Page 26 of Hiding in the Outfield

TEN

JACKSON

The building is eerily quiet as I walk down the hall that leads to the skipper’s office. Dominguez is almost always here. He lives and breathes this team. I almost called him yesterday, but since he barely gives himself a break as it is, I didn’t want to disturb him.

I wasn’t in a state to speak with anyone then, anyway. My suitemates thought I just drank too much with how many times I ran to the bathroom to throw up. I wasn’t hungover. That was just my insides punishing me.

This is all my fault. I know I can’t make it better, but I can’t sit here and do nothing. I want to see Frankie, to apologize. I doubt I’ll be allowed anywhere near him after two nights ago. Nebiolo and his crew had murder in their eyes.

God, I shouldn’t have shoved him away. I should have shoved him behind me. I know what kind of man Dev is. His type is the reason kids have to change schools. I guarantee Dev is the guy who shoved kids into lockers, who made targets of kids who couldn’t do anything to protect themselves. I know because I stood silently while the Devs of the world surrounded me and did those things.

Coward.

Complicit.

I didn’t speak up then.

I’m not making that mistake again.

I halt outside Coach’s door. Sure enough, he’s sitting behind his desk. He’s sifting through paperwork, phone held to his ear by his shoulder, nodding. He scribbles something down.

“No, we’re not waiting until after tonight’s game. I want this handled immediately. Life is full of distractions. If they can’t handle this and playing ball they don’t deserve to be on my fucking team. Tell Holly to start her interviews as soon as is convenient for her. We’ll accommodate HR.” He slams the phone down and blows out a breath. “Coño.”

I clear my throat, and his attention snaps to me.

His eyes narrow.

I swallow. “Got a minute, Skip?”

“Yes… Take a seat, Olander.”

I close the door behind me and sit in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. And stare at the mess of papers on his desk. Silence blankets us. I drum my fingers on my thighs. “Busy morning?” My eyes slide shut at how croaky my voice came out.

“Cut the shit, Olander. Out with it.”

I suck in a deep breath and meet him head on. “I’d like to file a complaint about a teammate.”

He plants his elbows on his desk, completely uncaring of the papers, and clasps his hands. “I’m listening.”

“Um. So, Devereux has created a…hostile…environment in the locker room. He has said hateful things directly to Stone about his sexual orientation. And, um, he and I have made insensitive remarks on more than one occasion.”

“Are you telling me your complaint includes yourself?”

“I haven’t actually reached what I’d like to report. But I haven’t conducted myself the way I should and want that noted.”

“Okay…” He studies me over his hands. “Why don’t we get to what you want to report, and we can come back to that part?”

I draw in a steadying breath. “The night after our game on Sunday, the team went out. There was an incident…Devereux attacked Nebiolo’s brother.”

His expression doesn’t change. No surprise. No anger. No reaction. “You witnessed this?”

I shift. “Yes. I had to physically restrain Dev. Otherwise—” My voice cracks, and I look away, a wave of emotion swallowing me. I breathe slowly, try to bring myself back under control.

“Do you know what caused Devereux to attack Nebiolo’s brother?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Jackson?” Dominguez’s voice is soft.