𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 | 𝐛. 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐳

𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 | 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧

I WATCH FROM THE CORNER OF MY EYE AS LENNON TALKS WITH A MAN IN A BLACK SUIT AT THE BAR TOP. I recognize him as a player from the Red Sox. Why is he here, in LA, all the way from Boston? Sure, it's a talent scout, but it's not like they don't have these in Boston too? And what is with his interest in Lennon? She's beautiful, yes, and had the greatest personality, but what about literally any other girl here? Why does he have to talk to Lennon? He has tan skin and black curly hair. His hair shines with gel and his lips curl into a smile as he takes Lennon's empty glass and trades it for another full one. I look to Cal, then to Clay, then Drew, and then Austin. My chest feels tight and I'm suddenly anxious. I usually control every situation I'm in, controlling who's there and what they're doing, who they're talking to. Now, all I can do is observe. I can't Force someone to stop talking to Lennon. She's an adult who can make her own choices. She might be happy talking to him. Is this how anxiety feels, overthinking everything to a tee, imagining the worst possible scenarios, feeling like you aren't in control? As a kid, I never dealt with anything like anxiety. There was never any reason to. I was safe and had a good group of friends. There was never any reason to overthink my choices and how they might affect people in the long run. Now, it's all I think about.
"Boys, group up, we need to talk." I say, waving them towards me. "This is important, guys, we might have a problem."
I set down my half full glass of gin and force my head to clear up. I need to stay alert to keep an eye on Lennon. The warm fuzzy sensation that once filled my head drains out of my system and my head is clear.
       "What's going on, Benny?" Gregory asks, looking around the venue at the party-goers and talent scouts. "What happened, if everything okay?"
         The only person that Lennon might affect on this team in a personal matter other than myself is Cal. He's been pining over her since he met her in the elevator that day. If anything happens to her, it might affect him directly.
"Someone from enemy territory is here and he's got eyes on Lennon. I don't know if it's an attraction to her, or her smarts, but either way it isn't good." I say.
       "Well, who is it? That way we can keep an eye out for him, maybe get him to back off." Mark asks.
       "Tyler Tate, Red Sox," Cal says sharply, leaning beside me, his eyes trailing to the bar top where they stand.
       Why does Tyler Tate want Lennon? Is it a scout for her skills? Or is it a personal attraction to her? Either way, the situation doesn't sit well with me. A gut feeling might not be the best way to determine if someone is a bad person, but I've already been predisposed to hate him just based on the team he plays for.
      "All eyes on Lennon tonight. You see anything out of the ordinary, any way he's touching her, what he says to her, how she physically appears, you let me know." I say. "Lennon is our good luck charm this season. Her game winning strategies are getting us closer and closer to the World Series. We owe it to her to at least be there when she needs us."
       The boys whisper now, keeping their voices down to avoid Tate from hearing us at the bar less than twenty feet away. Sure, I have history with Lennon so I'm inclined to want to help her... But this isn't a want, it's a need.
      "Lennon is our new Vincent. The loss of Vincent was tragic, and my heart goes out to his family, but Lennon is the new Vincent. Lennon is a friend who comes over to talk to you and congratulated you on every win, and when you lose, tells you that this is a minor hiccup in your career's timeline. She's the all-ears listener who allows you to complain endlessly about what you did wrong without telling you to shut up or calm down, and the friend who is kind enough to help you perfect your game with the constructive criticism we all deserve. We owe it to Lennon to protect her, even if she acts like she doesn't need it. Like it or not, she's become a good luck charm, colleague, and friend to this team. And we're going to treat her that way."
        The boys nod, smiling at me. They spread out in groups of one or two to different areas of the venue. Cal approaches me, an eyebrow raised as he looks at me.
        "What do you think Tate is here to do? Why do you think he has eyes on Lennon, and what are you prepared to do to protect her if it comes to that point?" He asks.
        I approach the bar, nodding to the bar tender, an eyebrow raised as I grab my wallet from the inside pocket of my jacket.
        "Club Soda please, no lime." I say, sliding a five to them.
         They take the money and fill my glass as I wait. I slip my wallet back into the interior pocket of my jacket, acutely aware of the fact that Lennon and Tyler Tate stand beside one another at the bar, talking to one another less than ten feet away from me.
          "Two more please, thanks," Tate says to the bar tender.
            "I really shouldn't, I'm not much of a drinker," Lennon says softly.
              "Oh come on, it is a party after all, right?" He asks.

* * * * *

Tyler Tate takes Lennon's empty glass and replaces it with another full one. This will be her third drink in less than an hour. Lennon isn't someone to drink much. Sure, she made a joke back at the bar on her first night, but I don't think she was really serious. She had always told me how much she hated alcohol. But, Tyler keeps insisting. So, she drinks. Her face is flushed and her eyes look heavy. She stumbles over her feet, steadying herself by grabbing his upper arm. He wraps an arm around her waist and walks her out of the room, further into the hotel. I look at Cal, an eyebrow raised, then the rest of the boys. They all have the same concerned look on their face. Cal nods, telling me to go. I grab the baseball bat I had propped up beside me and follow them into the back of the hotel, the gut feeling of dread becoming more and more intense.