Page 46 of Play Along

Fredrick turns in my direction, confused. “What?”

“Why is Kennedy on hydration?”

“Isaiah,” she quietly scolds.

I don’t listen to her. “You have Will working two sections that are on completely opposite sides of the field and you have Kennedy filling up water bottles. Why?”

“Isaiah, stop.” Kennedy’s voice is pleading.

Fredrick crosses his arms over his chest. “Because that’s where I assigned her. Do you have an issue with the work your wife has to do today?”

He says the word wife in the most demeaning way, as if she’s my property and not a human being.

I take a step towards him. “Yeah, I do. Or would you like me to enlighten everyone here why I think it’s ludicrous that you have her, of all people, filling our fucking water bottles.”

“Isaiah, stop. Please.”

Realization dawns on the Head of Health and Wellness. He knows that I know Kennedy is overqualified for the position he’s kept her in.

“Actually, I’d love to know why.” Reese Remington joins the conversation. I hadn’t realized she was even in the dugout. “If you have four positions needing coverage and four medical staffers, why aren’t they evenly distributed?”

Kennedy is fuming, I guess because I’m drawing attention from the soon-to-be owner of the team, but it’s hard to remain professional at work after watching her being treated differently for years. And it’s clear this season is going to be worse for her than it’s ever been before.

All because she married me—a player. Dr. Fredrick is punishing her for it. I know it.

“That’s a great point, Mrs...”

“Reese,” she corrects.

“Reese,” he repeats, and I can’t explain the satisfaction I have in knowing that starting next year, Fredrick’s boss is going to be a woman. “So, Kennedy, you’ll cover the bullpen and, Will, you take the clubhouse. I’ll get that new intern on hydration.”

“Well, that sounds evenly balanced now, doesn’t it?” Reese’s smile is forced.

“It was a great idea, Mrs... Reese.”

Good to know that Dr. Fredrick’s ass-kissing extends to not only the players, but upper management too.

Reese takes a long look at me, then Kennedy, before leaving the dugout—to the owner’s suite if I had to guess.

Fredrick’s jaw hardens once she’s out of earshot. He’s pissed, but he wouldn’t dare chew out a player, especially right before a game. No, instead he focuses his attention once again on Kennedy.

“We’ll discuss keeping your personal life at home, later.”

Fuck that. She didn’t do or say anything wrong. I was the one who called him out on his bullshit.

The group disperses at that.

Kennedy stays next to me but refuses to make eye contact. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Ken—”

“It’s bad enough that I’m the only woman he’s ever hired, and, in his mind, I hooked up with one of the players. I’m not some pathetic girl that needs my husband to fight my battles. Just... let me do my job, Isaiah.”

She leaves the dugout, heading to cover the bullpen where I won’t see her for the rest of the day.

I hear her, I do, but she’s been busting her ass all day, all week in fact, and I couldn’t help myself from stepping in like a fucking caveman.

I also heard her call me her husband.

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