You knew this was going to happen when you took this gig. It’ll be a hundred times worse when the press finds out you’re here. He ran his hand over his hair in what was becoming a habitual manner, still unused to the short, close cut after over a decade of shoulder-length or longer. It had been an impulsive, symbolic gesture at the time of his surgery, to rid himself of the trademark hair while unable to play ball. But Aaron hadn’t realized at the time just how anonymous it would make him. He’d gone from unable to leave his house without being recognized, to having fellow players and big fans have no idea who he was. While he didn’t regret cutting it off exactly, he wondered if he’d ever regain his identity. And whether it even mattered to anyone besides himself. Teri recovered first of the three of them. “Well, it’s wonderful to meet you…Aaron.” There was a very slight inflection trailing at the end, as if she was questioning the right name to use. “Yeah. It’s pretty much just the media and other ballplayers that call me Hank.
