In Her Own League — 9 Emmett

9

EMMETT

As soon as I’m back in my room from my morning run, I slip off my sweat- soaked shirt, tossing it on the floor to remind myself to separate it from my clean clothes when I finish packing.

While we were only in Vegas for one night, Reese and I are headed straight from here to San Diego to meet the team for a series of road games.

I had to pack more than I would for a simple overnight stay and don’t want my workout clothes stinking up everything else I’ll be wearing the rest of the week.

Typically, I find this little conference a waste of time, taking an entire day away while in season, but I learned more last night than I ever thought I would.

Not about baseball or the inner workings of the league, but about Reese.

It was the first time she’s shown me any real vulnerability, and instead of resenting this time away, I was grateful for a chance to be alone with her.

Where she couldn’t hide in her office, and I couldn’t hide behind my team.

It was . . . nice.

I’m still catching my breath from my run when my phone rings. I dig it out of my running belt to find a picture of my daughter covering the entire screen and her name scrolling across the top.

“Hey, Millie,” I say through hard-earned breaths as I answer the phone.

“Hey, Dad. Just calling to check in on you. How was the conference?”

“It was . . .” I hesitate. “Not as terrible as it usually is.”

“Glad to hear it. Is that because your hot boss was there? Reese is a little nicer to look at than Arthur, huh? Oh my God.” I can hear the grimace in her voice. “Is that why you sound like that? Like you’re completely out of breath. Is she there with you right now? What the hell did I just interrupt?

Jesus, Dad. Are you sure you’re healthy enough for those kinds of activities?”

I shake my head, though she can’t see me. “Hey, Miller?”

“Yeah?” She laughs.

“Shut up.”

Her laughter only grows.

I love my daughter but goddamn, the girl can talk shit. She can take it too, which is what I get for raising her around a baseball team her entire life.

“I did an early lift and just got back from my morning run. So, while yes, I’m definitely healthy enough for those kinds of activities, that’s not what’s happening right now. Get your mind out of the gutter, you freak.”

She chuckles on the line.

I go into the connected bathroom, turning my hat backward and grabbing a clean hand towel to run over my face, trying to clean up the dripping

sweat.

“What are you up to?” I ask.

“Me and Maxie boy just got on the plane and it’s making me miss the season we got to fly with the team through the private airport. TSA was a nightmare today.”

“Yeah, I bet Max is missing it too. Do you remember how hard he used to sleep on the team plane in that bed that was set up for him in the back?”

“Well, I can promise you, he’s having no issues with that. We’ve been in our seats for all of five minutes and he’s already passed out in my lap.”

“When he wakes up, tell my boy I say hi and that I can’t wait to see him.”

“I will.”

“I can’t wait to see you too, Millie. I’m glad you two are joining us for a couple of road games.”

I saw my daughter just yesterday morning, but now that I’m spoiled enough to have her living in my same city, I’ll take every chance I can get to spend time with her.

It’s been just the two of us for the past twenty or so years, and while Miller is building her own family now, she’s the entirety of mine. Maybe it’s why I’m so close to my players and staff I work with. When Miller left home at eighteen and I moved into coaching in the majors, I was all of a sudden alone, and the team became my new extended family.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you too. Kai is having so much fun, Dad.

He’s loving coaching the guys.”

“Well, he’s damn good at it too.” As I sling the hand towel over my shoulder, a knock sounds on my hotel room door. “One second, Millie. I

think housekeeping is here already. They must not know we have a late checkout.”

Crossing the room, I keep the phone pressed to my ear and open the door.

But it’s not housekeeping I find on the other side.

It’s Reese.

“Morning,” she says with a smile, but her mouth quickly drops into parted lips when her eyes drift down my sweat-soaked face, over my bare chest that’s still pounding as I continue to catch my breath.

“Hi.” I sound just as surprised as she looks right now.

