Chapter 20
Tanner
Life had a funny way of making me suffer. I hated distractions and refused to let something keep my mind away from baseball, yet here I was, in the dugout of our third game of the day, anxious as fuck for it to be over. I’d never counted down minutes until I could leave the field. Ever.
I could tell myself it was because I was worried my mom would try calling me and something could have happened—despite talking to her two days ago.
I could blame my birth father’s tactics, too.
But if I was real with myself, it was because I somehow couldn’t let Kenzie know my phone had gotten smashed the night before, after I’d told her I’d call her.
Fucking bad luck.
“Johnson! You’re on deck. Get out there.” Our bench coach spat out a bunch of sunflower seeds, like he always did, and narrowed his beady eyes at me. “Get your head out of your ass and focus. This pitcher is struggling to keep it in the zone. Knock it out of the park, TJ.”
I nodded and grabbed my helmet and bat. It wasn’t that I wasn’t into the game—because I was—it was unsettling how I worried about how Kenzie was feeling. This was new for me. Letting a girl into my tightknit boundaries. No, focus on the game.
Stretching and shaking myself out of the funk, I did my practice routine in the on-deck circle, swinging three times and timing it with the pitcher. Aaron had batted before me and had already struck out twice. The pitcher had been nasty all game, but he was fading. Sixth inning is when to strike.
Aaron hit a soft liner just over the shortstop’s head and the dugout broke out in cheers. We were down two runs, tired from playing all day and just needed a momentum changer. I could fit the role.
I walked up to the batter’s box, eyeing the signal from my coach.
He tapped his shoulder, forearm, wrist and shoulder again.
Hit and run. That meant I had to make contact with the ball, because Aaron would be stealing second.
I hit my helmet twice, assuring him I’d gotten the message, and got into my stance.
The pitcher stared me down, but it was a futile attempt.
He looked twelve. He did his wind-up, and fired a pitch on the outside corner. My sweet spot.
I cocked my arms and pulled back, twisting my hips and connecting the bat to ball with a loud pop. I knew. I knew it would be out of the park but I hustled to first until I heard the umpire yell, “Homerun!”
Our team hollered when I rounded third and stepped on home.
This feeling was the best in the world. The high, the satisfaction of knowing I’d done it.
Nothing can replace this. It helped. I didn’t think of Kenzie at all for the rest of the game, or during the celebrations after getting first seed in our bracket.
This was my life. Baseball, celebrations, teammates. I was on my path, the right journey, and it felt perfect. Coach pointed to the scouts in the stands that game and told me two of them had asked for a schedule to see me play again. Me.
I’m making the draft next year, in the round I want.
Hours later, it was just after dinner and I was still without a phone.
I couldn’t recall a time I had gone this long without one.
Elementary school? Junior high? Before my birth father had conned money out of us, I’d had an old flip phone that I’d used to call my mom for a ride after practice…
but it didn’t text. Yeah, that long, over twelve years, I hadn’t gone twenty-four hours without my phone.
Yeah, I had a technology addition, but who didn’t?
The coaches gave us a prep talk for the following day and Zade went into his room early to study the batter’s patterns.
Novatown—our opponent the next day—had heavy hitters and few weak spots, but Willows would study and get them.
That left Aaron and me chilling in our room and I broached the subject I was desperate to open. “How’s your sister handling the house?”
“Okay so far. She’s at work now but I think Greta’s having her over tonight after their shifts.
” He adjusted his position on the couch and switched the TV to a Cubs game.
He whistled at a play where their shortstop dove four feet to backhand a grounder then jutted his chin at me.
“You were on fire today, TJ. You’re hitting the ball so fucking well. What’s changed?”
“Desperation,” I barked out an awkward laugh and tried to bring the topic back to her. The girl I shouldn’t be thinking about so much. “I uh, am glad to hear Kenzie’s doing well. I know you were concerned.”
He gave me a grim nod and leaned back onto the couch with a loud sigh.
He put his arms behind his head and studied me with haunted eyes.
Eyes the same shape as his sister’s. “Thank you for being a friend to her. I didn’t realize she needed one, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have picked you to be one, but I’m glad nonetheless. ”
I swallowed down my guilty thoughts and shrugged, hoping to look as nonchalant as possible. “I like her. It’s not a hardship.”
