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“Don’t worry about me,” I say, jumping off the treadmill. “You know the second I’m on that field, my focus is on the game.”
Ross nods, but doesn’t say anything else, just heads for the showers. I know he knows me and knows there’s a lot of shit that could rattle me. But when I’m behind the plate, everything else fades away. It’s one of the beautiful things about this game.
It’s been my escape my entire life. When everything else is a struggle, I know I can depend on baseball to make sense. It’s always come easy to me, second nature. Baseball doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care if you’re rich or poor, black, brown, or white. It doesn’t matter if you came from an affluent private school or a small town in Texas.
If you’ve got what it takes, it accepts you.
But it does take its toll and unfortunately, I won’t be able to play this game for much longer. Even though I just said my knee is feeling pretty good, a slight twinge streaks through it as I make my way to the showers. If I said I’m not worried about the future of my career, that would be a lie.
I think about it all the time.
Even when I’m not, it’s still there in the back of my mind.
We all want to play forever, but that’s not possible, especially not for me, and accepting that my retirement is probably coming sooner than I’d like is not something I’m ready to accept just yet. So, I’m thankful for ice baths and team doctors who know how to make me better and keep me in the game.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GREER
“That was another great game,”Sophie says, nonchalantly as we settle into a couple of Adirondack chairs by the fire pit. It’s lit, but not because we need the heat, that’s for ambiance only. But it’s either this or the pool, where half a dozen Revelers are engaged in a belly-flop competition.
The unspoken part she won’t say is the Revelers have been on a nine-game winning streak, but we can’t speak of that or the postseason. If any of the guys were to overhear us, they’d flip out.
I’m even super cautious with my interview questions right now, trying to focus on each individual player's performance and the positive aspects of each game, without mentioning win streaks or all of the championship rumors swarming the team.
“And you were kickass, per usual,” she adds, reaching across to clink her wine glass with mine.
A few of the guys are playing cornhole in the yard behind us, but no one is in our immediate space and it feels good to have a moment of peace and quiet with my bestie.
“I’m sure Lagniappe would’ve been better, but I’m glad you came over.”
“Me too,” I tell her, leaning my head to the side as I block the late evening sun. “This is nice.”
Sophie gives me a soft smile, but her eyes are appraising. “Are you happy?”
I bark out a laugh, nearly choking on my wine. “Way to lead with the hard questions. Maybe you should be the reporter.”
She laughs with me, but doesn’t give up. “I know you’ve had a lot thrown at you recently, which is definitely enough to rock anyone, even you, but I don’t know… it seems like there’s something else going on… something you’re not telling me.”
“Why would you say that?” I ask as my neck gets hot. Any time the tables are turned and I’m the one being scrutinized, the temperature seems to rise.
“Best friend intuition,” Sophie says with a shrug. “Is that narcissistic dipshit bothering you again?”
Holding my wine glass up, I stare through it to the fire and get a little mesmerized by the beauty of it. Normally, I tell Sophie everything, but I haven’t told her about the emails or the note on my car. It honestly felt trivial until now, but… “It’s not him,” I start, realizing I need to tell someone and Sophie is a good place to start. “I’ve been getting some weird emails at work.”
Just saying it sounds stupid. She knows I get stupid emails all the time, so what’s different about this time?
“What kind of emails?” Sophie asks, sitting up in her seat.
I shrug. “They started off just being random and kind of… nonsensical. But last week, I got one that kind of freaked me out,” I admit. I lower my voice because I don’t want anyone to overhear this part. “The same day I got that email, I also found a note on my car.”
“Like a threat?” Sophie asks, her voice doing the exact opposite and growing in volume. “Is someone threatening you?”
“Shhh,” I say, reaching over to cover her mouth. “Keep it down. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”
That feels like a lie, even to myself, because my gut instinct is telling me it’s more than just a random email.
“But last night, I was in my apartment and thought I heard something at my door,” I whisper. “When I went to check the peephole, there wasn’t anyone outside. For a second, I thought it might have been Whit coming back to get a few things… I don’t know,” I say, letting out a deep breath. “That’s why I called you late last night.”
