WHEN I SIT DOWN AT MY DESK, I HAVE FOUR TEXTS FROM Campbell. I don’t read any of them. I’m not thinking about the scene in the locker room. I’m not dwelling on it. I refuse to give it space in my already overcrowded head.
I pull down the long roll of uncut baseball card proofs from behind my desk. The players have to sign off on them before we send them to the printer. No mistakes ever again.
“Cards look great,” Meredith says when she walks in, stopping to lean across the top of my desk to get a closer look. Her light brown hair is half up and a little frizzy from the humidity, and there’s a wet spot on the shoulder of her shirt, like she’d spilled something and then wiped it off.
“Thanks. Did you have a good couple of days off?”
Her smile crinkles the corners of her eyes. Meredith’s actually a lot younger than she looks, only in her late twenties, but she’s got three little kids, and her husband left when she was pregnant with the last one. They’d moved here when he got traded to the Beavers, and she started working for the team. But when her husband’s career ended, he left town and didn’t come back.
Meredith’s mom moved out here to help her, but most of the time Mer still seems worn a little thin. Today’s no exception. One more reminder that dating one of our players is a bad idea.
“Any free time is good,” she says, smoothing down her hair. “The kids and I repainted their bedroom, which was less of a disaster than you’d imagine.”
I laugh, because we’ve had her kids at the park a couple of times when her sitter canceled or when her mom couldn’t take them. They are three little tornadoes. Brown-eyed, pink-cheeked tornadoes, but their cuteness doesn’t stop them from being destructive.
“Did you do anything fun while the team was on the road?” she asks, giving me a sly look.
“I hung out with Mia and …” I almost say Campbell but finish with “and got a couple of runs in.”
She nods but doesn’t walk away, like she’s waiting for something.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” I offer, not because I don’t have enough to do, but because Meredith is always so kind to me. She’s helped me out with promo stuff and kids club and other things even when she’s equally busy with her job.
“No, but—” Meredith gives a big sigh and pulls out her phone. She finds what she’s looking for and pushes it across the counter to me. “Do you have anything you want to tell me about?”
The picture is blurry, like it was hastily snapped before the action ended, but I know what it is without a second look. Campbell’s broad back, legs spread wide as he leans against Pearson. It looks violent. It looks angry. It looks bad. Like seconds from fists flying and reports needing to be filed and discussions with the head office.
Meredith takes her phone back and sighs again—she’s a world-class sigher. “Ollie sent it to me.” She looks down at the picture once more before clearing the screen. “He says Campbell attacked Pearson after Pearson said something lewd about you.”
Ollie sent the picture to Meredith. That traitor.
“Did you hear what Pearson said? Is this something I need to worry about?” When I don’t answer, she lowers her voice and whispers, “Is this something your dad is going to need to know about?”
“No.” I am clearly the master of hasty denials. I wave Meredith behind my desk, so we can talk without anyone getting too close. “Campbell’s been staying at my house.”
Her eyes grow wide with shock. “Ry—”
“It’s not like that. Campbell’s dad and my dad played baseball together in college. When Campbell got hurt, Dad sort of adopted him.”
“And?” She nudges the conversation along gently.
“And Campbell and I are friends.” I fumble for an explanation. “He’s got two little sisters and doesn’t put up with anyone saying gross stuff about them. I think, maybe, he’s sort of protective of me in the same way.”
Meredith gives a relieved half laugh. “Thank goodness for that! I was afraid you and Pearson had a thing. And I was thinking, Dear God in Heaven, has that girl lost her mind?” She shakes her hands at the sky like she’s calling for divine intervention. “Pearson is a good-enough-looking guy, but good Glory Almighty, he is awful. Every time he opens his mouth I have to hold down my hands for fear I’m going to punch him. And when I saw that picture, I thought maybe someone had finally had enough and hauled off and done it.” She tilts her head like she’s sharing a secret. “I would have thanked Campbell for it, too.”
I smile, but it feels shaky. “You’re not going to report this?”
She doesn’t notice my nervousness, already slinging her giant purse over her shoulder and moving away from my desk. “A dustup in the training room?” She waves it off with her free hand. “We’ve got ten every season. Your dad doesn’t bother with them unless blood is drawn or it’s in public.”
I drop, boneless, into my chair as soon as she walks away. Relieved. Sick. Angry. A text makes my phone buzz, but it’s from Mia, asking if I want her to come in early.
Then another text comes in and my phone opens it automatically. It’s from Ollie: How long have you and Campbell been hooking up?
And below that is a screenshot of the Globe Life Park Kiss Cam.
I STAY BUSY PREPPING FOR THE GAME, BUT IT DOESN’T HELP. THE nervousness builds inside my chest like a storm on the horizon. It’s a dark feeling, weighty with threats of a hurricane.
Before batting practice starts, I jog down to the tunnel that leads to the dugout and tape the baseball card proofs to the wall. The guys can read over the information and sign off that it’s accurate, and I won’t have to worry about any errors this year.
I’m standing high on my toes to tape a little message above the proofs, explaining what I want the players to do, but the tape won’t stick to the cement.
“Here.” Someone takes it out of my hand and presses it to the spot I was reaching for.
There’s a sharp tug in my chest, and I know who it is without looking. I turn slowly and look up into Campbell’s face. He’s not smiling. His eyes catch mine and hold for a second. It’s such a short, cold evaluation before he turns his face away, focusing on the tunnel floor.
Meredith said he wasn’t going to be in any trouble from the Rangers, but that doesn’t mean the team manager won’t be pissed off. Or his teammates. Was Pearson just the first one to give him crap about me? Or do they all think something is going on? Did Ollie send the screenshot of the Kiss Cam to everyone?
Questions fill my mouth, and my tongue can’t decide which to ask first. “What—”
“Tape.” He nods to the roll in my left hand.
The interruption feels like a slap, the sting traveling all the way to my eyes. I blink away the hurt and tear off a strip of duct tape. He doesn’t touch me when he takes it from my fingertips, smoothing down the corners.
“Thanks.” The word is barely audible, trapped behind the knot in my throat.
“Sure.” And with that, he walks into the dugout.
It’s like I mean nothing to him.
And I realize that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.
