Page 44 of The Show

He chewed on his thumbnail, staring at the names in silence before folding the paper back up, but he didn’t return it. I tried not to take that as another good sign.

“Have they found a manager there yet?”

“No, not since Rod Lieberman got fired in May. Since then, they’ve been working the base coaches.”

“Yeah, that’s not ideal.”

“No, it’s not. But I’m going to offer August Chase the job.”

“Huh,” he repeated, his brow creasing further. “He’s The Yankees bench coach now, right?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

I’d been thinking about it for longer than I’d had The Lions; that he’d make a great manager somewhere.

In his day which wasn’t that long ago, August Chase had been a phenomenal baseball player, spending the majority of his career as shortstop for The Mariners. Following that, he moved to The Braves where he’d won two championship rings, then on to The Astros for a year before signing a minor league contract with The Braves, after which he retired. That was ten years ago. He moved into managing, spending five years in the winter league before the major leagues called him up again: as Yankees bench coach.

From what I knew of him, he was well-respected, fair, and popular with both players and the front office. He was known for thinking outside the box, and because he’d been a player for the majority of his life, could relate well to what they were going through at any given time.

I also knew he’d be bench coach at The Yankees for another decade. There was no way the current manager would be moving anytime soon. I wanted to offer him the opportunity they wouldn’t.

“That’s not a bad shout at all. He’s decent. I wish I’d had more time to play against him.”

“Well, you could play under him...”

He held my gaze, unblinking, but it wasn’t a glare or menacing. It was pensive. I was getting through. At least I thought I was, until he stood abruptly.

“Okay, times up. I need to nap. I’ll put some tickets aside for you tonight. Come to the game, and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

I pushed off the stool and followed him to the front door. “Thanks, man. Thanks for listening. Good luck tonight.” I held my hand out for a shake. “Thank Rosa for breakfast… not sure she likes me much.”

He scoffed then shook my hand. “She’s my own personal rottweiler. You’re lucky you made it out alive turning up like that.”

“Yeah.” I made a move toward the car and popped the trunk. “Actually, before I forget…”

I heaved the case of Petrus out and handed it to him.

For the second time this morning I’d caught the great Jupiter Reeves by surprise, his wide eyes giving him away. Though I had no doubt he preferred this surprise rather than me turning up in the first place.

“Fuck, Penn. Message received. Who did you have to blow for this?”

“Murray.”

He chuckled again. “Okay, swing by tomorrow, ten a.m. Your name will be down for real this time.”

“Cool. Knock it out of the park tonight, man.”

“Don’t I always?”

He’d disappeared inside by the time I was in the car and heading down his driveway. Five minutes later, I’d nodded to the security guard and stepped on the gas, surging forward along PCH and back to my sister’s. Back to where Lowe was also waiting.

My belly gave a nervous flutter of excitement, and I gave myself a pat on the back, opening my window and hollering out into the air at seventy MPH. In the last twenty-four hours, I’d managed two things I’d never done before.

One: I’d made an offer to Jupiter Reeves, which he’d actually listened to, and taken seriously.

Two: I’d spent time with Lowe, alone, and not made a total dick of myself. Adding up the time in her little office room, time on the plane, and time in the car taking us to Dylan’s, it totaled eight hours. Eight whole hours I’d never experienced before, and honestly, I wasn’t sure which of those two things had been the more exhilarating.

Not only that, but what I was immeasurably proud of myself, for during those hours, I’d actually managed to hold a conversation, albeit short ones. But it was something.

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