As she stands on the other side of the door, I let my eyes roam. If she weren’t right in front of me, I’m not sure I’d recognize her. She’s in a pair of well-fitted blue jeans, and I’ve never seen her wear denim before but goddamn it looks good stretched over her thick thighs. Her high heels have been swapped for a pair of sneakers, and her typically sleek blonde hair is covered in a Warriors’ team hat, the ends curled in a loose, casual wave.

It’s a stark contrast from the business Barbie I usually see around the office. Today Reese looks more like the baseball-loving girl next door and it

fucking works for her.

It works for me too.

“Dad?” My daughter’s voice in my ear acts as the coldest kind of shower.

“That’s your hot boss at your door right now, isn’t it?”

I close my eyes for a moment. “I gotta go, Miller.”

“I’m sure you do. Tell my new stepmom I said hi!”

“Something is seriously wrong with you, you know that? Who the hell raised you?”

Both Reese and my daughter laugh, but thankfully, my boss can’t hear

Miller through the phone.

“Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too. Fly safe and I’ll see you tonight.”

I hang up the phone, giving Reese my attention again. “Sorry about that,”

I say, using the towel to wipe my face again.

When I sling it back over my shoulder, I don’t miss the way her cheeks have turned a shade of pink or the way those blue eyes work their hardest to focus on my face.

She clears her throat. “Miller is coming to San Diego?”

“She is. Max too.”

“You know, I’ve never formally met her before.”

“You haven’t?” My head rears back. “How is that even possible?”

“I’ve seen her around the field with you, Kai, or Kennedy, but yeah. I haven’t met her myself.”

“I’ll introduce you this weekend. But fair warning, she’s absolutely insane and will most likely say something highly inappropriate, so just ignore that.”

A smile lingers on her lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I lean a shoulder into the doorway and catch Reese quickly checking me out again.

I like working out to clear my head and to strengthen my body, but my boss’s attention will be good motivation too.

“What’s up?”

She hesitates. “I just wanted to apologize for being a little word-vomity last night. It was a long day, and that wine was disturbingly easy to drink.”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything. It was nice . . . talking with you. Buzzed or not.”

“It was.” She takes a deep breath, rocking back on her heels. “And I was thinking that maybe we could call a truce that lasts longer than just last night.”

I feel my smile fighting its way through. “I think I’d be up for that.”

“Perfect. Because I want to take you somewhere before our flight.”

“Right now?” I glance down at my bare chest, reminding Reese I’m half

naked.

“You can put a shirt on first.”

“Are you sure you want me to do that?”

Her mouth opens to say something in retort, but nothing comes out. “Just meet me in the lobby in five, Montgomery.”

“Montgomery, huh?”

Reese starts toward the elevators, not taking the bait.

“Montgomery is awfully close to ‘Monty’! You know, the name that all my friends call me!”

She’s got this playful smile on her lips as she looks back at me over her shoulder. “Never going to happen!”

I pull the foldable seat out next to Reese before sitting in it. We’re up high, sitting out in right field. I wouldn’t exactly call these seats nosebleeds,

seeing as most triple-A stadiums aren’t big enough to have nosebleeds, but they’re the closest thing you can get to them here.

While Las Vegas doesn’t have any major league teams, they do have minor league ones, and it just so happens that our triple-A team is in town to play theirs.

I still can’t get over seeing Reese pull out her phone at the front gate to scan the tickets she purchased online. It was so . . . normal of her.

“You know you could’ve called ahead and told them we were coming.

You didn’t have to buy tickets and I’m sure they would’ve found you a closer seat.”

She shrugs, a smile on her face and eyes on the field. “I know, but I didn’t want to make the players nervous knowing we were here. And besides, when was the last time you got to just sit and watch a game? Don’t you miss watching baseball as a fan?”

Yeah. I do. I really do. Other than highlights, the only full games I watch these days are our own.

We won’t get a full game in today, maybe only three or four innings before we need to head to the airport for our flight, but I sit back in my seat and let myself enjoy it.

