Chapter 7
It had been a good day.
The shoulder felt better. The throws were crisp, the release point clean, the lag barely there.
Luke cheered. He pointed. He said things like "that's it" and "there you go" with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever who'd just been told he was a good boy.
Brady was different. Brady watched. Brady wrote things on his clipboard and kept his face level and let the work speak.
But today, after a throw from center that hit the cutoff man on line, Brady nodded. Then he made a note.
When Brady nodded and made a note, something was going right. Beck wasn't just wishing anymore.
He showered at the facility and changed in the locker room. Black v-neck. Slate shorts. He stood in front of the mirror and didn't put the hat on. She liked the curls. No use pretending he didn't know that.
She'd be at Jon's. Thursdays were slow. That meant she'd have time to talk. He got excited for the first time in months. Genuinely, fully excited, not about the shoulder or the rehab or the program, but about sitting at a bar and talking to Kirstin Green.
He walked out to the lot and tossed his bag in the Land Rover and sat in the driver's seat. The windows were down. The salt air was coming through. The island was gold and green in the late afternoon.
The phone buzzed on the console.
"Trevor," he answered. "How are you, man?"
"I'm good, Beck."
His stomach dropped. Trevor Kincaid had distinct voices. The one Beck just heard was his business voice.
"Listen," Trevor said. "I wanted to call you directly. You deserve that."
Beck went numb. He heard the rest of the words but he didn't. His mind drifted back to Little League. High school. College. Rookie ball. The wall he ran into last season.
A life in baseball flashing before his eyes as Trevor Kincaid told him, with genuine hurt in his voice, that the Atlanta Braves had made a roster move, which included Ethan Beck's outright release.
"Beck, you there?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."
"I'm sorry, brother. I went to bat for you. They just?—"
"I know, Trev. I know."
"We'll find the right situation. The shoulder's improving. Teams will call."
"Yeah."
"Beck."
"I'm good. I'll call you tomorrow."
He hung up. He sat in the facility lot with the engine off. He didn't realize he was staring at the steering wheel until the spell broke and he checked the rearview mirror. Hair still wet. Curls. The black v-neck and the slate shorts he'd picked for her. No use hiding that now.
It was five thirty-seven. He could be in Ocala by ten. His mom would be in bed, probably reading a book, but his dad would be on the porch in the swing.
He felt something he hadn't felt since college. He wanted to sleep in his bedroom in his parents' house. He laughed at the thought. A thirty-year-old man who just wanted to go home.
He looked at the steering wheel. The Land Rover emblem shined back at him. He thought about his first day at the facility in rookie ball. It was a Ford emblem back then. That truck still sat in his parents' garage. He missed it too. Nine years had passed. Life had changed. The game never did.
He picked up his phone and texted his dad.
Trevor called. I've been given my outright release. It's over.
The response came in forty seconds.
Ethan I'm sorry son. We love you and we're proud of everything you've done and will do. Are you coming home or back to Atlanta?
No I'm staying on the island. I'll come see you guys soon. Promise.
Call me if you need to talk. Anytime.
Thanks dad. I'll call tomorrow if that's ok.
Of course son. I love you.
Love you too. Tell mom for me.
He put the phone on the console. He put the car in reverse.
Ocala was left. Jon's was right.
He turned right.
She was the first thing he saw. Warm. Open.
He tried to return it and something real came out.
He didn't realize he hadn't moved after he walked through the door. Not until she walked toward him.
"You want to come in?"
He watched her for a second too long. He couldn't help it.
"The view's pretty good from here."
"Smooth, Beck. Very smooth." She walked back toward the bar. "You want a?—"
"Hey," he said.
She stopped. She turned back to him. Her expression shifted. A question now.
"You okay?"
He checked the room. Nobody in earshot. His shoulders dropped a touch. Even the bad one. He watched her catch it.
"No," he said. "Not even a little bit."
Then she took his hand and walked him around the bar. She led him past the Private sign, down a hallway, and into a small office organized better than most libraries. Files labeled on the shelves. A desk with a laptop and a ledger and a cup of pens sorted by color.
"Sit," she said.
He sat. She pulled a chair next to him.
"That's not you, Ethan," she said. "You don't come out with something that real. What happened?"
He tried to talk. He was pretty sure his mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out.
His hands were on his knees and he could feel the fabric of the slate shorts he'd picked for her and his jaw was tight and the room was small and clean and organized and nothing in it made sense because nothing anywhere made sense right now.
"Would you think bad of me if I just got shitfaced drunk tonight?"
She didn't hesitate. "Only if you tell me what happened tomorrow."
"I can work with that."
She stood. She placed her hand on his cheek. Soft. Gentle. It scared him and made him forget the words "outright release" until she moved it.
"Call the boys," she said. "I'm calling Todd to work the bar." She pulled her phone from her back pocket and dialed. "We're both getting shitfaced tonight, Beck."
He watched her walk out. He took his phone and pulled up the group text.
