I shake my head, clapping him back. "No, I know… you're right."
Levi's head jerks to the side as he lifts the bat and points it at me. "What was that?" he asks.
I sigh loudly. "You're right," I repeat.
He leans in, his free hand cupped around his ear. "I'm sorry, one more time. Ijust—"
"Give me that," I say with a roll of my eyes. "And enjoy it. It doesn't happen very often." I walk into the cage, and restart the machine. Levi takes his spot behind me as we switch roles.
"So, have you thought any more about coaching?" he asks, gripping the metal.
The whirring of the machine picks up, and I lean into my stance, waiting for after the pitch to respond. When it spits the ball out, I step into my swing, sending it into the back fence with a thud.
"Honestly?" I finally answer. "I have, and as much sense as it makes—and as much opportunity as I'm sure there would be—I just don't see myself doing it."
Levi laughs. "Working with Holloway putting you off?"
I shake my head, connecting my bat with the next pitch and sending it behind me. "It's not even that. It's just, I think I need to step off the diamond for a while. Maybe not away from sports in general, but I'm not sure I'll be able to fully let go if I'm still on the field."
Levi thinks briefly, then nods. "That makes sense. I started coaching because I wasn't ready to never touch the ice again—my time was cut too short. But you've had one hell of a run out there. Maybe it'd be good for you to take a break."
"We'll see." I swing harder than I need to at the next ball, that familiar anxiety about the future rising to the surface. But this is why we come here, Levi and I. Sometimes you just need your brother, some nostalgia, and a shitty batting cage to let off some steam.
A silence settles between us that I didn't intend for—either Levi giving me space or…
"Hey, so what's been going on with you?" I ask, realizing that I've now monopolized most of the conversation withmyshit.
He blows a breath between his lips, and the metal rattles behind me as if he's leaning on it more. "Alex keeps talking about a baby."
The ball flies from the machine and right past my bat, but I don't move. Instead, I freeze that way until I can manage to twist slowly toward my brother. "Say that again."
He purses his lips together and nods. "Yeah, it's crazy, but I don't know, man… I think I'm ready."
"Yeah?" I ask, my voice full of the same joy that I'm feeling for my brother.
He shrugs, and I drop the bat, racing toward the opening. Levi pushes off the fence, readying himself for me when I bound toward him, my arms open. "That's incredible, man," I say, wrapping him up. He hugs me back, and I squeeze just a little tighter. "Wow."
"Don't get too excited," he warns as I pull away. "Hasn't happened yet."
"No," I say. "But it will."
Levi's brows raise as he inhales deeply.
"A baby," I laugh. "I can't believe it."
He shakes his head and chuckles. "Right? Things are really changing around here."
"Yeah," I say softly, thinking about him and Alex and me and Ruthie.
About baseball.
Abouther.
I've never been afraid of change before. I've always been the guy who saw the bright side when everyone else felt the weight of the shift. But I think maybe that's because I've always had two constants to ground me. In fact, the last time I felt this orbital tilt was when both of those things came into my life at once.
My baseball career had just started taking off. I was still young, my dream finally coming true, and I was gearing up to take on everything that comes with being the new rising rookie—on and off the field. Then, Ruthie came along, and she became my priority, grounding me even then—the screaming-crying, diaper-wearing, how-the-hell-do-I-raise-her-on-my-own kind of reminder that baseball is more than wins and fame.
That's when it happened—my twin pillars took shape, brick-by-brick. The first time Mack took her from my arms and somehow stopped the crying that I couldn't. The first time Ruiz brought his daughter to hold mine in the stands. The time my team cleared out a room in the facility just for Ruthie, decked out with a pack 'n play and monitor so she could nap while I practiced, knowing she was never far away.
