Watching Hayes play baseball is like watching a virtuoso pianist. Where the musician’s fingers fly over the keys, his brain seeming to work faster than his body can make sound come out of the instrument, so does Hayes mesmerize when he’s out on that field. You can tell that this man was made to play this sport. Everything he does is so fluid, from the way his eyes track to the ball, to his seamless throwing motion, to the way he can calculate the exact timing of pitches soaring toward his bat when he’s up at home plate.
I find myself getting lost in those muscular thighs bending to field a grounder, in the way his jersey clings to his biceps as sweat trickles down the ropey muscles of his neck. I’m parched, and I keep fanning my face. Even Uncle Daniel, who is sitting beside me in one of the few times I’ve ever seen him this close to the field, keeps asking me if I’m okay.
Call it heatstroke, because if I can’t, I’ll have to admit what it really is.
I’m severely attracted to one of my players, one who’s made it known he doesn’t particularly care for me in the politest of terms.
It’s two months into the season, and though there is still weekly news about my father, his crimes, or the Pistons’ organization, I feel like we’ve done a lot to bring the reputation of the club up a few points. There have been fewer boos at our home games, fewer reporter questions about our ethics as a team, and less animosity in the polls we’ve been conducting with our in-house PR staff.
Though, this week, I had to make a difficult decision. One of the players my father traded away was owed money against our cap, and we just couldn’t make it happen. I had paid out as much as I could, but with the way our budget was in flux from all the underhanded wheeling and dealing Dad had done, I just couldn’t scrape together enough.
Publicly, I made the apology to the player and his family. I called him personally, expressing my deepest regret and promising to try to right this by the end of the season. I was told, in no uncertain terms, to go to hell. Ever since, the player has been speaking out about me in the media, personally attacking me, and trashing both the club and the Callahan family.
It’s been difficult to stay quiet and try to keep calm. I know that’s what’s needed of me in my job, to be a clear and level-headed scapegoat when it requires it, but our former player is going low. Making comments about me working my way to the top on my back, or with a silver spoon in my mouth. Even today, I’ve been booed or insults have been thrown at me since I decided to sit down here among the fans.
But it’s important to show a united front, to hold my head high. I didn’t do anything wrong, and can only be the punching bag absorbing blows from my father’s victims. I understand their anger, and it’s the only way I’m able to harness my upset at the ugliness they’re pinning to me.
The rest of the game moves relatively smoothly, and the Pistons’ win with a three-run lead.
Uncle Daniel has already made it clear that I’ll be participating in the post-game interviews. Not only to celebrate Stan and remember him with a few good quotes for the journalist’s articles, but to put an end to all of this speculation around the payout news.
I take my seat at the press table on one side of Uncle Daniel, and on the other side of him is the head coach, Terry Grude. It’s not uncommon for the three of us to address the press together, but today I’m almost sure I’ll be facing a firing squad of questions about the contract negotiations I doled out to our former player last week.
What is uncommon, though, is that Hayes walks in just seconds before the press conference starts, and takes a seat next to Terry. I’m not sure if it was mandated that he be here, or if Grude asked him to come in because he played a great game. Those blond locks are still wet and glistening from his after-game shower, and they hang past his shoulders now. His eyes are greener than the last time I glimpsed them, but it’s probably because I’ve been avoiding looking in them as of late. And there is more than a slight overgrowth of stubble on his cheeks and jawline. Everything south of my waistline tingles at this rugged man.
But the minute the public relations rep from our side says we’ll allow questions, after both my uncle and I give anecdotes about Stan, the questions are fired at me from every angle.
“Ms. Callahan, why could you not free up more money to pay Luis Lozoto what he was owed?”
“Have you spoken with Luis in the last day or so? What is your response to his allegations that you did not earn your position?”
“Do you have a plan for how you’ll pay back the rest he’s owed?”
“Is it true that you were not qualified for the position? Both your father and now Mr. Lozoto have said—”
Someone clears their throat at the other end of the table, and I glance down to see Hayes leaning toward his microphone.
“If I could just say something?” he asks, shooting a glance at the three executives sitting beside him.
Uncle Daniel gives him a slight nod, as if he’s the one who can give Hayes the green light. As if Hayes cares about getting green lights from anyone, especially a Callahan.
My heart beats against my rib cage, because I have no idea what he is going to say. I’m shocked he’s even going to speak at all, much less voluntarily.
The reporters turn their attention, and their recording devices, toward one of the league’s star players.
“I will admit, I had qualms about staying here after the indictment and sentencing of Jimmy Callahan. I’ve stayed quiet throughout this, but anyone should know that what happened to me, and the other players caught up in this scheme, was not fair. And then to have to stay in the organization? It’s safe to assume I wasn’t pleased—in the slightest.”
My hands begin to sweat, and that sickly sweet feeling of nausea creeps its way up the back of my throat. Is he about to confess every bad interaction he’s had with me, just to prove Luis’ point? I cannot let myself cry in this presser.
“That being said, I have watched the management here, and Colleen Callahan in particular, work to remedy the gaping black hole their former general manager left behind. They have not only met with every wronged player still under the team’s umbrella, multiple times at that, but are working tirelessly to mitigate the glaring errors that have been left on their books. Say what you want about her father, and I’ve only known her for the short time since I’ve been playing for the team, but Colleen does not strike me as someone whose morals or work ethic are in the wrong place. And I’ve been around a lot of people in this industry. She is honest with her staff, her players, and I’ve personally noticed she has the first one in, last one out mentality. For being thrust into a position like this with little warning and the hurricane with which she had to ride up on, I’d say she’s doing a pretty good job. I think we all get paid enough, don’t you? Luis Lozoto will be fine having to wait for his other two million to come in by the end of the year. In fact, I’ll take a million of my salary and donate it to a charity of his choice. So, he only needs to wait for one million more from the Pistons’ organization. Does that sound fair?” Hayes smirks like he’s the cockiest asshole to sit in the dugouts of the major league.
I know I said I wasn’t going to cry in this presser, but damn, Hayes just initiated the waterworks. In all my time working for the organization, in all my time as general manager … hell, probably in all my life, I’ve never had anyone stand up for me like that.