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Chapter two

Griffin

“ W hy can’t I bring in reporters to cover Camp Wizard? Think about all the good publicity you’re throwing away.”

I close my eyes, rubbing my temples with one hand. The cell phone in my other hand is in danger of getting thrown across the room. Although, I shouldn’t blame an inanimate object for my agent’s refusal to understand my position.

“Joe, we rehash this exact conversation every year. My purpose for this camp is to give kids in foster care a place to come and have fun, learn some baseball skills, and forget their life circumstances for a few days. Kids who deserve some privacy. It’s not about positive PR.

My entire image already consists of nothing but positive PR.

No reporters,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Fine, fine. You know I had to try,” Joe says, resigned.

“Well, stop trying. If you pester me about it again next year, I’m going to find a new agent,” I challenge.

“Sure, sure.”

“I’m serious.” I am serious.

“Okay, fine, I got it. Have fun with the kids. Just don’t let it distract you from your training.

You have a lot to prove this season—that you’re back and better than ever post-injury.

Griffin West, The Wizard of Defense, needs to show the baseball world that he’s still the same caliber of shortstop,” Joe adds .

I rub harder at my temples. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Hanging up without saying goodbye, I transition from rubbing my temples to rubbing my shoulder.

It’s been over eight months since my injury, and I’ve completely rehabbed back to playing condition.

I served my time down on the lower league farm team that the Kansas City Crowns pulls players from, proving that I could still perform at the same MLB level.

But somehow, Joe’s reminder of all that’s on the line magically makes my shoulder ache. As if I needed a reminder of how close I came to losing everything I’ve worked for. Everything I’ve built.

Who I am.

“What’s up, big bro?” Sam chirps, patting my shoulders like drums as she walks past me to the kitchen.

“Just Joe being annoying,” I respond.

Sam pulls a face. “So fire him. The whole world loves you, Griff. You could have your pick of agents. Not sure why you keep his irritating face around.”

She’s never liked Joe all that much, but he’s been by my side for my entire professional baseball career, ever since I was recruited out of college. My lingering sense of loyalty has stopped me from getting out of my contract with him.

But that loyalty is seriously waning now.

Sam tosses a Gatorade from the fridge to me, and I decide to change the subject.

“Everything good to go for the start of Camp Wizard tomorrow?” I ask.

She takes her time gulping several swigs of her kombucha concoction before answering. “Triple checked everything this morning. We’ve done it enough times that it’s a well-oiled machine at this point.”

This is the fourth year that Samantha has been living with me and working as my assistant. What started as a way to give my little sister a soft place to land when she couldn’t figure out a direction in life has turned into a mutually beneficial situation that we both enjoy.

There’s a nine-year age gap between us, which means I was already off at college when Sam and her biological brother, Ian, were officially adopted into the West family.

I was the only one to live at home with them when they arrived as foster placements.

My older siblings, Sawyer and Miranda, were out of college when Sam and Ian first came to live with us at the ages of nine and five.

Although we had lots of other kids in the foster system cycle through our home over the years, Sam and Ian were the only two to join us forever.

Growing up with other children constantly in and out of our lives had its challenging moments, but it also taught me a level of humility and empathy that I don’t think I would have learned otherwise.

I certainly wouldn’t have learned it from any of the coaches or teammates who constantly treated me like I was a gift to the sport of baseball.

My upbringing is also the reason I hold this camp every January, not to bolster a positive image in the press. It’s to give kids with fewer opportunities a chance to feel special. To enjoy a hobby they may not get to play consistently. Even if it’s only for a few days.

Giving their foster parents a reprieve at the end of winter break isn’t a bad side effect either.

We cap the head count at twenty kids, which always makes me feel guilty about the myriads who don’t get selected. But it ensures that I can form some level of personal connection with each individual over the course of three days.

“Have you heard anything from Ian lately?” I ask Sam.

“Yeah, I talked to him a couple of days ago. He goes back for spring semester the third week of January. Sounds pretty eager to get back to it,” Sam answers, voice flat.

She always served as the protective older sister to Ian, but where she floundered in the college setting, Ian has thrived.

Reading her reaction, I don’t press further.

“You’ve been working hard getting everything organized, and the next three days are about to be exhausting. How about we go out for a celebratory dinner?” I offer.

“Aren’t celebrations supposed to come after a successful event?” Sam replies with a smirk.

“I have so much faith in you that I’m willing to treat you early,” I say, flashing her my most charming grin. “How about Capital Gr—”

She cuts me off. “I swear if you finish that suggestion, I’ll leave town and let you run this camp solo. ”

“But—” I try to protest.

“Nope,” Sam asserts. “I’m in the mood for sushi.”

I groan. “You know that means a high possibility of autographs and photos, right?”

The smirk on Sam’s face confirms that she’s not only aware, but that it’s part of her plan.

“You’re lucky you’re so indispensable,” I huff. But there’s no real malice in my statement. I do, however, take a moment to completely tousle Sam’s hair, an asymmetrical blonde pixie cut with pink highlights.

Sam shrieks. “Hey! I spent a long time perfecting that today, you jerk. I had it flawlessly cascading over one eye to my chin just so!” She swats at my hand and punches my arm like an indignant little girl, rather than a twenty-four-year-old woman.

“Well, now it’s imperfectly swooshing across your face. Right in time for all the photos you’re going to subject us to,” I tease.

Sam pokes a finger to my chest. “That’s it. You’re getting me dumplings and edamame for appetizers. Move it.”