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I rap my knuckles against Coach’s door and hear a loud, “Come in!”
I walk in and stand in front of his desk. He reaches out and shakes my hand, then motions for me to sit. I shed my jacket and backpack and set them in the chair next to me. I should lean back, but I can’t. I’m on the literal edge of my seat. I want to know what’s going on.
“Aaron, I’m glad you could meet me today. I have an offer for you. I would’ve thrown it out on Wednesday when we talked, but I had to make sure I was allowed to.”
Allowed to?I’m confused. And intrigued. “Okay.”
He laughs. “Sorry. I’m being cagey. So let me be direct. Our assistant pitching coach is leaving in two weeks. He recently got married, his wife got a killer job on the West Coast, so they’re moving. I want you to take over for him. I’ve worked with a lot of coaches as colleagues and when I played ball, and I can tell you, most of them would kill for an eye like you have. You see problems even the best players and coaches miss. And, depending on how PT goes, there might be a possibility of you pitching again. If you wanted to. What do you say?”
My mouth is still hanging open.Holy shit. I would get to coach? And maybe play again, but coaching?
“Yes.” I didn’t even realize the word was coming out of my mouth until after I said it.
He nods in satisfaction. “Part of me was worried you’d say no.”
“Not a chance in hell.” Something rushes through me.Pride.I forgot how this feels. To feel like I was built to do something.
“Good. Now, I’m working on getting everything set up, but I can’t officially start paying you for the coaching job until he leaves. Still, I’d like you to shadow him and work with the pitchers as often as possible.” He smiles. “Practice starts next week. Four to five-thirty in the afternoon, Monday through Friday. I expect your best performance.”
“You’ll have it.” I stand up, feeling more confident than I have in months. I might not know where I’m going academically, but this is a huge step. I always knew I wanted to coach someday. I figured maybe an assistant coach for middle or high school or coaching my future kids’ teams, but this? I could see this being a career. I want thisfor me. God, when was the last time I thought that? Damn, this feels good.
“Good. I’ll see you then.” He extends his hand to me.
I firmly shake it, then grab my stuff. Halfway to the door, I turn back. “Hey Coach, how much does this assistant coaching gig pay?”
He laughs. “We’ll talk about that Monday.”
“See you then.”
I walk out the door in amazement. Leaning against the wall, I grab my phone. I’m excited to tell the guys and my parents, but the first person I want to share this with is Rae.
Me: Hey, just had my meeting. Meet me at the dorm?
Rae: I just finished class. I’ll be there soon.
Rae: Was it good?
Me: It was.
Rae: !! See you soon.
I smile and start walking. If she’s meeting me, I better get my ass back to the dorm. As I slog across campus, I think of someone else I want—or maybe need—to tell.
I push a couple of buttons on my phone and press it to my ear.
“Hello?” Jamie’s voice is tight.
“You still pissed at me?”
He grumbles. “I don’t know. Why are you calling?”
I heave out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Jame. I know I haven’t been the guy you know lately. I haven’t been what I deserve to be for myself or anyone else.”
He clears his throat. “Okay.”
I smile. He’s wearing down. “Anyway, I’m calling because—well, you can’t tell anyone this yet, deal?”
“Fine.”
