The Dugout(95)

Grief clogs my throat and I reach for my water bottle and take a sip. Okay, I need to focus. Meeting first, then I can give all my attention and energy to Carson.

Once collected, I make my way through the training facility to the back offices where both Sean and Rian are waiting for me at the small round table in the office they share. When they see me, they quickly jump to their feet and give me a hug.

“How’s Carson?” Rian asks, concern etched in his brow.

We all take a seat and I set the folders down, trying not to get emotional. I should have known they’d ask. I let my family know about Carson’s dad through our group text, and they’ve been checking in every once in a while, Cory more than anyone because he felt a connection with Carson. He’s been sending food to the nursing staff as well as food to Carson’s dad’s room to make sure he was eating.

“Um, I’m really not sure, still haven’t heard anything from him,” I say, trying to make it past the lump in my throat. Two weeks and nothing; it doesn’t sit well in my stomach. Not one bit.

“Still? Shit.” Sean grips the table and leans back in his chair. “Is that like him?”

“Not really, but then again, his world was rocked two weeks ago. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking. He already lost his mom, now his dad. It can’t be easy. I plan on going to visit him after this, at least just trying to be there for him. Which I’m grateful you guys could fit me in before your big trip to California for the sports training expo. Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” Rian answers, his voice changing to a business tone. “We have quite a few meetings with some sponsors that would drastically help with the new build. Top-of-the-line equipment from the best, and I think Sean’s drooling at the prospect of carrying some of the equipment in the facility.”

“If anything, it’s a new way to torture our athletes.” He smiles wickedly and then nods at my folders. “What do you have for us, Milly? What’s this all about?”

Here we go.

I spend the next hour going over my proposed plan, holding my composure—barely—whenever I recalled Carson’s response when he saw it. I wish he was here. I show them my plans for their facility, the expansion they can make if they purchase the empty warehouse next to the building, and the profit margin from creating a new branch to their business. I give them my investment plans and my idea of not wanting to rent space, but wanting to be a partner.

I explain my dreams, how I want to coach but also want to offer a new wave of coaching to athletes, a one-stop shop for baseball. I even worked out a plan for a shop on the premises as well, where we would get discounts from sponsors to carry their equipment, but we’d only take brands we’re confident stamping our names on. I clarify that this wouldn’t be an event space, a place to swing a bat because you want to go to the batting cages. This would be a coach and player relationship facility where you work closely on an individualized training plan. Chicago is the perfect place to start the indoor facility, because not only will players be able to train year round and avoid being chapped in the ass from the winds off Lake Michigan, but why not take advantage of the fact that baseball is a huge aspect of the city, and families move here just so their children have a chance to train with some of the best.

I included a list of names of coaches who would join the co-op and rent out cages to practice in with their players, as long as we have a good quality space, which I promise we would, because if anything the Potters are always meticulous with the quality we provide.

Once I finish explaining everything, I sit back and watch as both my brothers talk quietly together, looking over the picture renderings and growth charts. It feels like ten minutes goes by before they set the folders down and smile brightly at me.

“I think I speak for both of us when I say, we’re fucking excited you’re our sister,” Rian says. “This is goddamn brilliant, and I’m not just saying that because you’re family. If you were a random person who came off the street with this idea, I’d be saying the same damn thing.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Sean says, flipping to the financials. “But your investment?” He shakes his head, and my heart drops. “This isn’t necessary.”

“I agree. We don’t need your money.”

“That’s not negotiable.” I straighten my shoulders. “If you want my idea, you take my money with it. I want us to be partners.”

“You don’t need to invest to be partners, Milly.”

“If I wasn’t your sister, you’d want an investor, so set aside the family card and see what I’m offering you. A chance to expand but not spend all your money. I want a piece of this and I want it fairly.”

“We built this from the ground up,” Sean says, with a smile. “You want to step in and become a partner all of a sudden? Who do you think you are? A strong, passionate woman with some of the best ideas I’ve ever seen?”

I can’t help it, I crack and smile. “Only because I’ve had the best support system growing up, telling me I can do anything I want and be anything I want.”

“And you lived up to that.” Rian stands and pulls me up by the arm, then wraps his arms around me and brings me into a big hug. Sean comes up from behind and sandwiches me in.

“This isn’t very businesslike,” I say, my mouth smooshed against Rian’s chest.