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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SILAS

“Ready, Coach?” Ricky asked me as he bounced back and forth on his feet. The roar of the opening day crowd, not quite at capacity from what I could tell when I had peeked, was loud as the announcer introduced the Bats one by one.

Opening day at the first home game was always a lot of ceremony. Special guests singing the anthem after a big introduction for all of us as we ran onto the field, followed by our manager. My old manager in Washington had always joked that while we jogged onto the field, he could trot since no one was paying attention to him by the time it was his turn to be introduced.

How I wished I could trot with no eyes on me today, which was stupid since I’d jogged on to a field at the start of every baseball season for all my adult life. Fans were part of the package—an important one—but while I’d heard nothing but excitement today, I already felt the scrutiny from all the pairs of eyes that would watch me join my team.

“You should be first,” Chris, our catcher, said next to me as the guys headed to the field and lined up by the dugout.

“Yeah, Coach. Our famous manager,” Adrian, our pitcher for today’s game, joked as he nudged my shoulder.

For a group of guys I’d only known for a matter of weeks, I’d clicked with them pretty well. I was still navigating the manager dynamic, trying to be encouraging yet honest about what I expected from each of them and what I noticed they could capitalize on or improve upon, but they were young enough not to be swayed by ego and excited to play.

At least, most weren’t swayed by ego.

I caught a glare from Nate before it was his turn, as he bobbed up and down, swinging his arms in and out before he ran onto the grass. I wasn’t sure if he was antsy, annoyed at the connections I’d made with the other players, or just in silent pain with his shoulder and trying to stretch it out without being noticed.

I could only keep an eye on it today and hope Nate and his shoulder wouldn’t be a hindrance to the team.

“I wonder what song they’ll use for the reel,” Chris said with a smirk tipping the side of his mouth.

“Guys, stay off Instagram,” I growled but bit back a smile.

“Try to give us a good lead before you head out there,” Adrian said. “If we get caught in the shot, we may go viral too. Not sure if I’m ready for that kind of fame yet.”

“Same, dude,” Chris said, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Let’s go,” I said, shoving Chris’s shoulder. “We’ve got a game to play.”

The reels didn’t bother me, or they didn’t bother me as much since I’d learned to laugh at them. My team, other than one cranky player, took me seriously and, so far, respected my opinion. If whatever popularity I still had sold more tickets, I was willing to play it up in the name of revenue for the good of the team.

I’d loved and hated the rush of opening day. The surge of adrenaline as I prepped for another season and prayed I could deliver the same or more than I had the previous year to show I still had it.

Now, I was going out there attempting to prove I’d had it in the first place.

I waved to the crowd as I ran out, smiling at all the fans on their feet holding signs for us. I caught a couple of signs with my name on them but didn’t try to read what they said.

If they mentioned my ass, I’d hear about it later anyway.

I slipped off my hat and held it over my heart as the anthem began. I scanned the crowd in front of me until my gaze snagged on Rachel, sitting two rows behind the dugout. Her gorgeous smile and tiny nod triggered a flood of warmth in my chest, potent enough to melt the tension from my shoulders.

This would be the only glimpse of her I could afford to take today, but knowing she was here wasn’t the distraction I would have expected it to be. It soothed me in an unexpected way, just like on that first day we met.

Rather than wonder for the millionth time what it was about her that affected me so much in so many ways, I used the calm she brought me to focus.

Whatever happened today, and in the games that followed, I’d make it work. This might have been my first time as a manager, but this game was more than just my job. It was who I was.

Impostors don’t get impostor syndrome.

I stole another glance at Rachel as the song ended, the guys taking their positions on the field in my periphery.

She always knew the right things to say.

As with most games, once it started, it all went by in a blur. Adrian was our strongest pitcher and had a shutout going into the seventh inning, and Nate had gone two for four, only striking out once. I spied a wince after he swung toward the later innings, but I had to trust him and Lee right now for assurance he could play.

I stepped out of the dugout, keeping my eye on Adrian as he gave up his second hit of the ninth inning. We still had a good lead, and I knew he’d want to go for a complete game, but I didn’t want him to exhaust his arm and take a hit in his earned run average if he didn’t have to. If he let one more batter on base, the game could get away from us pretty damn quickly.

I guessed this was a manager moment. For the most part today, I’d just encouraged the guys and offered support, even if Nate had grunted back or nodded at me. After getting behind on the count, the batter hit a pop fly, easily caught by Chris behind the plate.

I caught Kent behind the dugout as my eyes flicked to the field, giving me a boisterous thumbs-up. I was tempted to ask if he even noticed the tension on the mound right now. I still wasn’t sure whether he cared about winning or the show.

Ignoring him, I nodded at the umpire and called a time-out before jogging to the mound.

“I know, I know,” Adrian said, closing his eyes as he nodded at me.

“Hey, you pitched a great game.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets as I stepped closer. “No sense in tiring out your arm when relief is ready to come in. A win is more important than a complete game.”

It was funny how, in all my years in baseball, not that much had changed from when I’d played as a kid. Adrian was only in his mid-twenties, but even the most seasoned players needed a little guidance and a push once in a while.

Some of them needed a kick in the ass too, but I’d deal with one issue at a time.

He let out a frustrated breath as he lifted his hat and raked a hand through his sweaty hair.

