Chapter 45 Shane
FORTY-FIVE
SHANE
There is no amount of caffeine that will make me feel human again. I stare into my cubby. And stare.
“Michaels!” A hand slaps across the back of my head.
I blink and turn.
Paulie’s sweeping his gaze over me, brow tight. “Dude. You’re dead on your feet.”
I scrub a hand down my face and groan. We’re a few hours from game time, and I am struggling.
It’s not just the lack of sleep last night from driving down to see Jed.
I haven’t been sleeping well for the past week.
I was either an emotional wreck and not sleeping, drunk off my ass, or staying up late helping Jed pack.
My energy stores are empty. The ball is going to come at me and hit me straight in the face.
Reflexes? Reaction time? What are those things?
“You need to go to bed early tonight. As soon as the game’s over, Paulie and I are forcing you to bed,” East says.
I’m already shaking my head. I glance around the room to make sure no one’s too close. “I want to video call JJ. It’s only his second game.”
“No. Veto,” Paulie says firmly. “He’ll understand. If he needs someone, Shelby’s on it.”
He taps his phone and shoves the screen in my face. There’s a screenshot of a text conversation between Shelby and Jed.
Shelby
I’m only a call or text away. My place is fifteen minutes from your hotel.
Jed
Thanks, Shelbs.
Shelby
Of course. I’m here, no matter the time.
Don’t be stubborn and pretend like you’re okay. I’ll know.
Jed
Wouldn’t dream of it. Not facing your wrath if you were to find out.
Shelby
Smart man.
Jed
I really appreciate it. I mean it.
Shelby
You’re one of us, Jed. We’re here for each other, no matter what.
Emotion rises in my throat, and I blow out a breath. Blub. This crew. Good fucking people.
“Thanks,” I manage.
I don’t know how I got so lucky to have them in my life. I still don’t like it, though. I vowed I would always be there for him. But the guys are right, I’m not functioning right now.
East squeezes my shoulder. “He’d feel worse knowing the state you’re in. It’s one night.”
I search East’s blue eyes. He’s done this for years with Maddy. My gaze flits to Paulie’s. Pauls, too, with Shelby.
“You get used to it,” Easton says quietly. “It’s always hard. It never gets easier. But you get used to it.”
“And when you do see each other?” Paulie says. “It’s so much sweeter for it.”
“Listen up!” The skipper’s voice booms through the locker room.
We spin toward him. A young guy in workout gear stands next to him, hat pulled low, duffle on his shoulder.
“I have an announcement,” Dominguez says. “We have another roster change.”
I straighten.
“Devereux has been released.”
My hand shoots out, and I grip Easton’s wrist. Holy. Fucking. Shit.
“I will not tolerate discrimination inside or outside of my clubhouse. I will not tolerate violence. The Clippers and Jetties stand firm on this. If anyone ever has any concerns, my door is always open.”
I share a look with Paulie and East. Paulie’s eyes are glossy, and I send him a ghost of a smile. It’s small. But it’s something.
I scan the room until I find Olander. He’s staring at the floor, face pale. Upset his crony got released?
The skipper claps. “Now. Since we’re out a third baseman, we’re down a man.” He nods his head toward the guy next to him. “This is Miles Trent. We’ve called him up from Single-A.”
My eyes shoot wide. Single-A? He looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t think we must have interacted much during Spring Training.
“He’s young, he’s hungry, and he’s impressive as all hell. Make him feel at home and show him how we do things. Michaels, I want you to help him get settled.”
The kid goes beet red. Kind of looks like he’s seconds from pissing himself. Somehow, the new guy’s nervousness reinvigorates me. I hop up, make my way to him, and extend a hand.
“Welcome to the team, Trent. I’m your short. Looking forward to playing with you.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he sends me an uncertain smile as he grabs my hand. “Thanks.”
“You got it from here, Michaels?”
“Yeah, Skip. I’ll do intros.”
“Good. See you all on the field for warmups in a half hour,” he calls out as he heads out of the locker room.
I make the rounds with Trent, introducing him to the rest of the guys. “So, call-up from Single-A, eh?” I eye him. “How long have you been with the Jetties?”
His gaze drops to the floor. “This is my first year. Drafted last year. Fifteenth round.”
My eyebrows lift. Explains why I hadn’t heard of him. But hot damn. “That’s amazing, kid. Chin up. Own your talent.”
He glances up at me, then around at the rest of the room. “I don’t want to come off as cocky or like I’m skipping the line.”
We stop in front of East and Paulie—I saved the best for last, naturally—and Paulie chuckles. “Well, he’s definitely nothing like you, Michaels. Humility isn’t a word you’re familiar with, is it?”
I grin. “Nope. I’m talented as fuck, and I know it. I’m also extremely good-looking.”
“He’s the total package,” Paulie and East say in unison, and we dissolve into laughter.
Trent stares at us with wide eyes. The poor kid. He’s going to think we’re deranged.
“Sorry,” I manage between laughs. “This is Nebiolo or Nebs, and this is Winters. Catcher and right fielder. Also, my roomies and besties. We’ve moved up the minors together.”
Paulie offers a hand. “Looking forward to seeing what a player who goes from Single to Triple-A looks like. You must be unreal.”
Winters punches him. “Dude. He already looks like he’s going to vomit.” He smiles that sweet-East smile at Trent. “Don’t sweat the jump, man. Try not to focus too much on that shit. We’ve all been in your spot. All we care about is playing ball. And we’ve got a great group of guys here.”
“Yeah, especially now that Dev’s gone,” Paulie spits out.
Someone stumbles behind me, and I turn to see Olander hurrying past. Paulie scowls.
“What happened with him?” Trent’s words are hushed.
Paulie leans back against the divider of one of the cubbies and crosses his arms. “He was a homophobic asshole. Talked a lot of shit in our locker room. And then put my brother in the hospital. Simply because he’s a gay man.”
“We don’t tolerate that shit. It’s not just the skipper,” I say. “We’re not afraid to put someone in their place if needed.”
There may have been a bit of warning in my voice. But Jed’s not here anymore, and he was our dark knight in a way. Our Batman. Paulie too. But he doesn’t need to carry that alone with Jed gone. I’ll be right by his side shutting that shit down.
Trent laughs awkwardly, his shoulders curling in. He tugs on the bill of his cap. “Yeah, definitely no issues with that here. Totally cool with the gay and the bi and the stuff. All for it. The more queer the better.”
I cock my head. Um. What?
His face is tomato-red again. “I-I just mean I’m totally fine with it. No trouble from me.”
Easton takes pity on the poor kid, who clearly wants to shove his cleat in his mouth. “Let’s head down to the field for BP. How do you hit, Trent?”
“I swing both ways.” His face goes even redder. “I mean, I’m a switch. H-hitter. I only swing one way for other things. Not that you asked. I’m going to shut up now.”
It takes everything in me not to burst out laughing, but I don’t want to torture the kid any more than he’s doing himself. His swing also explains his call-up a bit more. Managers always get hard over a switch.
“Damn, Winters. You have some competition for most anxious now,” I say, lips twitching.
“Nice to meet a fellow word-vomiter,” East says to Trent, his lips hooking up.
The guy’s shoulders relax slightly.
“Let’s go see you in action, Trent. Plus, taking some cracks off the bat will ease a bit of the nervousness that’s pouring off you.”
I’m definitely curious to see him play. A fifteenth-rounder jumping up? This will be good.
We head down to the field. I’m still running on fumes, but something about this kid gives me a lift. Puts a little spark back in me—like maybe we can still claw out a win with all the roster chaos going on. And I think he might fit in well with our crew. I’m looking forward to getting to know him.