Chapter Seventeen
What has gotteninto Georgia Knights’ first baseman Jason Friar? He’s fielding like the Gold Glove first baseman he was, hitting like a batting champ, and has even stolen bases! It’s like he was never injured or on his way out!
Stacia turned up her car radio to listen to the now familiar questions about the “new and improved” Jason Friar. Hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, these same commentators were castigating the Knights for signing him and declaring him and dead and gone. Now, they all professed to have predicted his sudden and meteoric rise from the ashes like the proverbial Phoenix.
She now understood Jason’s cynicism and disdain for the media. And she understood his suspicion of her, as an extension of the media. She listened to as much of the sports program as she could before she pulled into the stadium employees’ only parking garage. She emerged a few minutes later into the late afternoon heat and sun on the field, where the team was holding batting practice.
Players milled about, some jogging, some stretching, others watching. Alex Hernandez, the catcher, was in the cage and she could almost feel the breeze from his swing as he missed the pitch. He cursed loudly. Stacia decided it might be best to hang back.
Jason stepped forward into the cage after motioning the BP pitcher to hold. He spoke softly to the younger man. Several other players also leaned in around the cage to listen to the conversation. After a few moments, Jason stepped out and the pitcher threw in again. This time, the outcome was different and Alex sent the ball sailing over the right field wall. He cheered and looked immediately to Jason for approval. Jason clapped him on the back and they both laughed.
A warm sense of satisfaction spread through her. The world was good right now. Jason was playing great baseball. The team was on its way to the playoffs. His reputation was on the mend. Not bad for a few week’s work.
“Not bad, Stacia.” A soft voice sounded next to her and she turned to see Miranda standing there watching the team.
“Thanks. But it was mostly Jason.”
“Jason? Are you always so self-deprecating?”
Stacia colored but said, “Well, I can only recommend. Only the person can change.”
“I meant no offense. It’s refreshing in a stadium full of egos and tempers. Do you really think he’s changed? Do you think, the moment your back is turned and you’re not babysitting him that he won’t regress to his past behaviors?”
“I hope he won’t. Besides, I haven’t exactly been with him twenty-four seven.”
“No one can.” Miranda started to move away then stopped. “You’ve done a nice job, a miracle really. Thank you.” Then she walked over to the crowd of media around the manager.
She felt eyes on her and she looked over. Jason’s gaze scorched her from across the infield. The heat reminded her of the night they had most recently spent, the thrill of the risk, the hope that no one would catch them, and the illusion that it was nothing more than two people enjoying each other’s company. To him, she was his babysitter, albeit an attractive consenting adult who slept with him so he wouldn’t find another woman and ruin his reputation. She wanted to believe they were more than a convenience but how could she know?
*
She had barelygotten back to her office when her cell phone rang.Hail to the Chief. She groaned but answered the call anyway. “Hello, Father.”
“So, you remember who I am.” His tone fully expressed his displeasure. “You haven’t called in several weeks.”
“Neither have you.” The words bolted out past tightened lips before she could restrain them.
“I’ve been busy, Stacia, as you well know. I have a country to run.”
“You and ninety-nine other senators not to mention the president. You can’t find time to call your daughter?” The age old pain rose up inside, drowning out anything else. She ruthlessly pushed it down. She needed her focus to deal with her father. Why did she even care that he never called her?
“Are you so busy screwing that ballplayer that you can’t call your father?”
She gritted her teeth and willed the sudden and unexpected tears in her eyes from falling. “So good to hear how you feel about me. What do you want?”
“I told you how I felt about you working with him. I even spoke with your boss, but apparently you’re just as insubordinate to him as to me.”
“Yes, I heard you demanded I be reassigned. Sorry to disappoint you, but you taught me something else—honor your word. And I’m honoring mine, whether you like it or not.”
She straightened her shoulders. She’d be damned if she would be ashamed of her job. She was successful, damnit, even if he couldn’t see it past the newspaper on his desk. Honor was something her father had spouted for years. Honor. Commitment. Duty. Funny how it was only important when he was defining it in his own way. When it became inconvenient for him, it became inconsequential.
“I taught you to honor your word when it made sense. This situation makes no sense and only makes me look weak to my colleagues, opponents, and constituents.”
“Why can’t you just support me?” Why did it always have to be about him? Just once, could he call her and ask about her, be concerned for her? Tell her she was doing a good job?
“Why can’t you do as you’re told?” he growled, clearly exasperated and confused by her refusal to kowtow to him like usual.
Stacia sighed. Why bother? The old man was never going to change. “Did you call for a reason?”