Holy shit.
Boseman really did it. That’s my recurring thought as I lean against the wall outside the locker room to gather my thoughts after the phone call I received. Sure I need to call Easton—let him know if Boseman hasn’t already himself—but first I need a few seconds to process the ramifications.
What this might mean for me and what it means to Easton.
A crowded clubhouse is not exactly the place I can do that. And as if on cue, hooting and hollering rings through the closed door as it opens and closes. The sound startles me into action. I need to get my things and head home so I can celebrate with Easton this come-to-Karma moment with him.
Right when I grab the handle to pull open the locker room door, I’m startled to see two sets of shoulders hunched over, as they talk about something in hushed tones. Cal and Santiago. What the? Cal sees me first—wide eyes and mouth shocked into an O—and before he can say a thing, I slip into the locker room, uncomfortable and confused about whatever they’re talking about. Again.
It’s none of your business. Just grab your bag and phone and head home.
But I can’t stop thinking about them and what they could be discussing. Then again, Cal works for the Aces. He could be telling Santiago the same news I just received. Tillman is gone, and he better watch his back.
But the thought doesn’t sit right with me. Wouldn’t Cal wait and let Santiago find out once Boseman makes an official announcement?
“Boys, let’s hope like hell the Tampa score stays where it is because then it’s a done deal.” JP whoops, getting a rise out of the guys and shocking me from overthinking something that’s probably nothing to begin with. Wondering who Santiago talks to doesn’t deserve another second of my time.
“Playoffs, here we come,” Riddell shouts to a raucous set of cheers.
“Great game tonight, guys,” I add to the conversation as I enter my office, grab my backpack, and head out as quickly as I went in.
“You gonna come watch the rest of the Tampa game with us at Sluggers? Let’s call East to meet us there, and we can celebrate.”
“I’m not sure what his plans are,” I say, although I know damn well he’s not ready to face the public yet after the Fox debacle. Then again, maybe he’ll want to celebrate with his ex-teammates after I tell him the good news. “I’ll check when I get home.”
“You know when she says it like that,” Drew teases, “it means bow-chicka-wow-wow time.”
“Oh please.” I roll my eyes and laugh.
“Nah. I doubt it.” Santiago’s voice rings loud and clear. He must have come into the locker room when I was in my office. I keep walking to the exit, determined to not let him ruin my good mood. “Easton’s too busy licking his wounds after making a royal ass of himself on TV the other night. Uh. Uh. Duh. Uh,” he stutters, mocking Easton.
The ass. My feet falter. My anger riots.
“Fuck off, Santiago.” I think that’s Tino. Or maybe JP. I’m not sure because I’m too busy seeing red.
“You can’t hide stupid.” He follows the comment by a sarcastic laugh that grates on every one of my nerves. “That says a lot about your standards, Scout.”
“Don’t,” I shout to Drew and his clenched fists. The last thing he needs with the playoffs looming is a team suspension for beating the shit out of Santiago.
But I’m done. So fucking done with Santiago’s shitty comments. Good thing the suspension caveat doesn’t apply to me.
“Hey, Santiago,” I say loud enough to draw attention and shock the shit out of the guys. Towels stop drying and shirts get yanked over heads as I step up onto the bench. “Does this shtick really work for you? How you keep bad-mouthing the guy who was here before you to distract others from the fact that your numbers will never match his? You could only wish to hold his stats. I mean, there’s a reason your contract is half the amount of Easton’s. Does that eat at you? You and your big-ass ego? How much longer do you think that’s going to fly? Do you think once Boseman finds a new general manager he’ll put up with this?” I love the shocked look on his face. The startled heads of the guys around me. I guess I just made the announcement myself. “Oh, did you not know that? My bad. I thought that’s what Cal was just warning you about in the hallway. Yeah. Your time is limited here. Boseman fired Tillman. Yep. The only person in your corner in this organization is now gone.” My smile is smug as I shake my head in disgust. “So if you want to talk about being stupid, you might want to look in the mirror considering you’ve gone out of your way to not make friends here. And oops, the one friend you did suck up to is gone.”
He takes a few steps toward me, his shoulders proud, his body language defensive, his face a mask of indifference. I know damn well I got to him and his sensitive ego. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”
The guys rustle around me with clenched fists. I don’t need punches thrown in here when reporters are right outside. Not on my behalf.
I jump off the bench and step up to him. Sure he has a foot on me in height and an easy fifty pounds in weight, but I’m so sick of his shit, I don’t care. “I may be a bitch, but you’re a wanna-be,” I grit out. “It must kill you to want to be just like the man you’ll never hold a goddamn candle to. You’ve tried taking him out, you’ve tried taking his spot, and lo and behold he’s still better than you. That must really eat at you. His talent trumps your mediocrity any day.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks and every part of him bristles at my words that hit a little too close to home. He steps into me, threatening me with his physical size. The guys take a step closer but I don’t move. I just stare at Santiago, refusing to back down. There are advantages to being raised among men, after all.
“Touch me. Pretty please. I dare you to try it because I bet Boseman will forgive each and every one of them for beating the shit out of you if you lay a hand on me. He’s a gentleman like that.”
He just stares, Adam’s apple bobbing as he reins in his temper and the buttons I purposely pushed before taking a step back.
“Coward,” I mutter. One last button to press. The asshole deserves it.
He ruined my good mood.
“Scout?” He knows already. The excitement and all-around carefree sound in his voice tells me. “Did you hear?”
He meets me with a glass of wine and swift kiss as I come into the kitchen. I laugh as his good hand tries to roam freely over my ass.
“I did. I got the call right before I left.”
“Son of a bitch deserves it.”
“He does.” I nod and take a sip, hiding my own concerns. “And did.”
We’re reviewing the moves Mr. Tillman made during his time in the position. He let a lot of people go and opened up the club to lawsuits, Ms. Dalton. Your position and probationary contract will be under review as well.
“Boseman came to see me.”
“Like came here? To the house?” I ask, surprised he’d go that extra mile, but then again, it is Easton. And he did say he feared lawsuits.
“Yeah. Shocked the shit out of me, but he explained everything. How Tillman did what he did, and then he apologized for what he did to me.”
“That’s good, right?”
“It doesn’t change a damn thing for me. The trade was still made. I’m still a Wrangler. He even said he’ll work to try and get me back, but hell if it doesn’t take some of the sting out of it.”
“I’m glad then,” I say as I step into him and accept the welcome-home kiss he gives me. This is so much better than last night. His laughter. His upbeat mood. The sound of a man vindicated.
I’ll take it any day.
And I’ll worry about how this affects me later.
How I may be out of a job.