I never saw it coming that she’d just say no and was willing to get divorced.
I’d spent my entire adult life working to be the best. Contracts showed how much teams valued the players and I wanted to be one of the highest in the league, because it meant for sure I was the best.
I’d been trained since I was smaller than Jeremy for this and I was inches from achieving everything I’d worked for.
What the fuck had happened? How did I fix this?
I loved Georgie. I’d waited for seven years to find her again. But did that mean I had to give up everything I'd ever worked for?
Now I needed to play. I needed to scream. I should have ignored her that day, but she’d been the angel I’d searched for, for years.
But that had been a lie. An angel wouldn’t make me choose like this.
Finally, I made it out of the car and dragged my ass into the game.
Somehow, I needed to get rid of this cold sweat that made my spine tingle and win.
Thirty million for ten years had always been the first dream.
I’d spent my entire life working toward being the best.
I went to my locker to grab my uniform.
Rodriguez came beside me and stared at his old beat up Swatch watch that he wore at every game instead of any of the fancy ones everyone had bought him. “About fucking time, Irons.”
“I need a shower,” I mumbled and stripped off my t-shirt that still had a small trace of Georgie’s hugs on it.
I’d have to burn it if the smell didn’t dissipate. I tossed my sneakers in the locker and Rodriguez said, “Go clear your head, Pinstripes.”
Maybe moving to New York and working with teammates I didn’t consider friends might be better. Less opinions I didn’t want to hear. I unbuttoned my pants and said, “Don’t be hating. Maybe if you up your stats, you’d have a shot at the stripes too.”
Rodriguez stomped off. I wrapped a towel around my waist to not flaunt my junk in front of everyone when my phone rang. I sat in front of my locker and for a second wished it was Georgie, to tell me she’d been wrong.
But once again my insides froze as I read the screen. I squeezed the phone in my palm and told myself to get over this and then answered, “Phil, what’s going on?”
My agent asked, “Do you have a minute? I want to talk about your voicemail.”
More players arrived but I didn’t care as I slouched in my corner and said, “Yeah. I told you…let’s sign.”
“Hold off till tomorrow,” Phil said.
“Why?” I asked.
He would make the best commission of his career if I did this. Money mattered.
I needed to be the best. Though, my son and I when we tossed the ball played in my mind. I’d already missed years of him, and my skin grew hotter with regret.
I couldn’t miss more of his life.
Phil said, “I’m getting signals I’ll have another offer by the morning and it’s still within the seventy-two-hour window.”
“Yeah?” I asked and wondered for a second if it would matter.
I hadn’t told anyone, but I loved working with the Sooners and Georgie’d liked my house. If I had the money and Georgie back, then my life would be exactly as I hoped.
Or was tomorrow too late?
Phil said, “It might be more, might be nothing, but let’s see it first.”
I lowered my voice. “Whatever you think is best. I’m loyal to the paycheck you get me for my skills.”
“How’s Georgie?” Phil asked.
Good question. I closed my eyes and remembered how her kiss still tingled on my lips. “She won't go to New York and wants a divorce if I pick there.”
Phil said, “I’m sorry. You should talk to Gary.”
“Who’s Gary?” I asked as it wasn’t a name I recognized.
“A lawyer friend who specializes in helping pro-sports players with their divorces.”
That was a knife on an open wound. I cringed and saw the pitcher returning to the locker next to me as I said, “I don’t want to think about that right now.”
“It’s fine,” Phil said. “Just have a good game. Your offers might depend on it.”
No pressure, right? Maybe a second offer was on the table if I did. I jumped up, still holding my phone when the pitcher, now in his gray pants, stared at me and pointed to the door. “You still naked? We have fucking warm ups and then a game to get to already.”
My mind raced. I was crazy.
I grabbed my soap and said, “Shut the fuck up, Rodriguez. Warm your arm up and stop getting in my shit. I’ll be right out.”
“You’ll be fun to talk to out there tonight,” he said as I started to walk away.
I slowed down. Georgie had nothing to do with the game. Teams live and die by working together. I couldn’t face him, but I said, “I…I need to clear my head and relax. I promise to get my head in the game out there.”
“See you out there then,” he called out as I headed into the shower.
The water and steam usually did the trick when it was too many drinks the night before. Clean-faced was almost my standard, and from what I knew of New York, a requirement of theirs I’d clearly meet.
Today, my skin was raw. As I finished and grabbed my uniform to dress, I saw my phone ring again. I tugged on my gray away game clothes and answered, “Dad. What’s going on?”
Dad sounded like he had when I was a boy, “Your pregame interview wasn’t your usual. Is something going with you, son?”
Maybe he had an answer. I sucked in my breath. Normally I wouldn’t ask, but Dad had managed to hang onto my mom for more than thirty years now.
So I kept my voice low so no one could hear when I said, “I got the offer from New York.”
“And Georgie doesn’t want
