Page 3 of The Plan

“I highly advise that you don’t quit PT.” I also have some advice for her, starting with getting the fuck out of my way and ending with getting the fuck out of Los Angeles.

“Trust me, Sire. I despise you, too, but I would’ve thought you’d be a bit more mature about this, considering this is your career on the line.” If never seeing her again also means I might not be able to play anymore, that's a chance I’m willing to take.

She must’ve read my mind somehow because she scoffs and moves to the side. Just as I’m nearing the exit, I hear her voice again. “I have to inform you that you’re leaving and quitting physical therapy against my medical opinion.”

“Good thing your medical opinion doesn’t mean shit to me anymore.” A small part of me wishes I wouldn’t leave, the part that wants to play in a few weeks, but I leave and slam the door on my way out.

Speeding down the highway, I get the rush of adrenaline I need that I can’t get from something else. I don’t know why I let her get me like this. Why is she even here? The speedometer hits ninety miles per hour. Of all places, she just had to work in LA.One hundred, one hundred and ten.

“Ugh, that little shit!” I slow down and call August on speaker. I think he isn’t going to answer, but after the fifth ring, he does.

“Hey, what’s up?” Immediately, I start ranting, but he interrupts me. “I’m just kidding, man. This is my voicemail. Don’t bother calling back. I didn’t answer for a reason.” He laughs, and I aggressively end the call. I always fall for that stupid shit.

Getting out on my exit, I call back. “Hey, what's up?” I don’t answer him right away this time. “Hello?” Okay, it's really him.

“You knew.” I’m kicking his ass for not telling me as soon as I see him.

“I know a lot of things, Sire. You gotta be more specific than that.” He sounds so fucking happy, and that’s about to change. This is not the time for him to be playing games with me.

“You knew she was back,” I say through gritted teeth.

He’s quiet for a few seconds, and then a soft sigh sounds through the speaker. “Okay, to be fair, I only found out last night when Hazel said—”

I hang up on him and speed home. I pull into our garage a few minutes later, and then I’m in the elevator. With every floor I climb, I can feel my blood boiling more and more.

I step out of the elevator and make a beeline for his door. With it being unlocked like always, I walk right in. As soon as he sees me, his hands go up, surrendering, and he starts backing up. “I was going to tell you… It just slipped my mind. I—” My fist connects with his jaw.

I hold my arm and suck in a breath from the pain. I shouldn’t be punching faces as hard as his if I plan on quitting physical therapy, but I don’t care. “Bullshit! You remembered this morning and still didn’t tell me.” He grabs his jaw and moves it a bit but doesn’t make a move to retaliate, so I push his chest, and he just takes it.

“I’m not going to hit you, Sire.” His voice is so faint, and it pisses me off even more how calm he is. I push him again, needing to release all this built-up anger, but he just stands there, stumbling back maybe an inch.

“Fuck you, August!” I turn around and storm out.

“You need to go back.”I don’t need to do shit, and I’m not going back there. Ever.

“Stop telling me what to do.” I keep doing my laps around the field, and Jackson follows behind me. He seriously needs to fuck off because I’m having a good workout, and he’s ruining it.

“I’m your agent—that’s my job.” No, it isn’t. I reach the dugout and grab my water bottle while taking a sip. I look down at Jackson when he leans over, out of breath. He only followed me for three laps. You would think he’s in good shape from his body, but he clearly isn’t.

“Your job is to manage, and do other agent things, not treat me like I’m Isabelle.”

He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and holds his hand out, I’m assuming for a sip of my water. I hold my water bottle out to him, but I squirt a bit in his face before he can grab it.

“You looked hot, but that was because you also knew she was back and booked my appointment with her anyway.” He wipes his face but doesn’t deny it. Jackson went to college with us, and while he doesn’t know why Vidia and I broke things off, he knows I can’t stand her.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it. “Fuck off, I’m not going back.”

He chuckles as he shakes his head. “My daughter is more mature than you, so I guess I do have to treat you like you’re her,” he replies to my previous comment on Isabelle, but I highly disagree, considering she's four and threw apple sauce on me last week. I may have thrown some back, but that's not the point. Besides, she started it.

“You’ve missed two appointments, Sire.” How could I forget? He called me the night before and the morning of both appointments. I grab my bag and walk out of the dugout.

“First of all, stop rescheduling. I told you I’m not doing PT anymore. I don’t even need it.”

He follows me out and walks beside me as I walk off the field. “You do need it, considering your arm isn’t one hundred percenthealed, and your first game is in a month. Unless you want to sit out, grow up and go to physical therapy.” His attitude is not needed. He’s being dramatic.

“You’re not even my coach, Jackson. Plus, I’m the team captain and the lead pitcher. There’s no way in hell I’m sitting out our first game.” I sound like I’m trying to convince both him and myself, but I shake the feeling off. I’m playing our first game.

I reach my car and throw my bag into my trunk, but he unfortunately decides to continue harassing me. “Get your head out of your arrogant ass. Your coach is not going to let you play if a doctor doesn’t sign off on it whether you’re the star player for the Los Angeles Dodgers or not.”I am not arrogant.

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