“Have you always been a baseball fan?” I ask Reese.

“Yes. I would beg my parents to bring me to the field and let me spend time with my grandfather. I loved everything about it. The people who worked there. The fans that were so diehard and so superstitious. I practically lived at the stadium during the summer, staying up late and watching every home game, and I truly can’t think of a better childhood than the one I had.”

I know there’s a game starting right in front of us, but I keep my eyes on her. I didn’t know that extending our truce would also extend Reese’s honesty with me but I’m glad it does.

She laughs at herself. “I used to invite the players to my birthday parties because I genuinely thought they were my friends. I didn’t pick up on the fact that it was their job to spend every day at the field. That they weren’t just there because they wanted to be, like I was.”

“And did they go?”

“Of course. Probably because my grandfather was the team owner, and they felt as if they had to.”

I think about my team and the way they are toward Max, loving him as if he were one of the guys. Or the way my college players were with Miller while I was raising her, always hyping her up when she brought homemade cookies to share with them.

“I doubt that. Baseball is one big family. I know you don’t see it that way, but it is. I bet they went to your birthday parties because you were one of them.”

She stays silent for a long moment, eyes on the field.

“I know it is,” she finally says. “I know how much community and comradery there is. I grew up in that environment, Emmett. I’m not just some random owner, fresh out of business school with no connection to this team. This team is my family’s legacy. This is my childhood and all my best memories.

“I know you think I’m coming in here and trying to blow everything up,” she continues. “But I promise you, I’m not. I want to better this team because I love it. I want to be able to give other people their best memories too. Whether that be the days they spend at the field as a fan or the years they spend in a Warriors jersey as a player. I know you think I’m heartless, but every decision I’ve made is to preserve the thing I love most in hopes that other people will continue to be able to love it too. In order to do that, I don’t have the luxury to view this as anything but a business right now.”

Words stick in my throat because this is just about the most open I’ve

ever heard her.

And I like it.

This version of Reese . . . this version is dangerous for me.

She swallows hard. “Look, this needs to stay between us, but my grandfather wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention the last few years. He was spending far too much money and now our budget is a mess, and I feel partly at fault for that.”

My brows cinch together. “How is any of that your fault? You weren’t there.”

“Exactly. But I was supposed to be. He wanted to retire years ago and I was ready to take over, but there was one problem.”

Everything we discussed last night comes flooding back.

“You were still married,” I realize.

“My grandfather wouldn’t sign the team over, for good reason, until he was sure that Jeremy would have no legal claim to it.”

“Wow.” I sit back in my chair. “I had no idea. I knew Arthur was ready for retirement, but I assumed he was holding out because he still loved it.”

“He did, but he wasn’t invested the way he used to be. He wanted to be home with my grandmother more, so he made decisions like hiring Scott to run the baseball side of things and spending money just to make others happy.”

There’s something in the way she tacks on that last part that feels directed at me, but that wouldn’t make sense. Arthur never spent extra money on me, unless she’s referring to that extra video coaching position that I’m still not entirely over.

But hearing her speak about the love and responsibility she feels to this team brings a whole new wave of understanding that I didn’t have before.

Maybe she really did have to cut that position, and that realization makes me feel like an absolute dick for not being the one to do it.

Reese refocuses on the field, clapping as our first batter makes his way to the plate. “Let’s go, Braden!” she yells, hands cupped around her lips.

I glance in her direction, a little confused. “You sound like you know him.”

She seems just as puzzled when she looks my way. “I do.”

“You’ve met him?”

“Of course I have. I’ve met his whole family. His mom made one of the best lasagnas I’ve ever had.”

“You’ve had dinner with him? And with his family?”

“Yes, Emmett,” she says with a slight chuckle. “I’ve met all of them.

During the offseason, I traveled the country, introducing myself.”

I’m shocked silent but somehow am still able to exhale a question.

