Page 188 of Play Along

Locking my car, and with that goddamn manila envelope tucked under my arm, I head straight for the clubhouse.

Isaiah is a lot of things, but if he could stop trying to be a martyr, that’d be great. Two days with these fucking papers sitting on my kitchen counter. Two days of thinking things over.

I didn’t need the time, but the one thing this solo weekend did accomplish was allowing me the space to decide that I will never work for Dr. Fredrick ever again. It took being away from the players I enjoy working with. It took being away from the one person I’ll miss working with the most, sharing hotel rooms on the road and getting to be a part of his game days here in Chicago.

The halls are busy with players and staff getting ready for the game tonight, and for the first time in three years, when the first pitch is thrown, I won’t be on this side of things. I’ll be out there in the bleacher section, watching just like any other fan.

Without hesitation, I swing open the main entrance door to the clubhouse. I’m not about to start knocking now when I’ve never knocked before. Besides, anything I might come across, I’ve already seen, and I’ve got too much adrenaline coursing through me to slow down.

“Kenny.” My name comes out like a breath of relief, and it doesn’t take me long to find him. Standing in front of his locker stall, Isaiah is so clearly worn out, the lack of sleep evident in the bags under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

My sweet, fun, thoughtful, idiot of a husband got divorce papers drafted. I get that he wanted me to have a choice, but I’d already made my decision. Those papers sat on my kitchen counter all weekend, so it’s his turn to deal with them.

Crossing the clubhouse, I feel the whole team watching us, but mostly I catalog Isaiah’s stare, watching as the realization hits him that I’m not in my team gear.

Because I’m not working the game tonight and won’t be working one ever again. At least, not here.

“I signed them,” I say, holding the envelope out to him.

His lips part, words evading him as he stares at me in disbelief.

I push them in his direction. “Just take a look at them.”

He slightly shakes his head as if he were trying to shake the image away of me holding our divorce papers out to him, until finally, he takes them from me. But still he doesn’t open the envelope.

Instead, his attention bounces to my left hand to see if I’m still wearing his mother’s ring.

“Just look them over, okay?” I check the clock on the wall. “I have to go. I have a meeting with Reese. We can talk after.”

There’s a combination of defeat and pride in his tone when he asks, “You’re meeting with Reese?”

“Yes. Right now. I have to go.”

Turning, I jog towards the door, still feeling all eyes on my back, watching me go.

“Ken,” he calls out.

With a hand on the door, I look back over my shoulder at him.

He offers a smile. Not the fake Isaiah smile that he forces out even when he’s upset, but a real, genuine one. “Proud of you.”

That seems to be our favorite thing to tell each other lately.

I hitch a grin right back at him. “Me too.”

I don’t let my eyes deviate to the training room when I pass it, don’t let myself check to see whether Dr. Fredrick is sitting back behind his desk the way he always is. Head up, shoulders back, I walk straight to Reese’s office.

Well, Arthur Remington’s office, but he’s rarely around these days, and next year, it’ll officially be hers.

“Hi, Denise,” I say to Arthur’s secretary, the same one who called me the day after I got back from Vegas. “I have a meeting with Reese.”

Her smile is bright. “Perfect timing. They’re waiting for you.”

“Oh, is Mr. Remington here today too?”

“Why don’t you head on in. Good luck, Mrs. Rhodes.”

My body doesn’t recoil the way it did the last time she called me that. No, this time, I have to bite back my grin from hearing the name.

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