“I can’t say anything. They’d just ignore me. And the manager, well, he doesn’t know how to deal with the young guys.”
“You sign their checks. Hit ’em in the pocketbook. They’ll listen,” he griped. “Be a bastard. They need it.”
Cole arched an eyebrow. “Really? These kids are making more money than most have ever seen. They’re spending it like it’s never-ending. A piddly fine won’t bother them at all.”
“So, what do you want me to do?” Jason leaned against the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. Any conversation was better than what he had to face in there.
“You’ve been around. You know that teams police themselves. Beanballs, spiking on the bases, team meetings. This is one of those situations. How would you have handled it on your last team?”
Jason paused. Another reminder of how the game had changed. In his day, no one dogged it. Everyone played hard every day, and losses sucked. No celebrations. If there was an issue with a player, well, the players handled it themselves. Management didn’t need to stick their noses in the locker room. “We never had this issue.”
“Really? Even when players dog it, jog to first, screw around? Come on, I know some of the guys you played with.”
“These kids see me as one of those guys. They’re not going to listen to me. Besides, you told me to stay away from them. Didn’t want me to taint them with my ways.”
Cole pursed his lips, irritation on his face. “That was when we were safely in first and not solidly in a weeks-long losing streak. Something needs to shake these guys up. They need a mentor. A role model.”
Jason snorted. “Isn’t that what you hired Monroe for?” He pushed past Cole and into the locker room.
The music hit him, an almost physical blow. He paused for a moment, watching the other players milling about, joking and screwing around. Not the pre-game preparation he was accustomed to. He scanned the room quickly, then walked along the outside to his locker.
“Jason! It’s been awhile! Great to see you, boy!”
Jason was grabbed and twisted, beefy arms wrapped around him, trapping him for a brief moment. Instinctively, he blocked and shoved the larger man, feeling more flesh than he’d remembered. He stepped back, away from the lockers and into the open room. The music stopped abruptly and all conversation died, while the players gawked, gauging the situation. Jason glared at the other man, the man he saw as a coach, a mentor, a father figure. Until the final betrayal. In that moment, he’d taught Jason the most important lesson of his entire life, a lesson that had ruled his life, guiding his every step.
Everyone uses you. Walk away before they can take advantage.
Jason stuffed all emotion down deep in the well and covered it. He coolly studied the other man. “You’ve changed, Monroe.”
“It’s been a long time, son. Years.” His round face broadened in a smile, but Jason could still see the calculating gleam in his eye, the money signs Monroe could never quite hide around Jason.
“That’s not what you told Hammonds. And don’t call me son.” He tossed his jacket into the locker room and grabbed a t-shirt and sweat pants. “I’m hitting the cage, warming up for the game.”
“Want some help? Your swing was a little rusty in Kansas City.”
“No thanks. I got this.”