“Sounds good. I’ll contact her today. I’m hoping Kevin lets me travel with the team for the Texas series in six weeks. That way I can drive my own car back.”
“I’d bet on it. The Rangers and the Rays have a competitive history with some tension between the coaches. Jack Ass will be going for sure. All the more reason for Kevin to want us there.”
Amanda’s cell phone rang before she could respond.
“I’ll check in with you in a bit,” Reggie said, before departing.
Amanda managed to retrieve her phone from her purse by the third ring. Caller ID told her it was her father. “Hey, Dad.”
“How is my baby girl?”
“I’m fine.” Amanda smiled into the phone. “My first story hit the paper today.”
“I saw that,” he said, his voice holding a fatherly authoritative tone as if he wasn’t completely pleased his daughter had written it. “And quite the story it was. I bet you got some notice.”
“I did,” Amanda agreed. “And the good news is, I’m still employed.”
“Well, of course you are. But let me get this straight. You wrote the article thinking it might cost you your job?”
“No.” She blinked. “Well, maybe. It is a bit daring,” Amanda admitted.
“You certainly made everyone sit up and take notice, and you did it right out of the gate.” He paused. “I noticed you picked Brad Rogers as your first feature, too.”
“I knew you’d approve.” Her father had a thing for pitchers. Not teams, but pitchers. Brad was a favorite. Amanda loved watching baseball with her highly opinionated father. Just listening to him complain about the bad calls, bad pitching, bad coaching and a long list of other bad things, kept her entertained.
“You didn’t happen to get—”
She rolled her eyes. “No, Daddy, I did not get you an autograph. Give me time to be accepted.”
A heavy sigh filled the phone. “All right, but don’t wait too long. You know how I like my autographs.”
“Yes,” she said, thinking of his den filled with his collection. “I do know. I’ll get you one. I promise.”
“Before he quits pitching.”
She frowned. “You think he’s going somewhere?”
“He’s playing hurt. You know from your own history what that means.”
She knew very well. “I noticed, too. He kept doing that little flexing movement between pitches. Discreet, but obvious if you’re a doctor.”
“Or the daughter of one,” her father said.
“I couldn’t listen to you and Kelli talk shop and not pick up something. The odd thing is that no one with the Rays seems to have noticed that Brad’s hurt. I noticed, but not them. How crazy is that?”
“You’ve been in the locker rooms. Broken bones and blood get attention. The rest is easy to miss. Especially when it’s being hidden.” A female voice sounded in the background. “Hold on,” he said. “I have lots more to ask, but your mother feels it’s her time to talk. Love you, honey.”
“Love you, too, Daddy.”
“Don’t forget my autograph.”
She laughed. “I’ll get it.”
“Oh,” he said, as if he’d had a last-minute thought. “Any word on you coming home for the Texas series?”
“Not yet,” Amanda said, feeling the pressure of performance. The team would head to Nashville before Texas, and she didn’t know about that trip. “I imagine that decision will come once they decide if I’m a keeper or not.”
“Then I’ll see you soon,” he said, confident in her as always.
Amanda chatted with her mother a few minutes and then hung up. She was forever grateful for her parents’ confidence and support.
It was time to earn that confidence. She was going to find the story behind every teeny-weensy towel in that locker room…even if she wasn’t allowed to remove any of them.
LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Amanda sat at her desk jotting down potential interview questions for the locker room postgame, nerves working a number on her stomach. She had a lot of ground to cover. Tuesday’s game had gone so horribly for the Rays that the coach had shut the locker room to the press. Wednesday and Thursday had been off nights so there’d been no talking with the players for her second column. She’d gone with Riley’s Gypsy oil as her featured superstition but hadn’t gotten as deep into the topic as she would have liked. Tonight would be her first chance to find out Brad’s reaction to her story on him.
Brad.
He’d stayed on her mind far too much.
A loud thud jerked Amanda to attention. Kevin stood in front of her cubicle, having tossed two big bags on the floor. He pointed to one. “Fan mail.” Then to the other. “Hate mail.”
Amanda gulped. “Hate mail?”
“Attention is attention,” Kevin said. “Think Howard Stern. Keep this up and you might actually stay around a while.”
She couldn’t quite get past the hate mail. “Why do they hate me?”
Irritation flashed in his face. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you get that steroid story before Jack. Check out Tony Rossi. My source says Jack thinks he’s the user. My question to you is why does Jack know this and you don’t?”
“I—”
“I want that story, Amanda. Whatever it takes, get it.”
She was being asked to earn the team’s trust and destroy a player’s career all at once. It seemed as wrong as the hate mail. She’d signed up to be a reporter, not a destroyer.
“And another thing,” Kevin continued. “The team’s headed to Nashville. Jack’s not, so you’re not. That damn hotel room of yours is eating up my budget. Get a place to live before I find one for you.”
He wanted her to get the story, but he wasn’t letting her go with the team. That didn’t make sense. Shouldn’t she go because Jack wasn’t going? Wouldn’t that give her an edge?
She bit her tongue and focused on the solution she could give him. “I’m renting from Karen Tuggle. I move in next week.”
“Good. And how much longer do you have that rental car?”
She reminded him of their interview conversation. “We discussed me taking a few days after the Texas series to drive mine back.”
He grunted. “That’s several more weeks.”
His
