“If you get thirsty, let one of us know. It’s hot out, and we’ve moved you guys under the awning as much as we could. Once the line is complete, you’re allowed to mingle if you want. That is the only time fans will be able to take pictures with you so we encourage it. Any questions?”
Most of us shake our heads, as she’s pretty efficient with her details.
We follow Talia out and down to the street where fans start screaming our names. I wave, as do some of the other guys, and they get louder. I can tell pictures are being taken and can’t imagine any of them will be decent. But who knows, everything will end up on social media anyway whether they’re good or not.
There are twenty-five chairs lined up behind a row of tables. Talia and her staff direct us where to sit, as if we couldn’t find our own chair when each one has a name tag on it. I’m not surprised to find all of the outfielders together with me, sitting next to Bainbridge and Meyers on my left and Kidd to the right of Bainbridge.
“The last time you did one of these, rookie, things were different.” Bainbridge slaps me on the back as he says this. I can’t tell if he’s being an ass or if his comment is genuine.
“I didn’t have many fans back then.” I didn’t, and I was at the end of the table. By the time people came through the line, they were tired and didn’t really care about me.
“Yeah that’s about to change.” He points to the crowd, and there are fat heads of my face being moved up and down.
“Wow, that’s freaking trippy.”
“You made it, kid. Just don’t let it go to your head,” he says, reminding me that he’s not only my teammate but also he’s looked out for me from the get-go.
“I won’t. I have a good role model.”
He smiles, looks down at the table, and starts fiddling with one of the markers. Talia tells us to get ready.
* * *
Signing hours of autographs before a game is not recommended. I think the publicity department underestimated the number of people that were going to show up. And by the end of the event, Kidd walked away with twenty or more phone numbers. Three of which are dates for the upcoming week. I don’t know how he does it, but the women flock to him. I don’t know if I should be jealous or scared. I can’t even find someone I want to spend time with. Our schedule is hectic, and it really takes an understanding woman to put up with it.
I change quickly and head out to the field. Even though I’ve been starting, I haven’t stopped putting in the extra time with Bainbridge. We head out to center field with our buckets of balls and two bats. I end up going first, hitting one hundred balls into the mats that try to soften the impact that our bodies take when we collide with the wall during the games.
“You’re doing good, Cooper. You’ve come a long way,” he says.
“Thanks to you. You could’ve been a total dick and let me fail.”
Bainbridge shakes his head. “That’s not what’s best for the club. We want to win, and if that means I’m on the bench, so be it.”
I continue hitting the balls he’s tossing, wondering if I’m ever going to be like him in that way. I was raised to only look out for myself, my teammates be damned, but Bainbridge has been trying to teach me otherwise.
“Have you thought about coaching?”
He pauses and looks at me. “Do you think I’d be good?”
I rest my bat on my shoulder and nod. “Hell yeah. I could never thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me when you didn’t have to. I can’t say I would’ve done the same thing if the roles were switched. I would now, though, because you’ve taught me what it means to be a team. So, yeah, I think you’d be a great coach.”
Bainbridge seems to ponder this for a minute. “Maybe I’ll think about it.” Everyone knows he has a lot of shit going on at home, but he never seems to bring it to work.
We continue to work out until it’s time for team activities to start. Inside the clubhouse, there’s a buffet set up for us to munch on until it’s time to get serious; this is something new with Wilson. Before, we’d go down and eat when we were hungry, but now we eat as a team and in the luxury of our clubhouse.
When I step out of the dugout, I turn at the sound of my name being called. My dad is right behind the dugout, grinning like a crazed fool. He’s decked out in Renegades gear and has a crazy foam finger that he’s waving around. I’m happy he’s here just as long as he doesn’t overstay his welcome. He needs to let me live my life and make my own choices, while suffering the consequences of my actions.
The game goes as planned, even though I end up ripping my pants sliding into third and end up getting catcalled because people can see my ass in the outfield.
Most important, we win, putting us ahead of the Orioles once again. Unfortunately, both of us can’t vie for the division title, and I’m hoping the Renegades are the sole leader of the American League East when it matters.
We decide to celebrate our victory at the bar across the street. It’s become somewhat of a tradition for us, but tonight it’s Kidd, Bennett, Davenport, my father, and I, sitting around a table shooting the shit. You’d be surprised how much we have to talk about after spending all day together.
Tonight, my father is leading the conversation, telling embarrassing stories from when I was kid. Like the time I climbed the tree in our backyard to watch the neighbor girl change her clothes because she always left her blinds open. My father sprayed me with a hose and made me go over and apologize to her, soaking wet. She later became my girlfriend for about a month until baseball started and I was never home.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I contemplate ignoring it, but it won’t stop. I pull it out, and my heart drops and then immediately speeds up, if that’s even possible. Ainsley’s name is displayed on the screen. Once the vibrating stops I start to breath again.
“You okay?” Daisy Davenport asks.