Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
COLBY
One month later
I’ve come to realize that for as long as I work in this world, I will always be on the fringe of fitting in. And I’m okay with that.
Still, though . . . there are days that it’s hard. There is always going to be someone who thinks I don’t belong here. Thing is . . . that’s also baseball.
We’re entering the last weekend series before the All-Star break as a five hundred ball club. In a classroom, fifty percent is definitely failing. In baseball, that’s considered a fair position to be in. In Texas? They want to drag our skipper out into the desert and pelt him with cactus needles.
So, as much as I get questioned about being here, at least my name isn’t the first one showing up in the online stories as the person to blame for being merely fair, and not spectacular.
I’ve done my job well, though. At least as far as Adriel goes. And when Philly or New York make him an offer during the off season that Texas can’t match, I’ll quietly take my credit for pushing him to be the best version of himself.
“I felt tight that round. I’m not getting my full swing out,” he says as he steps behind the backstop after sending four pitches over the left field fence in his pre-game BP.
“I mean, the results are there. Is it possible you’re nervous about my dad coming to watch today?”
My father hasn’t talked to Adriel one-on-one since he left high school. It’s different for him than it is for Jayden. Their bond came first, before my dad and Jayden clicked. And I sense a genuine worry on Adriel’s part that he’s constantly disappointing my dad.
For a while, he was.
“I don’t know. I don’t really let that stuff get to me. Maybe it’s the All-Star bid. I really have to step up now that I slid into the starting lineup.”
He shrugs as he fidgets with the Velcro on his gloves. I gaze at him, and I think he can sense me looking. That’s why he’s working so hard to keep his focus on the field.
I know the truth: my father’s opinion matters to him. Proving that he’s working hard to the man who taught him how to love the game after his own father used it as a weapon matters to him. Having a good day today, in front of my dad? It matters.
“Use our technique. Simplify your presence. Right now, it’s stepping in there and seeing a good pitch. Then, when you feel one fly off the bat, remember how it feels and get ready for the next. One at a time. Nothing but the pitch.”
Adriel nods and heads back to the plate.
I’ve learned a lot about Adriel in the month we’ve really been working together.
A lot of it I already knew, but I’ve been really drilling down on the mental aspects of this game, and Adriel is a prime example of crowded headspace.
He’s consumed by what people think of him, and not only when he’s playing.
We’ve been working on quieting his thoughts when he’s at the plate. He doesn’t fully grasp the psychology at play and how it bleeds into the rest of his life, but I’m seeing results. For example, he hasn’t shown up at a club or a crash site since I got here.
Adriel’s the last to hit for us before we pack up and make room for Chicago to take their BP. And that has me extra nervous.
Jayden was called up for this series. And while he is hedging his bets to protect his heart, he’s been absolutely crushing it. Chicago needs him, he’s not going back to the minors. Today, Texas is going to regret trading him.
And I am going to sweat through my jersey in the first inning from being in a stadium with my dad, Jayden’s mom, and the knowledge that as much as our families are here to watch us do what we do, they’re also here to congratulate us on finally being a couple.
At least, Jayden’s mom will. My dad may forever be on the fence, but that’s only because I’m his little girl.
Adriel steps off the field after his last round and holds a fist out to me. I pound it with my own, a little wowed by the bro respect he’s giving me. Every day, I get in with him a little tighter. It’s good.
“I think we’ve got this bet all sewn up,” he says as he pulls off his batting gloves, his gaze drifting toward the right field gates.
“Bet?” I follow his line of sight to where the Chicago players are filtering in, and my eyes narrow on Jayden the moment he steps onto the warning track.
“Yep. I outhit him, he pays for the massive steak dinner we’re all going to tonight,” Adriel says, his massive hand patting my back twice as he begins the trek toward his brother.
I watch them stretch out their arms and shout across the field for a moment before I follow behind.
“Hey, Ad?” I yell.
He spins around to walk backward, nodding at me.
“What if Jayden wins? I mean, not that I don’t think you’ve got this sewn up and all. Just . . . you said we’re. How did I get in this bet?”
My pulse ping-pongs as my head gets light. The dizziness gets worse when Adriel’s smile turns into a low laugh.
“You should ask him that,” he says.
