“Mr. Hale acted the way he did out of distress. He’d just lost his sister. Was called down to identify her body. Have any of you ever received a phone call in the middle of the night informing you your only family was dead? That you were needed to confirm that, yes, the cold corpse lying on that metal table was someone you love?”
I swallowed hard, pushing down the renewed emotion at the reminder of that night, the guilt still as strong as it was when I received that phone call.
“So while I certainly don’t condone his behavior, I think we can all appreciate his actions weren’t completely intentional. Were the result of emotional distress after losing his sister, whom we all know he was extremely close to.”
With each word he spoke, Dax’s voice grew louder and more assured, exuding the image of a man in control. A person of authority.
I wasn’t entirely sure why he felt the need to defend my actions when the owners typically didn’t care what team management did, as long as the seats were filled each game. Not to mention, suspending me without pay would save them a small fortune. But I wouldn't question it. Not if it meant I could still play ball. I feared that would be the only thing to help take my mind off Julia.
“We’ve all made mistakes. And we’ve all had reasons for making those mistakes. Not excuses. Reasons. Lachlan has suffered immense loss since he signed on with this club. First, his girlfriend, mere days after he was finally promoted to the majors. And just a little over a week ago, his sister. Now, let me ask all of you… Do you think you’d make the best decisions after losing someone you loved dearly? I know I wouldn’t.”
Silence filled the room as the management team looked at each other, none of them arguing Dax’s point. Brett caught my eye and gave me a slight smile that was a mixture of relief and excitement.
“I get that I’m just an owner. Just the money. That we’re not given all the information and are supposed to leave the decisions regarding players to you, our well-qualified management team. But I speak for a great many people, fans and players alike, who feel that any lengthy suspension would be too harsh a punishment, especially after everything Lachlan’s already lost. We should show him compassion. After all, we’re supposed to be family. Family doesn’t turn its back on each other. It’s supposed to support each other. So I implore you. Let’s support Lachlan. Not punish him.”
A thick tension permeated the room as I stared ahead, awaiting Buckley’s determination. He no longer wore a self-satisfied smirk, but I still wasn’t sure where his head was. If he planned to stick to his initial proposal of a season-long suspension simply because he could, regardless of Dax Shea’s argument.
“I suppose I may have proposed a punishment that could be considered a bit extreme, especially under the circumstances,” Buckley finally said. He glanced down at the papers in front of him before looking back at me, brow raised. “You’ve paid all the detective’s medical bills?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Brett spoke over me.
“Yes. And he’s agreed to cover any rehabilitation therapy that may be needed.”
Buckley nodded. Then he pushed out a deep breath. “I can appreciate how distressing the situation must have been for you. Grief makes us all act in ways we may not be able to control. So, this time, I’ll heed the advice of the other men in this room and not impose a suspension on you.”
Brett exhaled, relieved, placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing.
I turned to him, forcing out a smile, since he probably expected some sort of reaction to the news I wouldn’t be sitting out the remainder of the season.
“But if you act out like this again, I can assure you, the outcome will be vastly different,” Clark admonished.
“He won’t. I’ll make sure of it,” Brett responded.
I should have been thrilled. This was my career.
My life’s ambitions.
The only dream I ever had.
The only thing that ever mattered to me.
Until now…
I glanced out the windows, looking at the pristine, green grass of the baseball field, the Atlanta skyline visible in the distance.
A week ago, this was the only place that felt even remotely like home to me. The smell of fresh-cut grass, leather, and something unique to baseball stadiums usually filled me with peace and excitement.
Now I longed for the scent of lavender, vanilla, and hummingbird cake.
I just prayed yesterday wasn’t the last time I’d ever experience it.