Page 11 of Wild Catch
Stadium staff lead us along to the team entrance and through the maze of corridors inside. My limited Spanish knowledge is enough for me to know that when they say aquí it means that I should follow themthatway, not the other. Our designated clubhouse is spacious enough, and just as I’m trawling through the mass of forty men trying to pick a locker, I make eye contact with Beau. He motions at me to follow, and so I pivot with suitcase and everything.
“We’ll have to be quick, Son, since we’re running behind schedule,” he says with a low voice once I join him.
“That’s fine.” Perfect, even. Less time for me to sit in Beau’s disappointment in yet another tiny space. “This shouldn’t take long,” I add.
We commandeer the empty staff meeting room and I abandon my suitcase and carryon by the door, freeing my hands to fish my cellphone from my pocket to dial my agent.
“Hey, man. I was about to get worried that something happened,” he says in his usual tone that people confuse for friendly, but hides his ruthless business nature that made me select him as my agent.
“Traffic,” is all I say to that before shifting gears. “I’m with Beau and have you on loudspeaker.”
“Perfect,” he chimes. “Thank you for meeting us at short notice, Mr. Beau. I’m Pete Kaplan, Logan’s agent.”
Beau nods. “Of course, I remember you, Mr. Kaplan.”
“Then I’ll get straight to the point,” Kaplan says, but I’m the one who braces. “Logan has expressed a keen interest in trading to a different team.”
Even though Kaplan doesn’t stop, I inspect Beau for any signs of how this is landing, but the guy’s not a baseball manager for no reason. He’s a vault and continues listening to my agent with the exact same expression he carried five minutes ago.
“Don’t get us wrong, you’re shaping up the Wild to be an excellent team this season, but we think the timing is right for Logan to make a move that will take his career to the next level.”
Beau finally lifts his eyes from the phone in my hand to my face. Unfortunately for him, I also have a superb poker face. I give away nothing—whether I’m eager about this, doing it just because, in a hurry, or plainly to drive up my salary.
“Far be it from me to prevent a player’s growth.” Beau utters the words carefully, deliberately packing the biggest punch.
And they land just like that.
My mind takes me back to the interview Ben Williams gave last week before facing us in the opening game, saying that he traded out to the Riders because he wasn’t growing enough in the Wild. When in fact, the two men present in this room were solely responsible for any of the improvement that led Williams to a higher pay in Denver.
Shit. Am I acting like Williams?
No. We’re not the same at all. This is just how I operate. I’ve done all I can here.
“But,” Beau continues, sharp eyes watching my face. “I would also be remiss if I don’t try to keep my best player on the roster.”
I blink. I know I’m the best player. It’s just my first time hearing it from his mouth.
“That’s great to hear. I agree that Logan isn’t just a run-of-the-mill player.” Kaplan gives out what I can only define as a business laugh. It means that Beau’s comment just drew my price tag higher and Kaplan personally enjoys that. “Well, that’s all we had for today—just a heads up. I’ll stay in touch with you as the conversations progress.”
“I will thank you for that,” Beau says with a boulder-size of tact. Kaplan can probably read the meaning between the lines: we better not go around this old man’s back or else.
After one last round of pleasantries, I end the call and wait for the hammer of Beau’s disappointment.
It doesn’t come. Instead, he puts his hands in his pants and sweeps an up and down glance at me. “You should get changed before you catch a cold.”
“That’s what you’re concerned about?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Yes, player safety comes first no matter what.” He turns to the door and before leaving, says, “Remember that.”
“Shit,” I mutter in the quiet of the meeting room, the only other sound coming from a whirring fan.
Somehow, Beau’s parting words are making me sweat even harder than the barely contained anxiety attack from earlier. I run a hand through my hair, pushing it back so it’s no longer sticking to my face.
Past managers have had big reactions to this same conversation, usually manifested as anger.
No one blew up harder than the manager of the New York Eagles, my second team. His top concern had been how my departure would affect my older brother Lewis, who is still their starting pitcher, when I was the other half of the battery.
And not for why I wanted to leave in the first place.
