Ethan cracks up yet again. He’s laughing so hard, he’s holding his stomach.
Mom gets to her feet, too. “Come here, Sammy.” She lifts the puppy from me. “Let’s show you the backyard.”
Fantastic. That could take a while. As Mom walks away, I push down my sweats until they pool at my ankles and then I step out of them.
“It’s definitely laundry day,” Ethan says, taking in my boxer briefs.
I glance down. I’m wearing my Landsharks underwear. Tiny gray sharks are all over the blue cotton. Every player on the team has a pair or two. “I think you’re right.”
“Where is Sylvie, by the way?”
Sylvie is my cook-slash-housekeeper-slash-godsend. She’s been with me for four years and I’m man enough to say I’d be lost without her. She was a gift from my mom, too. That sounded weird—not a gift exactly. Mom made the introduction because she thought I could use some help when I moved into this house. “She and her family are at Disneyland for two days. It’s her grandson’s birthday.”
I sit back down and look my brother right in the eye. “Want a puppy?”
Ethan grins. “That’s funny, but no, little brother, Sammy’s all yours.”
“What the hell am I going to do with a dog?”
“You don’t really need me to answer that, do you?”
“Hey, what about the time I got you field seats for the All-Star Gameandan introduction to thatSports Illustratedswimsuit model? You said you owed me one.”
“You never remember where you leave your phone, but you remember something that happened years ago?” He gets to his feet. “Dude, the puppy is yours and the sooner you accept it the better.”
“Fine.” I know this. Mom doesn’t give gifts lightly; her heart is always behind the gesture. She’d be crushed if any of us ever rejected her tokens of affection. Her line of thinking doesn’t always coincide with that of her sons is all.
“I’ll see you later. Say bye to Mom for me.”
I nod then pick up my ringing cell phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Finn. It’s Rena.”
“Hey. How are you?” Rena is our team’s senior director of Public Relations.
“I’m good. How areyou?”
“Hanging in there.”
“Glad to hear that. We’d like you to come in for a meeting on Tuesday. You available?”
“Sure.” No one says “no” to Rena. Not that anyone wants to. She may have a no-nonsense attitude, but she’s the best liaison there is when it comes to our fans and charities. Best of all, she treats me like a player, rather than an Auprince.
“Great. We’ll be connecting you with a social media manager for the off-season. Be here at ten.”
“Sounds goo—wait. What?”
“It’s something new we want to try. You’ve got huge followings on social media, but we want to go next-level. We do that by hiring a professional to take over your accounts, but who will work side by side with you in order to keep your profiles honest and authentic.”
“Is this a joke?” I do just fine posting on my own, albeit reluctantly and rarely, and I definitely don’t want someonetaking overanything of mine.
“Not at all,” she says, no smile in her tone. “I promise this isn’t a bad thing, Finn. Especially with your behavior during the series and your injury. We want to—”
“Stop right there.” I don’t need to hear that the front office is worried about me and wants to help. In uncharacteristic fashion, I behaved like a dick during a couple of the World Series games. Nerves got the better of me for the first time, enough so that I even mouthed off to the home plate umpire. I’d never disrespected the game before and my reputation took a hit. “I’ll see you Tuesday,” I say tightly.
We disconnect. First a puppy. Now a social media manager. So much for a quiet recovery on my terms. I tilt my head back, resting it on the back of the couch. I got called to the majors at twenty. Won Rookie of the Year unanimously. I’m the youngest player to reach one hundred home runs and one hundred stolen bases. A two-time MVP. My career batting average is over .300. If I continue at this pace, I’ll break records, be a shoo-in for the Hall of the Fame (if I’m not already). Baseball is all I know. All I’ve everwantedto know.
I’ve suffered bumps and bruises along the way, but cutting management some slack, I’ve never acted out or been injured like I am now. Never been escorted off the field by the team doctor. I don’t know what to do with it. I’m completely unprepared. There isn’t a manual for how to deal with injuries, and even if there were, I’d have a hard time reading it. When everything’s gone your way and thenbam! All of a sudden, the future you’ve worked your ass off for isn’t a guarantee anymore, it takes a huge mental toll.