Page 9 of The Problem with Players

He scratched his beard, which had grown quite a bit since last month. “And to think, I was hoping we’d let bygones be bygones.”

“Yeah, that would have happened if you would’ve stayedgone. It was an unwritten agreement. You break my heart, and you stay gone.” For a split second, a look of guilt flashed across his face. Before he could feel bad for breaking my heart, I rolled my eyes dramatically just to make sure he noticed. “Don’t get a big ego about it. I’m over you breaking my heart. I’m engaged now,” I remarked, holding up my ring finger. “To a rocket scientist,” I exclaimed. Why was I word-vomiting to him? Why was I telling him anything about my life?

Shut up, Avery.

“I heard,” he replied. “Congratulations.”

“I don’t want your congratulations. I want you to be gone.”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his joggers. “That’s going to be an issue, seeing how I’m now coaching the baseball team with you.”

“No,” I urged. “You’re not. This is my thing.”

“Yeah, but Raymond said?—”

“I don’t care what he said, Nathan. I’d rather this program burn to the ground before I coach with you. What, do you think you’re some kind of genius because you played in the Major Leagues? I was ten times a better baseball player than you could’ve ever been.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I never said I was better than you.”

“So you understand why I don’t need you? Good.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You do need me. I’ve been to a few of your preseason games. Your team is a bit…” He waved his hand in a disapproving fashion. “Lacking.”

“Lacking?”

“Yeah. That’s no offense to you. I’m sure you’re doing thebest you can, but I think I can bring a lot to the table with what I’ve learned in the industry and my personal strengths. And with you being my assistant coach?—”

“I’m sorry, come again? Assistant coach?” There was absolutely no way he said assistant. As if he was now the head coach of a team I’d been managing for years. The nerve of this guy!

“I figured Raymond told you?—”

Before he could finish, I marched toward Principal Raymond’s office. I barged back into the office space without an invitation and began to holler. “Ray, what does this man mean he’s head coach now?”

Raymond looked up from his paperwork with fear in his eyes. Rightfully so. I was seconds away from ripping his eyeballs out of their sockets as rage built within me.

“Now, listen, Avery,” he started. His calmness felt belittling in a way. Or perhaps I was being overly emotional, but who could blame me? The one thing I had that was mine—my team—was being ripped from beneath me without any warning.

How could the school district think that demoting me was the right choice? Without even talking to me about it first? This was beyond humiliating. It was insulting to my character and position of authority.

What was with people not telling me things before I had to find out in such hurtful ways? It had been a month, and I still wasn’t over the reveal of Drew, and now this was happening.

“What you’ve done for the team has been amazing,” Raymond stated. “But with an actual Major League Baseball player as head coach, we’re certain we can get these players where they need to be. Maybe even make it to the playoffs. And who knows? These boys could end up getting college offers with the right team leadership beneath them.”

With the right team leadership.

Which meant I was the wrong team leadership.

They didn’t even give me a chance.

That cut deep, but I stood firm.

I couldn’t let him know that he hurt my feelings.

I couldn’t let anyone ever know they hurt my feelings.

The school bell rang for second period to begin, and I felt sick, knowing I had a class to get to.

“This is crap, and you know it, Ray,” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “There should’ve been a conversation.”

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