“You’re right. Shawn can close this up.”

“He can.” I smiled and stepped closer. “And you can enjoy the win and a great start to the season.”

He nodded, shooting me a tired smile.

“All right, Coach.”

Yeah, I could do this fucking job.

Shawn shut down the next two batters, and the Bats had their first win of the season. I knew better than to get cocky, but I’d take it as a possible good sign.

Kent was waiting for me inside, along with Gayle, beaming as I stepped closer.

“Awesome first game,” Kent said, extending his hand. “I knew you’d be great.”

“They worked hard, and it’s the first game. I’m glad we won, but we still have a season to play.”

“And so humble,” Gayle said, sneaking me a smile from where she stood next to Kent. “Rachel’s article posted this morning, and it already has a ton of views.”

“That was a great article,” Kent agreed as something caught his attention over Gayle’s shoulder.

I followed his gaze to Rachel, smiling when her eyes met mine.

“It’s easy to write something great when you have so much material. Congrats on your first win, Coach.”

I held back a laugh when I noticed Rachel wearing an open Bats jersey over her shirt.

“Nice shirt,” I said, fighting the urge to rake my gaze up and down her body.

“I wanted to support a team that plays in my home borough, and my sister will get a thrill when I bring it home. I told the girl at one of the vendor stands to grab me one before I came back down here to meet up with Gayle.” I spotted Nate’s name and number on her back as she turned around.

My smile shrank as I held in a growl, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t the issues he’d been giving me. Rachel wearing any man’s name and number triggered a lousy, sour feeling that felt a lot like jealousy.

I could add that to the list of things Rachel brought out in me that made no sense.

“Kent and I have to talk a little strategy,” Gayle said to Rachel. “I’ll let you know where we want to go from here, and it’s good that you were here today to soak up all the good opening-day vibes for what’s coming next.”

I looked away, afraid I’d laugh at Kent’s and Gayle’s identical widened eyes.

“Yes, I got all the vibes,” Rachel said, tapping her temple. “I’ll head back home and start on my other work until you let me know.”

“Great, and congratulations again, Silas.” Gayle squeezed my arm and shifted to leave with Kent.

“So, how does it feel?” Rachel asked me when Kent and Gayle were out of earshot. “Your first win as a manager.”

“It feels good. Weird, as I’m the adult in the room, I suppose.”

“Isn’t it the worst?” She scrunched her adorable nose. I had to laugh until my eyes found Nate’s number on the back of her shirt again, that rancid feeling churning for a different reason. I’d overheard his comment to Adrian in the locker room of how it was too bad he “wasn’t allowed to finish.”

I wasn’t afraid to go back at Nate, and I had to nip things in the bud if he was talking shit about my choices on the first day. The energy was good, so I’d let it slide the one time and pretended I didn’t hear it.

“I think you did great. And I’m sure there’s a good video of you taken from the back circulating its way through social media as we speak,” she teased as we ambled past the stores and concession stands. “A win all around.”

“I suppose so. How’s your sister? Still on the sports circuit?”

“Yes, but I took your advice and asked her to choose. You were right. She picked softball and went back to scrolling her phone.”

“Ah, see?” I told her. “Good for you. And I bet you’re relieved.”

“No,” she breathed out. “I mean, time-wise, I guess so. But the softball team has all these new fees and team-building trips they never had before. I’m just as broke, but now, I at least get two extra nights at home per week.”

Would the urge to grab her face, pull her mouth to mine, and kiss her breathless ever fade? I doubted it, and if we weren’t in a crowd of people, it would have been even harder to resist.

“One second,” I said to Rachel before turning to the vendor behind us. “Do you have any Jones jerseys back there?”

The vendor’s brows ran up to her hairline when she recognized me.

“Um, yeah, only a couple. What size?”

Usually, the stands sold only player jerseys unless the manager was a veteran player from the team. Kent had pushed to get jerseys made for me, and although I thought it was weird, he’d told me Nate and I were tied in jersey sales online.

“What size is that?” I nodded at Rachel.

“It’s a large,” she replied slowly, eyeing me as if I’d lost my mind.

I reached into my pocket and dropped a couple of bills on the counter, double what she was charging.

“Keep the change.”

“You’re buying me a?—”

“Take it off,” I growled before I could help it.

Her brows popped as heat pooled in her wide chocolate eyes.

“Um, excuse me…? Take it?—”

“Off, yes.” I held out a hand.

She scanned the area behind her before she slipped the jersey off her shoulders and dropped it into my hand.

“Should I go return it?”

“No, you can give it to your sister.” I draped the jersey with my name and number on it over her shoulders, holding her eyes as I let my hands glide down her arms for a quick second.

This was dangerous. Her boss was here, my boss was here, plus fans who could recognize me and record us. Yet, I wasn’t moving, and neither was she.

“So, I can only wear your jersey here? This is that alpha thing you have again, isn’t it?”

I smiled, holding her gaze as I lifted a shoulder.

“Whatever we…” I trailed off, lost in the curve of her lips, the lips I wanted to cover with mine and forget about all the reasons why that one day in Williamsburg was as far as we could go. Reasons that I couldn’t think of right now because all I cared about was when I’d get to see her again.

“Whatever we were, if you’re here, it’s my name that goes on your back.”