He relaxed his jaw at my comment, giving me a quick smile. “This is good for you.”
“What is?”
“Being friends with a chick for once.”
I’m going to hell. Fuck. I needed to think of something, anything to not give it away.
One second, two seconds, three seconds went by and I hadn’t answered.
Then, by a small miracle, his phone went off and he mumbled Greta under his breath.
He slid his fingers over the screen, no doubt texting her back, and I waited for him to look at me.
“Not my first time being friends with a girl. Greta, remember? We never got together.”
He did not like my reference to his girlfriend’s minor crush on me the year before, one that we never talked about but one I loved to bring up. His eyes turned competitive and he muttered, “Fuck off.”
“Just saying the truth. Sorry you can’t handle it.”
“That shit still drives me crazy. Like, I don’t get it,” he scoffed and chucked a hotel pillow at my face. It had the reverse effect he wanted. I caught it, laughed and tossed it back to him. “Okay, so yeah. Not your first time, but it’s still good for your ego.”
“Whatever, man.” Anything to move away from this conversation. “Hey, it’s not too late, I might go get another phone. I don’t like being out of reach if my mom calls. Wanna tag along?”
“I might hang back here and stretch more. My arm has been killing me and it’s pissing me off. Plus, it’s the fifth inning and Cubs are down one run. I wanna finish the game. That cool?”
Even better. “For sure. See you in a bit.”
I took off from the hotel after asking him to find me the nearest store. It was about half a mile away and I made the walk in good time. The anxiety from earlier came back and I hated it. Will she be upset with me? Mad? Not believe me?
Is she okay?
This was the bullshit I avoided. Fuck. I don’t do relationships.
But this wasn’t one. I relaxed at that notion and marched into the store.
It cost fifty dollars with the insurance I’d paid for the phone—thank god I could afford that—and my phone was up and running after twenty minutes.
My gut danced with nerves as I waited for it to power on, and when it did, I thought I’d have texts or calls.
They could’ve been from my mom or Kenzie, but instead, they were from random chicks who had my number.
Dissatisfaction flowed through me. Why didn’t she text me?
I called Kenzie first, waiting for her to pick up, but Aaron’s words replayed in my mind. She’s at work. Fuck. I’d have to leave a voicemail.
“Hey, Kenzie, shit. I am so sorry I couldn’t call or text. One of the freshmen ran into me and my phone shattered on the ground. We had games all day and I just now got a chance to get a new one. I know you’re probably at work, but, let me know when you get home, okay?”
Click.
There, that would have to do. My phone buzzed, not five minutes later, on my walk back, from a text.
Kenzie: Sorry about the phone issue, thanks for telling me! At work now, taking a quick break for food.
Tanner: You’re…you’re not mad?
Kenzie: Well, are you lying?
Tanner: No! I swear. Ask your brother.
Kenzie: Then why would I be mad? It’s not like you could ask Aaron to text me. Lol.
Tanner: I thought you’d be upset with me.
Kenzie: Sorry for trusting you? I can throw a fit if you want.
Kenzie: You lying scum. No more sex for you.
Kenzie: Is that better?
I laughed. She was a riot. My smile hurt my face and any ounce of anxiety I’d had moments earlier left. She wasn’t mad at me. How refreshing.
Tanner: Save the fit until I get back. I want to watch you stomp around.
Kenzie: I bet you would, horn dog. Oh! Clyde needs me back. Good luck tomorrow! Aaron said you guys played really well.
Tanner: Thanks, Ken. Be safe getting back.
Kenzie: There goes my plan to run up and down alleys alone shouting ‘I’m rich’.
Tanner: Smartass. Have you always been this way?
Kenzie: Yup. My tits distracted you though, so really, it’s not your fault you didn’t notice.
God, I laughed again and almost ran into a streetlight.
Shit. I shouldn’t walk and text. I waited to see if she sent anything else, but she didn’t, so I assumed she’d gone back to work.
That left me heading back to Aaron, her fucking brother, who I couldn’t tell a single thing to.
Great. My high from the games lessened and I accepted the fact I couldn’t talk to her.
Three days later, after seven more games, four strike outs and a pulled muscle in my leg, my mood plummeted.
I played like shit, got hurt and wanted to punch anyone who disagreed with me.
Scouts were there, at the fucking tournament, and they saw it.
