Page 71 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)

A secretary walked Dylan to a conference room on the executive floor of the Carmichael Enterprises tower.

Through the glass wall separating it from the hall, he saw his father already waiting inside, a disposable coffee cup in hand and a pensive expression on his rugged face.

Behind him, more skyscrapers carved the horizon.

Rhett looked up from the long, sleek table as they approached.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Strickland?” the secretary asked as she held open the door for Dylan.

“No, thank you.” Despite the situation he was walking into, he felt surprisingly calm.

“Mr. Carmichael’s finishing another meeting. He’ll be with you in a moment.”

As the secretary shut the glass door, Dylan came around the table to greet his father with a hug, then took a seat across from him. A tray with a pitcher of water and paper cups sat between them. “How are things on the road?”

“Won against Colorado. We play Houston tomorrow,” Rhett said as he settled back into his chair.

“Hopefully, they’ll carry that energy into the next one.”

“We’ll see.”

Eddie swept through the door, a clean-cut young man with a tablet and leather folio following close behind.

“Always a good day when I have two Stricklands in my office,” he said with an amiable smile.

He shook their hands, then introduced his colleague.

“This is my new assistant, Gabe. He’ll be taking notes, so we don’t miss anything.

” Eddie pulled out the chair at the head of the table, unbuttoning his jacket before sitting down.

Gabe sat to his right and handed him a stack of papers from the folio.

“The commissioner’s plane lands in about an hour, and he’s coming straight to the meeting, so let’s quickly recap everything one last time. ”

As Eddie thumbed through the papers, the cold air shifted from refreshing to uncomfortable.

Dylan’s muscles and joints began to stiffen.

He remembered Eddie telling him that he always kept their offices cold because it was scientifically proven to make thinking and decision-making easier.

Probably because you were too fucking cold to sit there for long.

“We’ve got statements from your doctors clearing you for the game,” Eddie said, organizing the papers before him.

“I got some of my contacts at a couple of big media outlets to run positive stories about you this week and get the buzz going, so I’ll bring those up in the meeting, too.

Show the tides turning in your favor.” His phone lit up with a notification.

He read it, then quickly punched out a text.

“Have you been practicing the pitch we wrote?” The question was met with silence.

As the text message whooshed off, he glanced up. “Dylan?”

Dylan stared at his interlaced fingers on the table. He didn’t know if the cold air was actually helping, but he felt more clear-headed than he had in a long time. “I need to tell you both something.” He faced his father and Eddie. “Something that happened while filming the show.”

Eddie studied him briefly before something shifted in his eyes. “Gabe, can you give us some privacy?” His assistant stood, exiting the room to wait in the hall. Eddie carefully put down his phone, waiting until the door was shut. “How bad is it?”

Dylan recounted the situation at the party and how his lawyers were negotiating with the studio about burying the footage. As it stood now, it would air on the show in a few months, and his word was the only proof he hadn’t taken it willingly.

“Jesus Christ, Dylan,” Rhett mumbled, hanging his head. He wiped a hand down his face.

“When did this happen?” Eddie asked, his expression tight. Voice eerily calm.

“Two weeks ago.”

Rhett looked up. “You were at the boot camp two weeks ago.”

“It was the night before I left,” Dylan explained. “Dr. Callow did a house call. He ran a drug test, hooked me up to an IV. Thankfully, it wasn’t a huge dose. Just enough to disorient me for a little while.”

“Why am I only now hearing about this?” Rhett’s tone teetered between anger and disappointment.

“Because I’ve been handling it.” Though his father’s disapproval stung, Dylan didn’t waver. “My lawyers are working on it. Everyone there signed an NDA, so I was hoping we’d come to an agreement before the public knew anything about it.”

“The fact that they haven’t been able to strong-arm the studio yet is concerning,” Eddie pointed out.

“They’ve probably conveniently lost any evidence that would come up in an investigation by now.

” He ran the edge of his thumb over his lips as he seemed to go into thought, calculating everything. “When does the show air?”

“January.”

Eddie nodded curtly. “Good. That buys us time. It won’t affect the game this season while we figure out how to deal with the show—”

“I’ve decided not to come back to the team this season.”

