Page 140 of The Fall Classic

“Come on, Fischer,” Jake says, sounding almost sincere. “You all right?”

I’m hot and annoyed and really want Jake off my back. “I left a girl back in Mullet Ridge, okay?” I say, my eyes lost somewhere in my locker. “I don’t know how to balance baseball and a relationship at the same time.”

Jake doesn’t say anything at first, so I turn in time to see him throw his head back in laughter. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What is wrong with you, man?” I ask, wanting to punch him right in the mouth.

But Jake is still laughing, and now he’s looking around like he’s trying to find someone. “Is your girlfriend here right now?”

“No,” I say. “That’s the problem.”

Jake snorts and starts throwing on clothes from his locker. “No, that’s the solution.”

“Wow, that’s helpful.”

“I’m serious.” He throws on a shirt. “Think about it.”

It’s been ten days since I got back to Chicago—well, Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Louis, and now back in Chicago. I’ve pitched twice, and I did well enough the first time and not so well the second. I gave up three runs with a two-run lead.

No doubt Jake’s still thinking about it. I know I am.

The Firebirds still made the playoffs, I tell myself. We’ve even had a few days to rest during the Wild Card series.

“Sure, Jake. Her not being here is the solution. I’ll think about that,” I tell him.

He’s already changed into his shorts and is grabbing his shoes now, and I’m still standing in front of my locker, my arm taped up, like I don’t know what the next step is in hitting the showers.

“You know, when I was coming up, rookies knew their place,” Jake says.

“Does that include you?” I ask.

He looks up from his laces and gives me a grin sharp enough to cut through any crap. “Other rookies.”

I snort and peel the KT tape off my arm. “You know, maybe it’s time we put the past behind us.”

“What past?” Jake asks, standing fully upright and folding his arms at me. He’s maybe an inch or two taller than I am and he can lift more than I can, but we’re close enough to the same build that I wouldn’t be intimidated by him if not for his “I will mess you up if you look at me wrong” energy.

“You know. You and Scottie and my brother …”

“So?”

I look around, making sure no one’s close enough to hear. “I know what was really going on there.”

Jake shrugs, his arms still folded. “Yeah, so?”

“So …” I stand back up. “You made my brother’s life kind of a living hell.”

“Bro, are you still holding on to something that got resolved last year?”

“It was six months ago.”

Jake blows his lips out. “Please. That’s a lifetime ago. I once got traded three times in six months. This is why you don’t understand that your girlfriend not being here is the solution. You gotta learn how to walk down the road you’re on, brother.”

And with that, Jake walks out of the locker room, leaving me to drop back down to the bench like a deflated balloon.

How in the world did Jake Rodgers get the better of me in a conversation?

All around me, guys are talking, joking around. A couple are getting chippy with each other.