There was no way in hell I was going to show weakness even though I wanted to crawl into bed for a week and let this all go away.
“Well, why don’t you come up with some positives to post, no matter who the player might be. And, if you’re ready, start back on those interviews.”
“Yes, sir.”
I held my phone tightly in my hand as I watched the men pulling on my arms, my pants, and my shirt. My skin crawled at the memory. A deep sigh escaped my chest as I shared the video with the team page. My caption deemed Todd Morris a hero, in the wrong place, but at just the right time.
My eyes were heavy as I made it to the next morning's practice. The entire night was spent working on interview notes, replying to messages and posts on the site about the video, and the incident. Even with the hero portrayal, many of the fans were calling Morris an adrenaline junkie, saying he was out looking for trouble. It would be tougher than I thought to clear his history and the taste he’d left in many Mets fans' mouths when he was traded to the Beasts.
Every time I worked up enough nerve to say something to Todd, I found myself running in the opposite direction. I couldn’t tell him about my family, about my dad. That wasn’t my secret. Just like he protected his brother from the limelight, I’d protect my family. If he couldn’t trust me, then so be it. I had a job to do, and no matter how delicious his lips were, how hard his body, and how good he made me feel, I was going to do that job.
“Blake,” I called out as the guys left the field.
He turned toward me, smiled, and walked in my direction. “What can I do for ya, sunshine?” he asked.
I loved his southern drawl, his warmth, and the name sunshine took me back to the days when I was just a kid watching my daddy play. “I haven’t heard that in years,” I said softly.
“Pink cotton candy, nachos without cheese, and loaded hot dogs," he laughed.
“Yeah, I was a picky kid,” I agreed.
Something about being around him made me feel safe. He'd always helped to look after me when I spent long days at the stadium. I wasn’t sure why I’d been so reluctant to conduct his interview. “Do you care if I ask you some questions?”
“Oh, it’s my turn?” he asked, his tone sounding a little disappointed. I felt a twinge of guilt for not speaking to him sooner.
I nodded, offered up my warmest smile, and motioned him to the seat next to me. “How’s your old man doing these days?” he asked. And there it was, the reason I didn’t want to talk to him.
“He’s great,” I lied.
“Man, I remember those days like they were yesterday. You were so small, just a little thing,” he said with a laugh, his hand held to his hip reflecting my height, or lack thereof. “He could hit that ball so high into the sky it felt as though it’d make it to outer space.”
The look in his eyes warmed when he spoke of my dad. My heart ached for that man, the one he spoke of. I missed him.
“Everyone loved Spaceman.” He said it like Dad was gone.
“They still do,” I chimed in with a smile.
He seemed to snap out of his dreamlike state of reflection, turning his eyes to mine. “Yes, that they do.”
“What have you been up to since I’ve seen you last? Besides baseball?” I moved to my first question.
“I’ve just been raising my son,” he said cheerfully.
A son? I didn’t know Blake Osborne was a father.
“Man oh man, that’s one helluva story,” he said, falling back into his reflective state.
“Okay, why don’t you tell me?”
His eyes narrowed on me, his lips tightened. I watched his smile fighting to be displayed, and his head shake back and forth as if he were struggling with what to do. “Well, you’re an adult now. You know your dad was a wild man, right?”
I knew my dad was a hothead at times, but a wild man?
“We’d just beaten San Diego and were heading to the playoffs.”
I shifted in my seat, unsure if I was ready to hear about my dad being a wild man. “Is this something a daughter should hear?” I asked, half chuckling.
“Oh hell, your daddy was a good man. Wild at times, but always good.”
Relief rushed over me like a warm blanket as he continued to tell his story.
“He wanted to hit the strip clubs, ya know, have a little fun,” he said with a wink.
Oh God, maybe this wasn’t something I wanted or needed to hear.
“There was this stripper, Jasmine. Her skin was dark and smooth like milk chocolate, and her eyes so bright they lit up the stage.”
Blake’s eyes turned to little slits as he spoke. It was like he was trying to picture her as he sat there next to me. “Your dad, now he told me to steer clear.” He laughed. “Hell, I was too young and too dumb to listen.”
“All the guys took off, leaving me there at the club where I decided to wait for Jasmine’s shift to end. Your dad waited with me, trying his best to talk me outta the hookup.”
“Why did he care what you did?” I asked.
“He cared about everyone. There was something he saw in the girl that I didn’t, I couldn’t. I didn’t listen. In hindsight, I guess I should’ve.”
“Weren’t you married?” I asked, remembering a blonde woman who used to come to the games at times. She was sweet, always offering me snacks from her oversized bag.
He blushed and his eyes widened, the guilt obvious on his face. This wasn’t exactly the type of stuff I needed to make him look good with the fans. “Tell me about your son,” I said, trying desperately to change the topic from strippers, cheating husbands, and whatever else he had hidden in the story he was trying to unravel.
“Well, that’s what I’m gettin’ at,” he said with a sigh. “I didn’t listen to Spaceman. I hooked up with that girl, and don’t get me wrong, I loved every second of it. But afterward, I felt like an ass. I couldn’t even face my wife.”
I opened my mouth to say something but had no idea what that something should be.
He continued, “I wanted to tell her, but your dad warned me that she’d never forgive me, and to tuck it away, pretend it never happened, and never do anything like that again. Everything you do, it always comes back to bite ya in the ass. That’s what your old man said, what he always said.” He chuckled.
I remembered hearing that plenty during my childhood. Every time I asked for his advice. That was usually what I’d get. “Do what’s right, Kitty-Kat, cause everything you do can come back to bite ya in the ass.”
“So, did it? Come back to bite you in the ass?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. Five years ago, right after your dad retired. Jasmine came back into my life, this time with a two-year-old boy named Benny. Apparently, she’d been living with a man, believing the kid was his. When he left, he demanded a DNA test, and of course, Benny wasn’t his. That left me.”