So when I sit up, holding the sheet to my chest, and the silence makes it clear my apartment really is empty, why does my heart ache?
I grab my sleep shirt off the floor and tug it over my head before padding out of my bedroom in search of coffee. But a note tacked to my front door makes me pause in my tracks.
Hurricane,
Thanks for a spectacular night. I thought about waking you up to say goodbye but figured it was better this way.
Take care ofyourself,
Brady
I should throw the note away. It’s not like I’m ever actually going to see him again.
But something has me folding the note and tucking it into my wallet instead, right next to the creased photo of me and Mom the summer before she got sick, when we went camping in the Rocky Mountains.
Guess I’m feeling sentimental or something. Because this note and the memories of last night are coming with me to England.
3
BRADY
“Okay,Dixie, if you can maybe hold the bat on your shoulder, and Cameron, how ’bout a smile, buddy?”
I glance down at the kid standing between me and Cal Prescott, another player on the Cedar Creek Thunder, a baseball team in the Pacific Northwest Independent League. As of a few months ago, I’m one of their starting pitchers.
Poor kid looks so nervous, I’m worried he might puke. My younger brother Barrett gets like that whenever he’s the centre of attention, so I recognize the signs.
This photo shoot with the local Little League T-ball team is just for some press stuff. It should be fun and exciting for the kids, not terrifying. But this kid is so small, I’m not sure how old he could possibly be, and the adults I saw walk up with him are standing behind a group of Thunder staff members. Maybe he’d feel better if he could see them, but I don’t know if that’s possible right now.
Still, if this kid doesn’t relax, this photo is gonna havea very different headline thanLocal Ball Players Support Little League.
Ignoring the photographer, who’s still trying to stage the photo, I drop down into a crouch.
“Hey bud. Cameron, right?” I speak softly, calmly, the exact same way I used to talk Barrett down when his nerves would spike.
“Did you know elephants can’t jump? That means you and I can jump higher than an elephant.”
Wide eyes turn to face me as his nose scrunches up slightly. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nod. “Crazy, huh?”
The kid blinks solemnly.
“I know there’s a lot of people here, all of them talking and stuff. But the only thing you gotta do is hold the bat up and look at the camera like it’s the ball, sitting on top of the tee, waiting for you to smash it. Can you do that? Can you picture the camera as a baseball you’re gonna hit?”
Slowly his head moves up and down. I lift my fist up and he bumps it lightly. “Cool, dude. Just make sure you picture the camera as the ball and not the photographer’s head.” I wink as he giggles.
Standing up, I tip my head at the photographer. “Let’s do this.”
Half an hour later, the photo shoot’s done. After one final fist bump with Cameron, I’m free to go.
I walk off the brightly lit field and into the much dimmer hallway that leads from the dugout into the rest of the facility.
There’s still the faint smell of fresh paint in parts ofthe building, courtesy of the massive renovations that happened these last few months. When I first arrived in town last November, there was a lot that was under construction, but now, four and a half months later, the facility is mostly complete.
Pushing through the door to the locker room, I head for the cubby with my still shiny nameplate above it, and change into my workout clothes. Then, grabbing a sports drink from the small fridge on my way out, I head to the adjoining weight room.
I need to get in a gym session today, and just like the last several workouts, I plan on going hard.
