The Athletic Groom: Billionaire Marriage Brokers

by Lucy McConnell

  “No one ever does.” Isaac cringed internally. While he and Harper currently played for their marriage, they would soon join the divorce league too. A sour taste filled Isaac’s mouth. “I’m bringing in someone I’d like you to talk with in the next week or so—would that be okay?”

  “Sure.” Brian stood and began changing into his uniform. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” Isaac paused. Leaning closer, he said, “You’re free to do whatever you want, but bad press and drama won’t help your kids get through this.” He tipped his head towards Jackson, who was putting the finishing touches on his gelled-back hair and inspecting himself from all angles.

  “I hear ya.” Brian nodded.

  Isaac moved on, his gut full of rocks. Sometimes, life really sucked.

  * * *

  The Redrocks took the field in the bottom of the fifth inning to a smattering of half-hearted applause. Normally, Isaac enjoyed the crowd, but today’s ticket holders were less than enthusiastic about their home team. Many of them openly cheered when either side had a good play—as if they were there to watch a game but didn’t particularly care who won. That wasn’t good. Passionate fans were what kept a team going in the off years. So far, all the years had been off years for the Redrocks. Isaac wanted to change that as much as Harper.

  Jackson was throwing like a high schooler out there. They gave up two runs because of his lackluster performance on the mound. He had the talent to outsmart the batters, but he was lazy. Nothing boiled Isaac’s blood hotter than laziness. With each run for the opposing team, Isaac’s frustration grew.

  Jackson’s next pitch went wild and the runner on first stole second.

  Isaac ground his teeth and marched out of the dugout. “Time,” he called to the umpire.

  Jackson dropped his glove to his side and slouched. The infielders began trotting to the mound, but Isaac waved them off. The pitcher’s attitude was bad enough for the team; he didn’t need them to pick up any more of it, as he was sure this wasn’t going to be a friendly discussion.

  From home plate to the mound was 60 feet, but the distance might as well have been twice that length for how quiet the stands had gotten and how long it took to get there.

  All the while, Isaac’s thoughts played out like an announcer on the radio. Uh-oh, folks. Looks like the new manager, Isaac Wolfe, is headed out to mound to have a talk with his star pitcher Jackson Kimber. Team owner and Isaac’s wife, Harper Richmond, has forbidden him from ruffling Jackson’s feathers. Let’s see what happens …

  Isaac climbed up the red dirt and stood directly in front of Kimber. He studied the guy for a moment, seeing every punk kid he’d ever coached all rolled up into this one grown man who wasted his talent, wasted the team’s money, and was wasting the fans’ time.

  He needed to coach. Just like a batter, when he stepped into the box, had to clear his head of all distractions, Isaac needed to coach like that now. He couldn’t think about what this looked like on television, he couldn’t imagine what was going through the stands, and he couldn’t think about what Harper would say if she were here. Right now, he was a coach and he needed to act like one. “Where’s your head today? ’Cuz it’s not in the game.”

  “I’m just not feeling it.” Jackson shrugged.

  Isaac glared. “What are you saying? It sounds like you want to be taken out of the game.”

  Another shrug. “I did my part. I filled the seats—let me relax.”

  “Relax?” Isaac’s hands went to his hips and his feet spread apart. If I could shake him, I would. Drawing on every ounce of patience he could muster, Isaac managed to keep his voice down. “I hear Seattle has been romancing you lately.” Romancing was a light word for the dinners and hotels the Washington team had gifted Jackson in an effort to woo him at the end of the season. As an almost free agent, the pitcher took full advantage of the interest.

  “What of it?”

  “They may not care what you do off the field, but don’t think for a minute that they’ll pay out if your stats drop.”

  “My stats won’t drop if you pull me now.”

  Isaac grunted. If a pitcher lasted five innings, he was credited with a win or a loss. If he was pulled before that, the result didn’t figure into his stats. They were most likely going to lose this game—thanks mostly to Jackson. “You’re right. They wouldn’t—but I’m not letting you skate at the expense of the team.” Isaac turned to head back to the dugout.

