet this young woman,” Richard says. “What’s her name?”
“It’s Mia, Dad,” says Cooper. “You’ve met her.”
Naturally, that doesn’t do a thing but confuse Richard. He clasps his hands together, settling them atop the table. “Penny’s friend Mia? I don’t see the issue. Did they have a falling out?”
“No.” I swipe my hand through my hair, grimacing when the gel sticks to my fingers. I feel way too dressed up; the collar is practically choking me.
I’d have preferred to have this meeting—a chat with an agent about my draft prospects—on the baseball field, or at least a regular diner, but Richard wanted to maintain a level of formality. Since this contact is his agent Jessica’s colleague, Andy Ross, I couldn’t object.
Still, I feel like a show dog, which I suppose is part of the point. NCAA rules dictate that draft-eligible players can’t have agents negotiate on their behalf, but it’s completely fine to ask them for advice about navigating the draft. The last time we had this kind of meeting, I’d just graduated high school, and we decided that I’d decline MLB’s first attempt at drafting me and attend McKee instead, making my next period of eligibility after my junior year.
Now that’s here, and I can’t settle the jitters in my stomach. I wish I could dig my elbow right into Cooper’s ribs for bringing up Mia before the meeting, but that wouldn’t fly with Richard. This is, after all, a nice restaurant, with fancily dressed Manhattanites sipping on coffee all around us.
“Everything is good with Penny, right, son?” Richard asks.
“Yeah,” Cooper says. “She’s great.”
“So why—”
I can’t help myself. “If you would just apologize for acting like an asshat to Mia, I wouldn’t have an issue. You forced her into a corner—”
“That ended with you dating, so you’re welcome,” he interrupts.
I snort in disbelief. “You don’t like her anyway.”
“I hated how she was treating you, which is completely different.” The server comes back with our coffees. If she notices the tension, she doesn’t let on. He waits for her to leave before adding, “But now you’re dating, right? No issue.”
“If there’s no issue, why haven’t you apologized?”
“It’s not that I haven’t—”
“Boys,” Richard says warningly.
He stands, a smile on his face as he holds out his hand. “Andy. Nice to meet you in person.”
The man who must be Andy gives it a shake. He’s tall and broad—an ex-athlete himself, I’d bet anything—and looks like the kind of guy who would be an agent, down to the slick black suit paired with pristine basketball sneakers. There’s an AirPod in his ear, but he slips it out as he smiles at us. I don’t know much about how agenting works, but I would guess it involves a lot of smooth talking. Cooper and I get out of the booth too, shaking his hand in turn.
“Of course,” he says. “I’m thrilled to make time for you. I think I’ve seen every available piece of film, Sebastian. Your swing is classic. Beautiful. An imprint of your father’s.”
I swallow down a little spike of anxiety and smile. “Thank you.”
“You must be getting excited,” he says as he sits next to Richard. “July is going to be here before you know it.”
“I’m just focusing on getting through the rest of this season.”
“It’s been a tough stretch,” he says. “There’s still a chance you’ll make the playoffs, though, right?”
“That’s what we’re aiming for, always,” I say. Privately, I’m not sure we’ve done enough to earn that spot, but there’s still time for the rankings to shake out.
Cooper surprises me by adding, “I think they’ll make it. Sebastian is one of the leaders of the team. He knows how to rally.”
I wish it was a direct apology, but I hear some of it in his words. My heart clenches. I’m thrilled that Mia finally agreed to give us a shot, but I don’t want it to come at the cost of my relationship with my brother and best friend.
“I’m not the biggest hockey expert,” Andy says, “but I know talent when I see it in any sport. Congratulations on the Frozen Four win, man.”
Cooper dips his chin. “Thank you.”
Andy shakes his head, huffing out a little laugh.
“This family,” he says. “Manning-level talent and charisma. Richard, you’ll have to gather your sons together for endorsements once they’re in the pros. Sebastian, too.”
I feel Cooper tense next to me. My heart skips a beat. Andy isn’t the first person to insinuate that I’m not part of my family because I don’t share their blood, and he won’t be the last, but that doesn’t mean it feels good to hear.
Richard and Sandra tried, from the very beginning, to bring me completely into the Callahan family fold, but it wasn’t seamless. I had my own life in Cincinnati, my friends, my baseball team, and of course my mom and dad, and when the accident ripped that away all at once, I felt unmoored.
They were patient; they put me into a new baseball program right away, they made sure I had access to grief counseling, they treated me the same as their other children. Still, I got into way too many fights. My grades were shit, and so was my play on the field. I didn’t feel like I belonged until nearly a year in, when the worst of the heartbreak faded. Still, people acted like I was just some kid that Richard and Sandra were babysitting instead of their child, so I changed the name on the back of my uniform to match the rest of my family.
My adoptive parents worked hard from day one to make sure I belonged, and the least I can do is repay them by fulfilling my father’s dream for me.
“Sebastian is my son,” Richard says. His tone is mild, but I don’t miss the way his eyes flash. “I have three sons.”
“He wears our name on the back of his jersey,” Cooper adds.
“Of course,” Andy says, seemingly unfazed by the rebuke. He gives us a grin. “Even better. Think about the advertising potential.”
“I’ve heard plenty about it, over the years,” Richard says. He keeps his voice light, but I know him well enough to say with confidence that he won’t want me signing with Andy when it comes time to work with an agent. “Sandra and I didn’t want to subject the boys to that sort of publicity. But once it’s professional, that’ll be a different story.”
“I know that Jessica’s been working on some monster possibilities for James.” He thanks the server when she brings him a cup of coffee, taking a quick sip before setting it back down. “Anyway, I brought along some projections, so we can discuss the baseball particulars. I’d say that the current line of thought is accurate. Top ten for sure, but the slot depends upon last minute trades and if some teams decide to chase the high school prospects. Of course, I can’t communicate with any clubs on your behalf, but I’ve been listening to the chatter, and the reception is excellent.”
He takes out a tablet and pulls up a spreadsheet. Seeing my slash line—batting average, on-base percentage, and slugging—written out in black and white is strange. I’m aware of the numbers when I play, but they’re not the focus. When it comes to scouts for major league clubs, however, it’s the language they speak. That’s what the Rangers and the Marlins and the Reds are considering, all of them, as they decide how they’re going to make a play for me and everyone else that’s eligible.
“These are the most recent numbers?” Richard asks. “Sebastian?”
“I think so,” I say. I try for a smile, although my face doesn’t want to cooperate. “Pretty good, I guess.”
“He’s being modest,” Andy says. He reaches over and claps me on the shoulder. “With these numbers, not to mention your pedigree—seems like all anyone can talk about is how much you remind them of your old man, which is good, you need to milk it—I see no issue with it pushing you up into the top five by draft day. The slot value at the fifth pick, for example, is just over six mil.”
“Damn,” Cooper says with a whistle. “That’s sweet.”
Andy keeps going, talking about how much wiggle room I’ll want to give teams when they call me. I try to pay attention, but honestly, it’s hard to wrap my mind around the specifics. The server stops by with our food, but my omelet doesn’t seem appealing anymore. I push the potatoes around my plate, listening to Richard ask Andy questions. My muscles tense.
It’s not just nerves. There’s something deeper there, scratching beneath the surface. This should be an exciting moment. Who doesn’t want to talk about signing a contract worth millions to play a sport for a living?
“Excuse me,” I say. “I—I need a moment.”