Adriel turns around and I slow my steps, turning my attention to the whistle coming from the first base dugout area. They must have just let in the VIP guests because my father is waving. I jog toward him while the two brothers greet one another in the middle of right field.
“Hey, Coach,” my dad says as I approach.
He gives me a thumbs up and I do the same.
I hop the small fence by the dugout and head into the stands so I can give him a hug.
He’s watched me coach a few times now, even going so far as to get his own iPad to plot out spray charts and compare notes with me after games.
It’s sweet, and I’ve actually incorporated some of his advice with a few of the guys.
“I think we’re going to get a show today. You?” He gestures toward the field, where the Vargas boys are laughing with one another. Jayden’s gaze drifts my way, and I nod and wave him over.
I chuckle. “More like a showdown.”
Adriel and Jayden saunter toward us, and I lead my dad down to field level, waving off a skeptical security man who scans my dad’s body for a badge.
“He’s my father. It’s okay,” I say.
The security guy nods, but hovers nearby.
Jayden swings his arms around my dad first, the two of them exchanging massive pats on the back.
“I knew you could do this,” my dad says at his ear. Jayden nods into the crook of my father’s neck, and if we weren’t out in the open for a lot of people to see, the two would no doubt let the tears fall that they’re trying so damn hard to keep at bay.
“Thanks, Coach,” Jayden says, backing out of their embrace.
My father’s gaze shifts to Adriel, and the older Vargas takes in a deep breath before jutting his hand out to shake my dad’s.
“It’s good to see you, Coach,” he says.
My dad slowly reaches for Adriel’s palm, an amused smirk playing at his lips before he breaks into a solid laugh.
“Get out of here with that. Bring it in, son,” my dad says, pulling Adriel toward him and embracing him just as he did his brother.
I don’t call it out, but I catch the tear well up in Adriel’s right eye when our gazes meet over my father’s shoulder. He doesn’t hide it from me, but when they part, Adriel swipes his forearm over his face before anyone notices.
“Looks like you’re having an All-Star season at just the right time,” my dad says, referencing the upcoming free agency that’s likely to bring Adriel millions.
“I’ve had some help getting focused,” he says, flitting his gaze to me.
When it comes to the post-game press, Adriel still takes most of the credit for his stellar month. And he should. He’s the one seeing the ball so well. But in the quiet moments, he shows me his gratitude. It’s something I never expected to develop between us, but I’m glad it has.
“Is Mom here yet?” Adriel asks, peering around the stands behind home plate and toward the concourse.
“I haven’t seen her, but I’ll make sure she gets to her seat. She was coming right from the hospital,” my father explains.
“Vargas! I need you!” Both brothers turn to the field. Our head coach is waving Adriel toward our home dugout, so he gives my father one more hug, then play-punches his brother on the shoulder before skipping back into the dugout and to the clubhouse with Coach.
“I should probably get my hacks in,” Jayden says, nodding toward the mound where his team is getting set up for BP.
He shakes my father’s hand and the two of them hold on to one another for a moment, locking eyes and nodding.
“Go prove your worth, kid,” my dad says.
“He already has,” I toss in.
I walk with Jayden behind the backstop where a group of Chicago players are taking their swings. Our fingertips stretch toward one another’s as we walk, like magnets trying to connect to opposite charges. Every brush of his pinky against mine sends a rush of flames up my arm.
“This long-distance shit is for the birds,” he says with a laugh.
I chuckle and hang my head before glancing at him sideways with a sad smile.
“I hate it. But it’s worth it. I won’t stop,” I say.
“We aren’t quitters,” he says with a smirk.
That’s the inside joke we’ve started, like a little team cheer to get us through the long stretches that we’re apart.
Over the last thirty days, I’ve seen him more through my phone and laptop than I have in person.
We made a calendar of all the places where our teams overlapped travel and were in the same vicinity.
Of course, now that he’s been called up, that calendar is useless. I’m going to need to make another one.
We’ll both be at the All-Star weekend, as fans at least, rooting for his brother.
It will almost be like a vacation for us.
We’re even staying in the same room. It’s not that anything is forbidden between us, if it ever truly was, but the gossip that comes from the tiniest action still has the power to take over the narrative. I’m just not sure I’m ready for that.
“Hey, did Adriel let you know about our bet?” Jayden says.
I glance toward our dugout where Adriel disappeared a moment ago, and I smirk.