Page 33 of The Way We Swing Back

“I only told you.”

“Let’s keep it that way, dude,” I said, shaking my head at the unintentionally funniest person I knew. I wasn’t even sure Tanner could make me laugh like Gavin could, especially not after the talk I’d had with Coach.

When we got back to the Quinns’ house, I headed to the bathroom and typed out a text to Tanner.

We suck. Gavin and I want to know if you’ll run your workouts again this summer.

I put my phone on the toilet seat and jumped in the shower, the warm water washing off the sweat that had accumulated throughout the school day and while I’d sat on the bench during the game. As I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, a text message notification sounded.

I wiped my hands on the towel and grabbed my phone then ducked back underneath the water.

About time you asked.

I grinned, knowing he was as excited as I was. Hopefully my shoulder would be ready to roll by the time he got back from college.

Chapter 16

Iwalked through the clean spring air into the PT building, knowing what today might mean. Nate waited for me at the entrance, a small smile on his face, the same hope in his eyes I had in my heart.

“Ready?” he said.

“Let’s do it.”

He put me through a stress test for the next thirty minutes, throwing every exercise known to man at me. A month ago I couldn’t hold a bat at shoulder height for a minute. Now my shoulder hadn’t hurt in weeks; instead, the pain had been replaced by a growing strength. I could feel it.

When we finished the last exercise—an extension with armbands—I tried to hold back the smile until I got the actual news.

“Well?”

Nate took a second. The longest second I’d endured in a year. “Cleared.”

“FUCK YEAH,” I said. “Wait, sorry.”

Nate laughed at me. “No. Be excited. You’ve worked hard.”

“Thanks, man.”

“But let’s be clear. You’re still limited. Twenty-five throws a day for now. You can hit whenever you want. You still need to come in once a week so we can see how you’re progressing. If you have any pain at all, you need to tell me immediately. No faking it.”

“Right, right,” I said, bouncing on my toes. “Absolutely.”

“Mrs. Quinn gave me your coach’s number. The three of us will be on the same page. And I’m telling Gavin to watch out for you, too.”

“You’re the boss, Nate,” I said. I wanted to hug him. “Thank you.” I hesitated for a second, the excitement of the day getting to me. “Do you actually think I’m capable of doing this someday?”

Nate gave me the once-over. “Easton, you’re a lot like I was at your age. Talk to me sometime if you’re ever serious.”

“Thanks again, man,” I said, giving him a fist bump before nearly running out the door.

When I got outside, I actually did run—a borderline sprint, one and a half miles to the Quinns’ house, the cool, nearly summer breeze smacking against my face. The sun shone, clearly aware I needed to be outside today; the sweet drip of sweat pouring down my face had never felt so good.

I barreled into the Quinns’ house, barely slowing as I took the stairs two at a time. “Gavin!” I said, getting to his door, my breath raspy. “Want to play catch?”

Gavin lay in his bed but only for a second. “You’re cleared?”

“Yes, sir!”

Gavin jumped up, his white shorts and Cardinals shirt reminding me of the colors of a baseball, and followed me out.