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t you be a little freaked out if the franchise you’re signed with got a brand-new president and owner all in one go? I wanted to be able to put faces to names and ease any concerns they might have. These guys are our future players.”

I should probably focus on reiterating how impressive that is, that she went out of her way to do that. But instead, I’m still having a hard time finding words, so again, I give her only one.

“Our?”

She shoots me a deadpan look. “We’ll see.”

“What about the guys on the Warriors?”

“I met most of them last year while I was shadowing and they’re kind of stuck with me all season. Plus, they don’t need as much assurance. They’ve already made it.”

“You seriously made sure to meet every single one of these guys and their families?”

She nods as if it were no big deal, eyes on the game.

I’ve never known an owner or president to take that kind of initiative. But when I think about my own time, coming up through the developmental system and hoping to one day play in the majors, I would’ve felt so valued as not only a player but also a person if the team owner went out of their way to meet me.

“Well, Reese. For someone who views baseball as just a business, you sure met a lot of families.”

She slightly shakes her head, still unable to take her eyes off the game.

And when Braden hits a double, it feels like I’m watching the baseball fan version of Reese next to me as she cheers for him.

She tells me all about the second and third batters in the lineup as they each make their way to home plate. She tells me where they went to school, how long they’ve been playing, and where they’re from. She even spews out some of their stats from memory. And I’m not talking about the simple stats like their batting percentage that’s displayed on the jumbotron.

She recites their weighted on-base average and their OPS all from the top of her head.

Then she follows it up with things like, “His sister is a senior in high school this year,” and “He’s also very talented at the guitar.”

I swear I’m living in an alternate universe where everything I thought I knew about this woman has flown right out the window. Yes, she’s business savvy and will be great for the franchise in that regard, but she also knows the game. Far more than anyone realizes.

She also cares for these players’ well-being far more than she realizes, but that’s a conversation for a different day.

That apology I already owed her becomes even more imperative.

“Reese.” My tone is serious as I turn slightly in my chair to face her. She hears it too, evident in the way her smile drops soberly. “I need to

apologize.”

“It’s fine, Emmett. I promise.”

“It’s not, though. I shouldn’t have undermined you the way I did during and after that advisory board meeting. I’m sorry.”

She offers me an understanding smile. “Well, thank you for saying that.

And I’m sorry for not giving a heads-up about wanting to trade one of your players.”

A concessions worker slowly scales the steps, a hot dog sign plastered to the heated bag he’s wearing.

“Want one?” Reese asks, and though I know she’s trying to change the subject, I’m starving, and a hot dog sounds delicious.

Reese starts to reach into her purse.

“Yes, but put your wallet away. I can buy you a goddamn hot dog.” I hold up two fingers to the concessions worker, exchanging cash for two hot dogs. “But I’m capped at that.”

Chuckling, she pulls out the relish and mustard packets, assuming the prior conversation is over, but I need to explain myself.

“Reese,” I say again, placing my hand over hers to stop her from unwrapping her lunch. “The reason I was so upset after that meeting is not just because you wanted to trade one of my players.”

Slowly, she turns in her seat, giving me her full attention.

“You’re making history this year,” I remind her. “And I’m not sure if the weight of that has fully set in for you yet. And no, I don’t think you should base your decisions on the scrutiny you’re under, or the fear of what others may say, but in that moment, it felt like you were about to make this career- defining decision, and I wouldn’t be able to protect you from the aftermath of it.”

I expect her to interrupt me, to say something along the lines of “I can handle it,” but she doesn’t. She simply hears me out.

“And it’s not just protecting you for this one season,” I continue. “It’s about protecting the legacy you’re going to leave for all the women who will come after you. There are girls who love this game the same way you do, who are going to be looking up to you. I think about the little girl I raised and the world that’s not set up for her success. I think about how much I would’ve loved for there to be women in positions of power for her to look up to the way you are now. And it scared me to think about what they were going to say about you in the press. Trading Kaiser would put so much heat on you, Reese, and I was afraid that you didn’t fully grasp the

weight of that, and I was scared for you. I took it out on you, and I’m sorry for doing that.”