My teammates tried to pick me up or encourage me that I’d be fine, but they asked too much.
They didn’t get it—if I couldn’t be one of the best, then my future was tarnished.
One injury could set me back for months, years even.
I replayed the entire day in my mind, stretching, warming up, icing after the games. Nothing had been out of place in my routine, and yet, I’d felt a pull when I rounded third and had to be taken out of the game to make sure I was fine.
Not only had I not scored a run that would’ve tied it, but the backup centerfielder had made two errors. We lost. Yeah, it wasn’t the regular season, but the loss felt heavy on my shoulders, mixing with my guilt and pressure to be the best.
Again, face punching sounded great.
“TJ, how’s the leg?” Zade gave me a pitying look. He was carrying equipment from the dugout to the team bus—we were headed back early since the games had ended ahead of schedule. It was a four-hour trip back and already six p.m., and the thought of sitting in a cramped seat sounded like hell.
“It sucks,” I said, hoping he’d leave me alone. Some people liked company when they were in pain. Others, like myself, preferred the solace of my attitude. “I’m the reason we didn’t place in the tournament. I got on base three times? Fuck. That’s shit.”
“Nah, man, none of us’ve been finding gaps the past two days.” He shook his head at me and laughed. “It’s more important that you’re healed and healthy for the spring. I know you’re competitive and driven, but this’ll only put you back a week or so. Use that time to rest.”
“Chesterfield was here.” One of the scouts from a west coast team.
He’d nodded to me the day before and he could have approached and started a conversation, but he hadn’t and my gut told me it was because I’d gotten hurt.
And played like shit. Who strikes out twice in one game… against a freshmen pitcher?
I did. And for fuck’s sake, I didn’t know why.
“He’s from NorCal Cactus,” I said, when Zade continued to look at me with an uneasy expression. “One of my top five teams to be drafted.”
Zade sucked in a breath and that was response enough.
But, being the perfect example of a team captain, he found a silver lining.
“Injuries happen in the game. You might be pouting a bit now, but you handled yourself well when you got hurt. That matters, so don’t get in your head and fuck it up. Okay?”
Shit. His words were like a slap to the face and shame consumed me. I’m acting like a petulant child. He watched me with an odd look and I mumbled, “Thanks, Z.”
“Anytime. Now, you’re not dying, so help carry stuff back to the bus.”
He tossed me a large duffel back filled with hitting nets we secured to the ground for warm-up swings, and I hung it over my shoulder.
He’s right. I can be a better leader. The rest of the team scattered around the complex and Coach stood to the right of the concession stand, his hands on his hips as he spoke with Chesterfield. And they were both looking right at me.
My heart raced and I tried to act natural. Be cool. Real cool. Walk to the undercarriage, drop the nets in there. I stowed away the equipment with a ball of emotion in my throat. Would they come over here? Ask to talk to me?
Please, god.
They didn’t. Coach shook his hand and moved on to talk to the hosting school’s coach, not giving me a backward glance. It felt like a punch to the gut after a night of drinking. Bile threatened to come up at the strength of my disappointment.
I deserve it after playing like this.
I took a deep breath, grabbed my new phone, headphones and sweatshirt out of my bag and found a seat in the back of the bus.
We hadn’t played well and the guys didn’t like to fuck around on the bus when they were in a shit mood, and I was glad.
The last thing I wanted to do was listen to rap and do dumb dares.
I put on some Black Keys, turned it up as loud as I could and got as comfortable as I could.
My post-game routine was always the same—analyze every fucking detail to the point I understood how to improve the next time.
This was no different and I started with game one that day, where I’d misread the line-drive, allowing the runner to advance a base.
It hadn’t cost us the game, but I didn’t misread plays. What was different?
My mind found nothing, and I went on to the next moment. Striking out. Sure, it’d happened in the game where an excellent batting average was three hundred, meaning getting a hit three out of ten times was incredible. But twice in a row, in summer ball, was not me. What had happened?
Coach gave me a fake sign and I signaled I understood.
Something had caught my eye behind his left shoulder—blonde hair.
Kenzie. I’d thought I saw her standing along the fence.
She had been the reason I’d felt so distracted.
She got into my head too much…the one thing that was non-negotiable. Baseball, my family, draft.
She didn’t have a place there and I wasn’t sure how she’d snuck in. Fuck.