  “I think my arm is a little sore,” Jackson called after him.

  Isaac swiveled on his heel so fast he left a divot in the grass.

  Jackson swung his arm up, holding his shoulder and putting on a pained face for the cameras.

  Isaac marched back. “You’re a selfish player. But what you don’t get is that if this team goes down today, you go down with it. Every time we lose, you lose. Every time a runner scores, you lose. Every time the bat connects with the ball, you lose. If you keep losing, you’ll become a loser. Losers don’t fare well as free agents.”

  Jackson scowled and dropped his arm.

  “Man up and throw the ball.”

  Though Isaac’s walk back to the dugout was much shorter, the announcer in his head still had time to throw in a sound bite. Hey, folks, this could go either way. Jackson may pull his head out of the red dirt of Dixie and actually pitch, or Coach Wolfe’s time in the MLB could be the shortest in the history of baseball.

  With a sick feeling, Isaac took his spot by the dugout stairs. Once again, he’d done what he felt was right with little regard for the consequences. As much as he would hate to lose this job, the thought that made him want to grab the bucket in the corner and heave was the thought that he may have broken his marriage. He and Harper had a deal and he’d just stomped all over it.

  13

  Harper waited outside the open locker room doors. Inside, the press crawled around and over the players in an effort to get some reaction to the game loss. The biggest hype was Isaac’s visit to the mound at the bottom of the fifth. She’d seen it on the television in her office. She’d chosen to watch from there, hoping her absence from the executive box would come across as trusting her new manager enough not to hover.

  Whatever Isaac said did the trick, and Jackson finished the fifth inning strong and took the sixth inning to new heights. Because of Kimber’s newfound focus, the team rallied, making two double plays in two innings.

  Isaac had called in a relief pitcher to finish out the game, but Seattle’s lead was too great and the Redrocks couldn’t catch up. The fans enjoyed the show and the press was full of compliments. New life in a team that was facing death was something to write about—a feel-good piece sports fans love to post on social network.

  Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the chaos of cameras and lights, a determined smile on her face and a prepared answer for the hard questions in the forefront of her mind. Thankfully, Tommy Stouvier was absorbed in his interview with Jackson. She was about to slip past them when she heard Jackson say, “I told him my arm hurt, but he said I couldn’t come out of the game.”

  Harper stopped in her tracks.

  The reporter leaned closer. “Let me get this straight: you told your manager your arm hurt and he said you had to pitch?”

  “He said I had to man up and throw the ball.”

  Harper bit her cheek. Jackson could be blowing it out of proportion—he was a drama queen in cleats. However, as far as she knew, he’d never lied to the press before, never lied about the game. He excelled at keeping his morals on the field separate from those off the field. Lie about sleeping with other women while dating her? Yes. Thank goodness she’d never given in to his advances in that area. There’d be no working with him at all if he’d taken advantage of her in that way. Sticking to her standards had allowed her to walk into the owner’s office on that first day with her head held high.

  Tension filled the space around them as reporters gobbled up the news that the new Redrocks manager had risked the arm of one of
his players. No, not one of his players; his best player, his ace in the hole, his top-earning pitcher, his golden child. Harper bit the inside of her cheek. The one guy Harper had asked Isaac to keep happy.

  They’d made a deal.

  Not only was leaving in a player who complained of pain unheard of in the league, a player’s health was paramount. The team worked hard to make sure all 25 men on the active roster were in peak health. Any inkling of an injury was taken seriously, and sometimes men were benched against their wishes to protect them from “manning up” and causing more problems.

  Besides caring about these guys as people, they were investments. An injured player was a player that wasn’t making money. Having just gone over the monthly balance sheet, Harper wanted every player to bring in their full amount.

