The one close-up shows him to be at least in his mid-sixties, which means he’s probably approaching at least his mid-seventies by now. Makes sense, given that he’s retiring.
But as for his relationship with Lila, something smells fishy. How did she get the job in the first place?
She’s either secretly his daughter, or she’s sleeping with him.
And now that I’m imagining her naked in bed with him—
“The Wellington angle is a dead end,” I announce before my blood pressure makes my eyeballs pop out of my head. “She doesn’t work for him anymore. He’s retired. She’s in Copper Valley practically full-time. We need to get her out another way.”
Davis flips his computer back around and starts hitting the keys, like he’s looking for the next way.
“You’re not invading her privacy, are you?” Sarah asks.
“No,” he lies.
She frowns at him.
And he sighs and shuts his laptop.
Disappointing Sarah is like disappointing a unicorn fairy, and even Davis isn’t immune.
“We’re not planning on selling an exposé to TMZ,” he mutters. “And it’s not like we haven’t been doing this anyway for the last month.”
“What if we buy the stadium?” Cash says suddenly. “The city owns it, right? And the Fireballs lease it? We own the stadium, we get more leverage. We can use it for concerts and exhibition games when the Fireballs are out of town.”
Levi nods. “Lots of guys owe me favors. We could make up a Bro Code team and play some exhibition ball against a few other celebrity teams.”
“I can get the whole cast of Zombies with Chainsaws for a game.”
“I can get the American Music Awards moved to Copper Valley with a pre-show concert at Duggan Field.”
“I can get the fucking Oscars.”
“Oh my god, you can not. Both of you. Hush.” Sarah throws an orange slice at the television screen with Levi’s and Cash’s faces, and her cat leaps on it.
Beck grins. “I can get—oof.”
Sarah follows the elbow with an I will kill you look.
Beck grins bigger. “I was going to say I could get some royals here.”
“So we buy the stadium from the city,” I say slowly. “At what cost to the team?”
Everyone falls silent.
“I don’t know how long Lila wants to play baseball team owner, but the point is keeping the Fireballs in Copper Valley. We’re not doing anything stupid and reckless. We’re putting the team first, and if that means I have to deal with shitty days at work when she’s in town pulling crap until things turn around, that’s what it means.”
Sarah leaves Beck’s side after stealing his bacon and moves to sit next to me. “Let me talk to her.”
I glance at her serious brown eyes.
She and Beck first bonded over the Fireballs. Her best friend is an even bigger home team fan than all of us in this room put together, and she’d completely fall apart more than the rest of us if the Fireballs left Copper Valley.
And while Sarah’s an environmental engineer by day and a Fireballs fan by night, she’s also the daughter of two Hollywood stars.
And she’s never kissed Lila accidentally. Or on purpose. Or lied to her. Or had a run-in with a horny duck with her.
“Better yet,” she continues, “invite her to the neighborhood for a cookout. She’s here alone, isn’t she?”
“She has a friend in town.” I clear my throat. “One of the rabid Bro Code fan types.”
“Even better,” Levi says with a smirk. “Unless you kissed her too?”
It’s my turn to flip a bird.
“Definitely invite them both,” Davis agrees. “And let me know what day so I can have plans.”
“You’re going,” Sarah orders.
He winces, and we all know he’ll be there.
“My parents’ place. Friday night.” Beck holds up his phone. “Already settled. My mom can’t wait to meet the woman who stole my dreams of owning the Fireballs. Yours too, Tripp.”
Sarah smiles another of her indulgent smiles at him, and once again, I wish I still had someone who would smile at me that way, or just look at me in that way that says I know you, I know what you’re thinking, and I dig it.
Like I swear Lila knew I was reliving her duck catastrophe this morning.
Ducks.
Oh, that would piss her off.
That would piss her off good.
“Dude, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but whatever it is, I want in,” Levi says as I rise.
“Gotta get back to work and invite the boss to a cookout,” I reply.
“Be nice about it,” Sarah warns.
“I’m always nice.”
All of the men crack up.
I’d defend myself, but I currently don’t care to. And what I’m planning may not actually be all that nice.
But if it’s what I have to do, it’s what I have to do.
11
Lila
Uncle Al’s home is an accurate representation of his life. Gold-crusted on the outside, held together with wet glue, popsicle sticks, and leopard-print thongs that I’d rather I didn’t know about on the inside.
So, basically, it’s like his office, except bigger.
I could turn the entire thing over to an auction house, but there might be pictures of my mom here, among other things, and so after work, Parker and Knox—who’s in town for moral and muscle support—join me at the house to start tackling this disaster too.
“Hey, Lila, you want this platinum toothbrush?” Knox calls down the stairs.
“No, she doesn’t want a platinum toothbrush,” Parker yells back for me. “That’s disgusting. Why would she want to keep a used toothbrush?”
“It’s not used. It’s in the art room.”
I pause in sorting through the massive pile of bills that I found stashed under a couch cushion. “Art room?”
The stairs squeak and groan, and Knox appears with a two-foot-tall platinum toothbrush in hand. “What else do you call the room with all of this stuff in it?”
“Junk room number three.”
Parker snaps a picture. “If you don’t want that, do you mind if I take it home?”
Knox starts laughing. “Brilliant.”
And I’m left studying both of them, once again on the outside of some private communication. “That doesn’t really fit your jungle theme.”
“She’s Christmas shopping for her brothers,” he explains.
She nods slowly. “That one’s definitely for Jack. He’s got this hang-up about having to look at other people’s toothbrushes.”
Friends aren’t something that have ever come easily to me. In college, I was too weird. Just after college, I worked too hard, and I was still heavily on the paranoid side after handling too much life at too young of an age. I’m still moderately paranoid, and I’ve also been told I’m too intimidating, whatever that means. But a couple years ago, I started realizing what that emptiness in the pit of my stomach was.
I was lonely.
There was a void that reading books couldn’t fill anymore.