“Hey, Scout.”
My back’s up immediately at the sound of his voice. “What can I do for you, Santiago?” I ask as I turn to face him, not one to ever leave my back to him for more than a beat.
“I hear it’s a big night for that boyfriend of yours. He’s gonna try and make himself useful.”
In my periphery I see some of the other guys stop what they’re doing at their lockers and turn our way.
“So you need nothing, then?” I ask, face a picture of innocence. I’m not giving the prick what he wants—to get under my skin.
“I bet Daddy set this up for him. Don’t you? With all those connections of his, I bet he set up his wonder-boy-son nice and pretty just to keep that precious Wylder name in the spotlight.”
“You have a good night then.” I give him a sickeningly sweet smile as I turn on my heel and head toward my office. By the time I round my desk and sit down, Tino is standing in the doorway.
“You okay?”
“For the life of me, I don’t know how you handle sharing the same uniform with him every night, let alone the same damn field,” I say.
“It’s a job.” He shrugs. “There will always be coworkers you hate and you just have to deal. There’s nothing else you can do.”
“Talk about team morale. Go Aces!” With sarcasm lacing my tone, I pump my fist in mock support
“Believe me, most of us feel the same way. Our only hope is that Boseman ousts Tillman and then pushes Santiago out after him.”
“Fingers crossed he does because it sure as hell would make my job that much easier.”
He looks over his shoulder when one of the guys laughs out loud before looking back to me. “How’s he doing?” he asks, voice lowered.
“He won’t admit it, but I think he’s nervous.”
“Why? He’s done it a hundred times before with the local channel here.”
“I know.” I think back to the murmured words of encouragement I gave him when he kissed me goodbye on the way to his flight this morning. “But he is.”
“A bunch of us are heading down to Slugger’s to watch the broadcast and drink a few in silent support for him before we fly out tonight. You’re welcome to come if you want.”
My smile is automatic. “Thanks, but I’ve got some work to do here and then I’ll probably catch it at home.”
“Can’t handle all this testosterone, huh?” he teases.
“Some days, no.”
My knee jogs up and down as the familiar notes of the Fox Sports jingle plays. It’s not often I actually watch a game on television for the hell of it. I’m typically studying a player I’m rehabbing to see how they are faring and what I need to work on with them. I’ve never purposely tuned in just to watch the broadcasters.
But today is different.
Today Easton is taking a huge step out of his comfort zone, and like the text I sent him an hour ago said, I am so very proud of him for doing so.
The camera pans across the field—the green grass, stark white lines, and players milling about—before the lead broadcaster begins to speak.
“Welcome to another summer night of baseball here on Fox, ladies and gentlemen. The sky is clear, the popcorn is popping, and the bats are swinging here in Amco Park for America’s favorite national past time,” he says as the camera switches to them sitting in the broadcast booth. I squeal like a schoolgirl when I see Easton. I know I’m biased but he’s so handsome with his headset on and a smile that only those closest to him can tell hints at his nervousness. “Thank you for tuning in. I’m Bud Richman and tonight we have special guest, Easton Wylder, of the Austin Aces and more recently the Dallas Wranglers to talk with us during the pregame show. Thanks for joining us. How’s the shoulder coming along?”
“Good. Healing,” he says eyes flicking back and forth from the camera to Bud.
“Are you ready for a good battle of the bats tonight?”
Easton smiles. “That’s definitely what one would expect of tonight’s match-up.”
“Tell us, Easton, as a player, how would you size up either team if you were to play them?”
Easton talks for a few minutes about the pitching and the fielding, and I can see him physically start to relax. There’s easy camaraderie between him and Bud that’s likeable and not over the top. Easton comes off as personable and knowledgeable and I’m sure his insight is attractive to the male viewers while his looks are more than pleasing for the female viewers.
“We’re minutes away from the first pitch, ladies and gentlemen, so without further ado, I’ll let Easton have the honor of announcing the starting line-ups.”
The camera pans from Bud to Easton and there’s total silence as Easton’s face looks like he’s a deer in the headlights. His eyes widen and then become panicked as he says “uh” a couple times before looking over to Bud for help.
It’s only seconds but my heart jumps into my throat from the look on Easton’s face.
“Oops, sorry about that, Easton. It seems we forgot to show the newbie how to work the switches up here in the booth. I hate it when we do that.” He laughs like a seasoned professional while I’m screaming at the TV over how they could throw Easton into the press box and not show him the damn controls. “In the meantime, starting for the Colorado Rockies tonight, batting first and playing center field . . .”
Bud drones on going through both sets of line-ups as I pace the living room. I’m sure Easton is livid and embarrassed and all I want to do is fix it for him. That’s a huge screw-up on Fox’s part and I’m sure Finn will give them his two cents if he’s not on the phone already.
The station goes to a commercial break without the camera panning back to Easton, and it takes everything I have not to pick up the phone and call him, reassure him, and give him support.
When the commercial break is over, the camera spends most of the time on the field before finally focusing on the booth. Easton’s there next to Bud, his posture a little stiffer than before, his features a bit more stoic. Bud continues to talk and this time when Easton responds, his responses lack the energy they had before. It’s almost as if he’s holding back or scared to elaborate. And his discomfort comes across loud and clear to the viewer.
They talk about the pitchers and what to expect from each team for the night and then Bud wraps up the segment. “When we come back, baseball fans, we’re heading for the first pitch with the two teams that might end up being a preview of your National League playoffs. Easton, why don’t you take us to break and tell the nice folks at home all about our sponsors.”
And when the attention shifts back to Easton, he’s frozen again. Almost as if once the camera focuses on him, he can’t speak. Bud looks his way and chuckles softly. “Sorry there, Easton. It seems the booth doesn’t want to function for you today. I’m giving Easton instructions here to read the teleprompter and it’s not working. We’ll take this break, and I’ll make sure to plug our sponsors when we return. Stay tuned for an exciting night of baseball, folks.”
And when they cut to commercial, I force myself to breathe.
This is not good.
Not at all.
I wait with bated breath for them to come back from commercial break and when they do, the game starts.
Bud calls the game. He talks nonstop and any additional commentary from Easton is only added when Bud asks him. His personality is void. His engagement is forced.
It’s a train wreck.
As the ninth inning comes to a close and the bleeding stops, all I keep thinking is, I pushed him to do this.
Should I have backed off? Should I not have talked him into it when he wasn’t comfortable in the first place?
“Hey,” I say cautiously when he answers the phone.
“Not now, Scout. I don’t want to talk right now.” His voice is nothing short of frustrated devastation.
“Can you tell me if you’re okay?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow when I get home.”
And the line goes dead.