  The buzz around the room faded out as Harper’s worry, anger, and frustration took center stage. She quickly scanned the room for Isaac and found him over by Brian Tuttle. They sat on one of the benches. Tuttle had dropped a fly ball in the third. A mistake for sure, but nothing that would warrant the deep conversation the two of them were involved in.

  The reporters didn’t care that Isaac was occupied; they interrupted, shouting questions and gesturing to Jackson, who kept his head down as if he were defeated.

  Not likely. If Harper knew anything about Jackson, she knew that he knew how to play to an audience. Her suspicions aroused, she turned back to Isaac, not knowing where she should go.

  The PR side of her brain said to shove her way through to Isaac and stand next to him—present a united front. The thought was right there, but her feet wouldn’t comply. They were on the side of her mind that had pulled back, waiting to be injured by Isaac’s betrayal. They’d had a deal. If Isaac had gone back on his word, in his first game no less, then trusting him wasn’t an option.

  Isaac got slowly to his feet and stepped in front of Brian, taking all the bright lights and attention right in the face. He held up both hands, asking for quiet. As soon as the group settled, a reporter called out, “Did Jackson tell you his arm was bothering him?”

  Isaac’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yes.” His eyes roved over the faces until he found Harper. There he stopped.

  Tommy Stouvier asked the question everyone wanted to know the answer to. “Did you tell Jackson to man up and throw the ball?”

  Harper’s ability to breathe left, and she waited in that space between needing air and needing an answer.

  “No comment.” Isaac dropped his hands and his eyes. “Thanks for coming out today, everyone. I hope you enjoyed the game, and we’ll see you next time.” With that, Isaac strode out the door, ignoring the many voices that called to him to stop.

  While their attention was on him, Harper backpedaled. She escaped outside, hustled through the dugout and up the stairs where she took the elevator to her office. Slouching in her chair, she hung her head. What a mess. She turned on the television to catch the recap on SPORTSNetwork. Their logo on the camera had given her hope that the Redrocks were finally getting some national coverage. Except from the looks of things, all they were getting was torn apart.

  Gerald, the main personality and baseball analyst, was walking viewers through the game one inning at a time. He was just getting to Isaac stomping out to confront Jackson when the universe decided to really mess up her day and Seth stepped into her office. He didn’t say a word, just took a seat and settled in to watch.

  Once Isaac gave his “no comment” comment on screen, Harper clicked the mute button. The feelings of distrust swirling once again.

  “I like him.” Seth brushed his hand over his shirt.

  “Right—” Harper rolled her eyes. “You can’t stand him.”

  Seth tipped his head to the side, acknowledging that he had put that sentiment out there at the same time he was discrediting it. “He doesn’t take crap.”

  Harper’s arms flew open. “He’s gambling with my best pitcher.”

  “No, he’s managing a team.”

  Harper shook her head. “This isn’t some number that can be manipulated. A sore shoulder one night could mean he’s out for a month. Besides, we can’t afford a reputation as a team who runs their players into the ground.”

  Isaac regarded her thoughtfully. “Why are you letting Jackson run all over you?”

  Harper straightened her back, the sensation of being weak and not in control squiggling up her spine. “I’m not.” She lifted her chin, betraying a confidence she didn’t feel. “His agent is hinting at moving him to Seattle next season. I don’t have the bankroll to replace him with another big name and I need him to bring in the fans. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place and I’d told Isaac to keep him happy.”

  “How far are you willing to go to keep him?”

  “As far as it takes.”

  “Are you going to marry him, too?”

  “Shut up.” She glared.

  They looked at each other for a moment, and then they laughed, the tension between them evaporating like spilled soda in the desert sun. “You’re such a turd,” Harper said.

  “I’m a turd?” Seth’s hand splayed across his chest. “You got married without me.”

  Ouch. At the time, the marriage wasn’t much more than a contract. Now, with Logan and Zeek and Isaac and Seth, it was more like a family, like a real wedding had taken place. “Fine. We’re both turds.”

  “Just promise me you won’t get married again without me there to give you away.”

