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Isaiah and I both stay frozen in our seats.
The tick of the clock only gets louder.
“I have an old friend who owns the Chicago Tribune. He and I have an agreement that if there’s any news related to my team or my organization, he will give me a warning before it goes to print.” Mr. Remington turns the computer screen on his desk to face us. “This is going to be the cover of tomorrow’s sports section.”
Right there, blown up on the screen, is a full-color photo of Isaiah and me outside of the little chapel where we drunkenly said some vows. I’m in my white dress, denim jacket, and Vans. He’s in black slacks and a black button-up. He’s got me tucked under one arm, holding me close to him, the other fisted in the air in victory, dangling my white high heels above his head.
I don’t remember much of this moment, other than a random stranger on the street snapping our photo, but regardless of how blurry my memory is, it’s clear by the way I’m looking up at Isaiah that I’m just as happy as he is to be there.
Both my arms are around his waist, my cheek is resting on his chest. I’ve even got a single foot popped like the main character in some kind of rom-com, for goodness’ sake.
It’s evident, right there on the computer screen, that none of this is his fault. I wanted it too. There was no coercion. No pressure. I was a fully complying participant—a stoked one, by the looks of it.
In big block letters across the top, the article reads “CHICAGO SHORTSTOP MARRIES LONG-TIME LOVE IN LAS VEGAS.”
I choke on my own saliva.
If I could find my voice through the shock of this moment, I’d ask what the hell that meant, but I can’t even find the oxygen to breathe. All I can do is stare at the computer screen with my fate displayed in full color.
Through the silence, I continue to read a direct quote from the man at my side.
The subhead reads, “I’M FINALLY MARRYING THE GIRL I’VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH FOR YEARS.”
I vaguely remember him saying that, but that’s not what he meant. He hasn’t loved me all this time. He simply had a superficial crush on someone he doesn’t even know, and now all of Chicago is going to think that their starting shortstop and I had some kind of long-term secret relationship.
A foot nudges mine and I look up to find Isaiah watching me.
You okay? he mouths.
I simply shake my head in response, and instantly watch the spark of fire ignite in his eyes.
He clears his throat, sits up straighter, and looks right at Mr. Remington when he says, “I don’t see what the problem is here.”
I can feel my eyes widening in disbelief because though I know Isaiah is typically the team clown, he’s not stupid.
“The problem here, Mr. Rhodes, is that you and Miss Kay clearly broke the organization’s code of conduct. Casual relationships between players and staff are not only against the rules, but cause for termination.”
And there it is.
Everything I’ve worked for is about to be thrown out the window because of one drunken mistake.
“I have no choice here,” he continues. “You both signed agreements that you’d follow our code of conduct. Kennedy, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to—”
“You said casual relationships are cause for termination,” Isaiah interrupts him. “Look at the headline. You see what was quoted. I’ve been in love with her for years. There’s nothing casual about this.”
What the hell is he doing?
Isaiah reaches for my hand, and holds it tight enough to disguise my reflexive flinch.
“I’m sorry we didn’t come to you or HR sooner, but Kennedy and I have been involved with each other for quite a while now. We planned a Vegas elopement. There’s nothing casual about our marriage, and there’s nothing against team policy that says a husband and wife can’t work together.” He laces his fingers through mine, really selling the whole thing. “In fact, you remember Oscar Henderson, our old catcher? His wife was the team photographer. There’s nothing different about our situation than theirs. Kennedy is the best trainer we have on staff, and you can’t let her go just because she finally put me out of my misery and let me marry her.”
I’m no longer the only one sitting in this office stunned silent. Arthur Remington is too.
His white eyebrows cinch in confusion. “You eloped without your brother there? I can’t believe that.”
Isaiah pops his shoulder as if he’s had the answer to this rehearsed for days. “Kennedy is an only child. It would have been strange if I were the only one to have someone with me.”
“And your rings?” Mr. Remington zeroes in on our bare left hands. I hadn’t realized Isaiah took his ring off too. “Where are your rings from the photo?”