Eddie gaped at him, stunned, while Rhett shook his head, laughing humorlessly. His father stood and began pacing along the windows, hands on his hips.

“And why the hell is that?” Eddie asked.

Dylan assessed the two men he respected most, burdened with remorse for the impossible choice he had to make. There was no perfect option. No way to meet the needs of everyone he cared about without hurting someone else.

So, he had to take a page out of Lennon’s book and do what felt right. In his heart.

Dylan drew a steadying breath, filling his chest and setting his shoulders.

“Because I’m not ready,” he answered Eddie.

“My shoulder’s not where it needs to be.

I was going to push through because I want to get back out there, but I’m going to do more damage in the long run if I do. I need more time.”

“How much more?” Eddie questioned.

“At least until next season. I’ll see where I’m at then.” Dylan glanced at his father, who had stopped at the window with his back to the table. His organs felt like sandbags pressing on his ribs.

“What if you changed hands? Pitched with the right,” Eddie suggested.

“I’ve never trained with the other,” Dylan said. “And it would still affect my left shoulder.”

“But not as much?” Eddie deferred to Rhett for confirmation.

Loosing a sigh, Dylan dropped his gaze to the dark, polished wood.

“It’s not easy for me to walk away. I want you both to know that.

Baseball—the Tidebreakers—is my life. But that’s also part of the problem.

I’ve been working since I could hold a bat.

My doctors and therapists think the constant push has affected my recovery.

And I’ve finally realized … finally accepted that they’re right.

If I want to recover and have a long career ahead of me, I need a break. A real one.”

Eddie analyzed him, the hard line of his brow and coldness in his eyes making his displeasure clear. Even as their silent disapproval burned a hole in his chest, Dylan remained steadfast.

“And honestly—I don’t think I’m the answer for bringing up the team’s morale,” Dylan added. “I think they lost faith that they had any worth to the team when you didn’t back Diego, but you backed me.”

A harsh, exasperated breath was expelled across the table. “It’s not favoritism—”

“It is,” Dylan asserted, surprising Eddie with his bluntness. “He deserved a second chance as much as I did. Diego’s young and made a mistake getting on that boat, like I did. He tried to stop Craig from taking it out—”

“We don’t know that for sure—”

“I believe him. And I think you do, too. You just didn’t think it was worth fighting two PR battles, so you threw him under the bus to get rid of some of the heat. If I’d been the one with the black eye, you would’ve believed me and still fought for me. Wouldn’t you?”

Eddie pressed his mouth into a line and inclined his head slightly. His silence was enough to confirm Dylan’s assumption.

“Use the meeting to advocate for Diego.” Dylan maintained eye contact with Eddie across the table, challenging him.

“At the very least, make it known to the board and the public that you stand behind him. I don’t know if it will help you keep the team.

I don’t even know if it will help us win this season. But winning’s not always the point.”

Eddie’s gaze lowered to the table as he tapped a forefinger on it.

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, but his eyes held no light in them behind his black-rimmed glasses.

“None of us in this room would have the lives we’ve had without winning.

We owe everything to it,” he said, voice measured, edges sharp.

“I don’t need some rookie who hasn’t even played a major league game yet.

I need you. It’s time for you to do your part, and you’re telling me you’d rather let us down when we need you most.”

That sliced deep. Dylan clenched his jaw, pushing through the razor-sharp guilt. “I’m sorry that’s how you see it.”

“Your father recovered quickly from his injury and had a long career—”

“Well, I’m not him.”

“No, apparently not.” The room went silent, letting the accusation ripple through the cold, fraught air.

Dylan knew Eddie would be pissed, but that didn’t make the blows land any less painfully.

“Let’s see if you still care about not winning when everything your family worked for is gone after you finally decide to come back from your ‘break.’” Eddie rose from his chair, buttoning his jacket.

“I’ll give you ten minutes to talk to your father and come to your senses. Then, we need to get back on track.”

Dylan shook his head. “I’m not changing my mind, Eddie.”

Eddie stopped gathering the papers in front of him. He studied Dylan for a beat. “And I’m not changing mine,” he declared. Dylan’s brow tightened at the threatening edge in Eddie’s tone. “You’ve been medically cleared. That means you have to play if I want you to.”