Page 73 of Off the Trail

I put my hands on my hips. It’s been hours since lunch at the construction site, since I had a second to stop and think. I’m not far from my apartment. I should go there, make sure the place is still standing. I need to call Blaze—only it’s late.

My silence sends Jett into a fit of handwringing. “You’re our lucky charm, Shawn. You have to be there. You know not to mess with something that’s working. It’s game seven, man. Our last chance.”

Baseball players are notoriously superstitious, as I well know. But I’ve never been the rabbit’s foot before.

I rock back on my heels. I can’t say no. But I wasn’t expecting any of this. It feels uncomfortable, like wearing someone else’s underwear.

“I’ll be here,” I say eventually.

“Yes! And I’ll get you in the dugout.”

“No,” I say quickly. That would inspire way too much speculation and take focus off the game itself. “That’s okay. I’ll watch from back here again. Don’t mess with what’s working.”

He nods. “All right. Hey, you sure you’re okay? How are your folks? Your dad?”

I’ve been thinking about him a lot since I entered the ball field gates. And I want to tell Jett about Blaze. But my friend needs to concentrate. “Let’s catch up after you win tomorrow, okay?”

He grins. “You got a deal.”

It’s wild to be able to use my phone again anytime I want. I spend a moment looking around for a landline to call a cab, something I haven’t done in twenty years. But then I remember I can just use the app on my phone to order a car to take me to my apartment. Or, better yet, I can go on foot.

The walk from the stadium to the slick steel and glass tower I live in is far different from the walk from my cabin to Blaze’s place, though it’s about the same distance.

Walking around Sanctuary Lake is quiet, except for birds, insects, and the occasional roar of a car engine in the distance. Now, engines are all I hear, plus the cries and calls of people leaving the game, streaming out of the stadium to go out and celebrate the home team’s win. I pull my cap over my eyes, keep my head down, and walk.

I don’t have the keys to my penthouse, but it doesn’t matter. The lobby has twenty-four seven security, and the doorman on duty lets me into my apartment without asking questions or even congratulating me on the game.

My place is quiet at last, but it’s a sterile, artificial quiet that makes my skin crawl. It’s stale, too, a far cry from the fresh air I’m used to at the lake. I feel like I’m a visitor on another planet, one I used to be familiar with. But now all I can do is notice how dull and lifeless everything is. I don’t even have any houseplants.

I have privacy, though, so I scroll down my contacts and hit the listing for my dad. He’s a night owl, so hopefully he’s up. He doesn’t answer, just like he hasn’t answered the half dozen times I’ve tried him since I was cut from the team.

Enough is enough.

I call my mom next, and she picks up on the third ring. “Shawn? It’s late. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine. Can you pass the phone to Dad, please? Tell him I’m not hanging up until he talks to me.”

“Give me a second.” More like a minute passes before I hear my dad’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Good game tonight, huh?”

I’m flooded with conflicted emotions—I’ve missed him and his support, the effortless way he always believed in me from day one. But I’m angry he’s kept himself away from me, like I don’t deserve his love if I’m not playing ball.

“It was a good game,” I say tightly. “I was even there, watching from the locker room.” I feel a little cruel getting his hopes up only to dash them, but I need to get through to him.

“You were there? They come to their senses and bring you back?” He sounds ridiculously happy.

“No, Dad. I came as a favor to Jett, that’s all. But I’m not a Laurel anymore. I’m not a professional baseball player anymore. I need you to understand that.”

There’s a brief silence. “Maybe another team⁠—”

“No. That’s not happening. Look, for a while I thought Callie would call and tell me it had all been a mistake. That my career would be handed back to me on a silver platter. It took a car crash and a trip to Maine to wake me up and realize that’s not going to happen. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You have some good years left in you,” Dad says stubbornly.

“I have my entire life left, Dad! And it’s okay if baseball isn’t going to be part of it anymore.” I take a deep breath, because the thing is, I believe that now. “I’ve been working on building something new. A new foundation for the rest of my life. And I really hope you can be a part of who I am now. I don’t want to lose you entirely over this.”

My dad, never a man of many words, stays quiet, and I don’t know what else I can say. Maybe it’s not going to be enough.