Taking the day off tomorrow. All drinks are on me at Jon's tonight.
Brent replied first. I don't know you well Beck but you need to understand free beer and me runs up a tab fairly quickly.
Addison replied next. I'm making Luke shower then we're on our way.
Brady. Be there in thirty.
Beck stared at the thread. In less than a minute, a group of people he'd known a week rearranged their night to come out and drink.
It didn't have anything to do with who was paying.
They came.
Luke and Addison first, Luke's hair still damp from the shower Addison had demanded, both of them sliding into the booth without asking what was wrong.
Brady and Morgan next, Morgan reading the room in two seconds, choosing the stool next to Kirstin instead of the booth.
Brent and Ashley last, Brent ordering his first beer before he'd fully sat down.
Nobody asked.
Beck didn't tell them.
He ordered a round and then another round and Todd worked the rail while Kirstin sat on the stool next to Morgan and drank vodka sodas and watched Beck become someone she hadn't met yet.
He was funny. Not trying. Not charming. Just funny, the version that only surfaces when someone has stopped caring what anyone thinks.
He told stories about the minors, about the bus rides and the bad hotels and the teammate who brought a parrot to spring training and the parrot learned to yell "ball four" and the pitching coach didn't speak to anyone for a week.
Luke was crying. Brady was shaking his head.
Brent was on his third free beer saying "this is the greatest night of my life" and Ashley was saying "you say that every time someone buys you a beer" and Brent was saying "and I mean it every time. "
Beck told them about Zack. Not the full story. Just a side comment that Brady pulled on.
"Wait," Brady said. "You're paying for a kid's college?"
"His mom's a single parent. He's a good kid. He just needed a shot."
"How old is he now?"
"Fourteen. He plays second base. He's terrible." Beck took a drink. "I love that kid."
Morgan laughed and put her hand on Kirstin's arm. Kirstin wasn't laughing.
Jon came out of the kitchen at nine and saw Kirstin on the customer side of the bar for the first time in six years and stood there for a moment and went back to the kitchen without a word.
Somewhere around the fourth round, the men drifted to the pool table. Beck racked. Luke broke. Brady leaned against the wall and watched. Brent called a shot he had no chance of making and made it anyway.
The women stayed at the booth.
Beck's phone was on the table where he'd left it, next to a basket of fries he'd ordered and forgotten about. The screen was still lit. A text thread open with an unsent message in the typing field.
I'm good dad
He hadn't sent it. Kirstin's eyes moved up the thread.
Trevor called. I've been given my outright release. It's over.
Ethan I'm sorry son. We love you and we're proud of everything you've done and will do. Are you coming home or back to Atlanta?
No I'm staying on the island. I'll come see you guys soon. Promise.
She stopped reading.
No I'm staying on the island.
Morgan leaned over. "You okay?"
Kirstin pushed the phone away from her. She picked up her vodka soda and finished it.
"I'm in trouble," she said.
"What?" Addison said.
"I'm in so much trouble."
Addison looked at Morgan. Morgan looked at Kirstin.
Nobody said "uh huh."
Nobody needed to.
Beck came back from the pool table. He dropped into the booth across from Kirstin and picked up his beer and whatever was on her face made him stop.
"What?" he said.
"Nothing."
But she didn't look away. She held his eyes across the table and let him see something she'd been keeping behind the bar since Wednesday. She didn't have a name for it. She didn't need one. She just let it sit there between them, unhidden, and watched him recognize it.
He didn't ask. He set his beer down and his hand found hers on the table and he held it.
The jukebox found a song that pulled Morgan from the booth to find Brady at the pool table. Luke took Addison after them. Brent pulled Ashley because three free beers apparently made Brent a dancer.
Beck and Kirstin stayed at the booth. His hand on hers. Her hand on his arm. The room full and loud and warm around them.
The bar closed at one. Todd locked the register. Jon came out of the kitchen with his keys and his truck parked out front. He walked to Kirstin and kissed the top of her head.
"I'm driving you home, baby girl."
She didn't argue. She was past arguing. She was past a lot of things tonight.
Luke and Addison took Beck. His truck would sit in the lot until morning. Hudson was at the rental, waiting.
Before Luke pulled him toward the door, Beck stopped in front of Kirstin.
"Thanks for tonight," he said.
She stepped up to him. She kissed his cheek. The second time. The same spot.
"See you tomorrow?" she said.
"Yeah," he said. "Tomorrow."
Jon drove her home. The island was quiet. Her side was dark and the trees closed over the road and the house was there at the end of the drive. Jon walked her to the porch and waited until she was inside and then she heard his truck pull away.
She didn't go to the beach. She didn't pick up a book. She went to the second bedroom and opened the closet and stood in front of the box on the top shelf. Taped shut. Four years.
She left it shut. But she touched the tape.
Then she went to the kitchen and stood in the room Nate was going to renovate and she pulled out her phone and texted him.
Do it.
She went to bed.