She swallows hard, eyes bouncing between mine. Her lips open then close, no words coming out, so I press her for them.

“What?” I ask.

“I think . . .” She shakes her head. “I think I’m starting to get the hype surrounding you.”

I exhale a laugh, and the tension breaks in such an easy way.

I pull my hand away so she can eat, but before I can, she grabs it, stopping me.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “For looking out for me. I try not to focus on the bigger-picture-type things because they feel heavy and overwhelming when I think about them. I already feel so much pressure every single day just doing my job, that if I think about the history books and the girls I want to inspire, I’m afraid I’ll be paralyzed with expectations.”

“Yeah,” I breathe out. “I can see that.”

“So how about I focus on the task at hand, making this team the best it can be, and if I make a decision that you think could harm the legacy I want to leave behind, you raise that concern to me and we talk it through. Deal?”

“Deal.”

She lets go of my hand, but I don’t want it back.

I like listening to her speak. I like the way she handles herself. I like her sharp mind and her quick wit.

I think I might just like her, which is a real problem when I think about protecting her legacy. The last thing she needs is her employee crushing on her.

“This is why I wanted to bring you here,” she says, nodding toward home plate. “That’s Milo Jones.”

The name sounds vaguely familiar, but not enough for it to scrounge up any memories.

“He’s twenty-two years old. From a small town in New Mexico. Played center field for his local community college and is the player I wanted to

call up as Kaiser’s replacement.”

“Why have I barely heard of him?”

“He was undrafted. I found him a few years ago because my car broke down and the auto shop where I was towed was next to a community

college and there just happened to be a game going on. He’s wildly talented but didn’t grow up playing competitive ball or anything like that, so he’s needed some polishing. He started all the way at the bottom in the rookie league but has quickly moved his way up, just starting triple-A this season.”

My eyes flit to the jumbotron displaying his batting average, but that’s not a clear enough number to let myself get excited.

“OPS?” I ask, referring to the combination of on-base percentage and his

slugging percentage.

“It’s .920.”

“Jesus.”

On the third pitch, I watch as Milo swings the bat in the most natural and athletic way, connecting with the pitch. He hits what looks to be a double, the ball landing near us in right field, but with how fast he is, he stretches it to a triple, sliding into third base.

If he’s that fast in the infield, I can’t wait to see him let loose in the outfield.

“Damn.” I exhale a laugh and when I look at Reese out of the corner of my eye, I find her watching me knowingly. “You think he’s ready?”

“Only one way to find out.”

I like the confidence. I like that she’s willing to bet on herself and the player she found.

“In case no one has told you today, you are very good at your job.”

She smiles proudly. “Thank you.”

We get back to the hot dogs in our hands, dressing them with a couple of condiment packets. But there’s no onions on it and hardly any relish in the packet so my hopes aren’t too high for it.

We take a bite at the same time.

“Oh, that’s so bad.” She spits it right back into the foil wrapping.

“That’s terrible.” I find the will to swallow down that single bite but wrap the rest for the trash can. “Ours are so much better.”

“So much better. We need to get back to Chicago.”

There’s this ease and playfulness between us today, including a whole lot of honesty, which has me asking the question I’ve had lingering on my mind all week.

I take her hot dog and re-cover it, getting them both ready for the trash while trying to keep my question as casual as possible. “You were pretty

adamant about trading Kaiser, and that vote didn’t mean anything. You don’t need the advisory board’s approval.”

“I know I don’t.”

My eyes meet hers. “So, why haven’t you done it yet? Just because they didn’t want you to?”

“No.” Reese’s voice is soft and earnest when she admits, “I haven’t done it yet because you didn’t want me to.”