Page 152 of Hiding in the Outfield

A family for a season, as they say. God, I hope he’s not bounced around from team to team. Jackson’s agent received positive assurances Berkeley wants him long-term, but that’s just talk. It doesn’t mean anything if it’s not a signed contract, and he has six full seasons left before he’s up for free agency. Until then, if Berkeley wants to trade him, he’s gone. If they want to option him down to the minors… If they want to DFA him…

Everything’s unsteady, uncertain. One of the biggest parts of my job is reducing volatility for my clients. Minimize risk, increase predictability.

Now volatility feels like the only thing we can count on.

FIFTY-FOUR

JACKSON

A hand settles on my thigh and squeezes lightly. I glance to my left, and Frankie sends me a comforting smile. We’re sitting at a round table in a conference room, Chuck to my right, while we wait for my GM and PR team.

I don’t want to be here, even though I know we have to be. I don’t want to waste a single minute I have left with him doing things like this. He’s got a little extra color on his cheeks after being out in the stands this afternoon. I want to kiss that freshly tanned skin. Bask in those softly glowing brown eyes.

The door opens, and my gaze jerks to where three people filter into the room. The first is a tall blonde woman in a bright pink pantsuit. This is my GM, Kat. Her hair is slicked back in a tight ponytail, not a single hair out of place—I don’t think this woman would allow a single hair to be out of place. I have a feeling that extends to her team. I quickly stand and shake her hand. She greets Chuck and then Frankie.

Next is a man with a spattering of freckles. He’s wearing an evergreen cable-knit sweater that makes his green eyes pop and his wide smile seem even whiter.

He steps up to me, hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Liam, co-head of PR here with Berkeley.”

He quickly shakes our hands. He points behind him, where a woman with very similar features stands. Like so similar, she appears to be the female version of Liam. Her hair falls in shoulder-length waves, and where her brother is of medium build, she’s a tiny thing.

“This is Layla, my partner in crime—I mean, my co-head—and also my twin.”

She steps forward and gives us all extremely firm shakes that belie her small frame.

Frankie leans forward and whispers, “I love your outfit.” I bite back my smile, because it’s a very Frankie-coded outfit. She’s wearing a dark brown, skin-tight turtleneck with wide-legged, high-waisted pants—and when I say wide-legged, I mean, like, I could fit my legs in them.

She beams at him and does a little dip. “Thank you.”

“The dynamic duo,” Kat says with a smile. “Those two are a force to be reckoned with.”

“Let’s get down to business,” Liam says, and we all take our seats.

“Layla and I handle everything that touches the public’s eye. From interviews, to your social media accounts, to whatever firestorm the media tries to send our way. We also work very closely with our cybersecurity team. It’s a bit like the Wild West out on the internet and social media.”

Kat taps the tabletop and leans forward. “In addition to our cybersecurity team, we also have a very talented security detail that mans the stadium, including individuals specifically assigned to our player-designated seating area and family suite. When at Berkeley, you can both breathe easy knowing that we are taking all precautions necessary to keep our players and their loved ones safe. Players bring their children to these games, and we don’t ever want them to have to worry about their safety. We take this extremely seriously.”

“It’s an unfortunate reality of being in the public eye,” Liam adds. “Our job is to make sure Berkeley and its players maintain a positive image while also protecting them when attention crosses into something unsafe.

Chuck turns to me. “Something we’ll also have to decide on is private security when you’re both away from the stadium.”

“I definitely want someone hired for Frankie,” I say quickly.

“And yourself.” Frankie sends me an incredulous glare. “You’re the one people are going to care about.”

“I’m six-six and made of muscle. I am security detail.”

“You need security as well,” Layla says gently. “Bodyguards are trained to watch out for threats. It’s more than being muscle. And you shouldn’t have to be watching your back every time you walk out your front door. It’s not just hateful people you need protection from either. Fans who love you will show up at your home and crowd you in public. Security will know how to get you past paparazzi and overzealous fans.”

“No one even knows who I am,” I say weakly.

Kat hums, and her neat blond brows tip up. “The sports sites beg to differ.”

“Exactly. You’re new. You’re hot. Both talent and image,” Liam says.

Frankie’s hand tightens possessively on my thigh. I’d laugh if this wasn’t so overwhelming.

I blow out a breath. I guess this is my new reality.