  Harper held up one hand. “I promise.”

  “Are you ready to head out? We can ride home together.”

  “I have some things to catch up on here, and I need to prepare my thoughts in case I’m cornered by a reporter.” One reporter in particular …

  “What are you going to say?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Good luck.” He smirked.

  “Don’t you have a multibillion-dollar corporation to run or something?”

  “I’ve got it covered.” He stood and buttoned his jacket, looking every bit the corporate executive and billionaire he was.

  Harper rolled her eyes, hating that he made it all look so easy. They said goodbye and she swiveled her chair so she could take in the field. The grounds crew was busy prepping for the second game in the series, which would start at three the next day. The bleachers were empty except for the cleanup crew, who started in the upper deck.

  Pamela was right: there was no greater bonding force than a marriage. If all that held Isaac to the team was his position as a manager, she’d have called him in and had it out over his actions today. But her sense of loyalty to him ran deeper than what happened on the field; she’d had his back when Seth first showed up, and the sense of fulfillment that provided ran deep.

  Instinctively she knew that whatever she said to Isaac could not be unsaid. Damage inflicted on their marriage through her words may or may not be repairable. Because of that, she wanted to calm down before she faced him. She only hoped that her sense of loyalty to him as a wife didn’t come back to bite her in the behind.

  14

  Isaac found Logan and Zeek playing video games in the VIP booth. They’d watched the game from there and decided to enjoy some of the amenities while Isaac finished up with the team and planned tomorrow’s lineup. They would watch a film in the late morning, have batting practice, and warm up before the fans filed in to find their seats.

  “Do you need a ride?” Isaac asked Zeek as they took the elevator down to the main floor where Thomas and the town car waited.

  “No, sir. My car is parked around the corner.” Isaac gave Logan a fist bump and Isaac a wave as he pushed open the glass doors.

  Feeling supremely grateful for this twenty-something-year-old who gave up a lot of his spare time to hang with Logan, Isaac said, “Thanks for all you do. I’m glad we’ve had the chance to get to know you.”

  Zeek smiled easily. “Me too.” He left with a wave.

  Thomas held the door open for Isaa
c and Logan. They climbed into the car, where Harper was already situated. Her laptop was open on the seat next to her and her phone was pressed to her ear. Soft classical music played through the speakers, just loud enough to soothe but not loud enough to interfere with Harper’s phone call. She hung up as they left the parking lot and asked Logan, “How did you like your first Redrocks game?”

  Logan grinned. “The VIP booth is pretty sick.”

  Harper chuckled. “The ribs I ordered were a hit, then?”

  Rubbing his stomach, Logan licked his lips. “So good. How come you didn’t come in to watch?”

  “I wanted to lay low today.”

  “Why?”

  “To let the new coach have some space.”

  Isaac nodded. He’d felt the distance Harper had placed between them like sand in his uniform. But knowing she had a reason lessoned the chaffing.

  “Coach had plenty of space.” Logan cuffed him in the shoulder. “Did you see him on the mound?”

  Harper looked down at her laptop. “I saw him.”

  Logan turned to Isaac. “When I saw you head out there, I was like, dang! That jerk’s in trou-ble.”

  Isaac’s neck warmed. He loosened his tie, his eyes cutting to Harper. Unable to read her expression, he nudged her knee. She met his eye, the same sense of distrust flowing out of her. Taking it like a punch in the gut, Isaac opened his mouth to explain himself, but Logan jumped in.

  “One time, when I first moved in with Mom and Dad …”

  Isaac whipped his head towards Logan. That was the first time he’d heard his son use the name “Mom” without a bit of malice. His son’s eyes were bright and his hands animated as he continued with the story about the teacher who had failed him on a spelling test when he’d started school the day of the test. “He walked into that classroom like he was going to tear Mr. Hamilton apart.”

  “Did he?” asked Harper.

  “He laid down the law, but Mr. Hamilton liked Dad.”