Chapter Twenty
“Come on guys. Start shuttin’ up.”
The clubhouse goes silent at Rio’s command, but our excitement doesn’t wane. The Pilots are on a hot streak, racking up seven wins in a row. A slight curl is visible on even Rio’s perpetually downturned lips. His pleased expression is a good omen.
“You’re glowing, RiRi!” Morrison Davis, our second baseman, yells from behind me.
“Shut up, Davis.” Rio throws him a glare but still isn’t scowling.
“I’m not big on speeches but tonight’s win against the Raiders deserves one.
I’m sorely proud of the baseball you all played today.
You guys might be big pains in my ass, but if you keep playing like that, we’ll bring home some hardware in October.
” Tapping his temple twice, he surprises us with a full smile, lips split wide and showing off bright white teeth. “Clear skies. Fly high.”
The clubhouse explodes.
Hysterical howls fill the air.
There’s a nonstop vroom, mimicking airplanes as we hold our arms out like airplane wings.
Rio’s laugh bellows as he tries to act like he doesn’t love us.
“Okay, okay. Simmer down.” It takes too long to regain control, but when he does, Rio has reverted back to his normal self.
“We leave for Texas tomorrow, so eat a hearty dinner and get some sleep. Be here at ten, and not a minute late.” His attention shifts away.
“Before you head home, Huber is gonna say a few words.”
Everybody claps as Dawson makes his way to the front of the room. We don’t have a formal captain position, but if we did, it would be him. The man who embodies the spirit of the Pilots.
Dawson rubs a hand over his smooth head, cheeks still red from celebrating.
“The last seven seasons here in Charlotte have been nothing short of a dream. Everyone keeps asking when I’m retiring, and I want to set the record straight.
You guys know how hard it is being on the road constantly.
The season is long, and those with kids know it isn’t easy to leave them behind. ”
A blast of warm air tickles my ear. “He better not be doing what I think he’s doing,” Marcus whispers, and I hold my breath. Giving Dawson crap about retiring is fun, but he wouldn’t actually do it. Right?
“Me and Rosie have had a lot of long conversations about what is best, and I wanted you guys to hear it from me first.” He pauses for a moment before sticking his tongue out like a petulant child. “You losers aren’t getting rid of me yet, so stop listening to the rumors!”
“Jesus,” Otis, an outfielder, shouts. “You can’t play like that!”
“Yeah, not cool, asshole!” Marcus blubbers into my shirt.
Rio claps Dawson’s shoulder. “That’s not what he was supposed to say, but I’m glad we all have an answer. Now give them the real news.”
“Sorry, I had to. I’m tired of being called Grandpa.
” The flush on Dawson’s cheeks rushes to the top of his head.
“As we all know, the All-Star Game is in one week, and the full roster will be announced tonight. We’ve already got one Pilot heading to Atlanta.
” Marcus shimmies beside me as our teammates cheer.
He won the fan ballot for starting catcher.
“And I’m happy to say we have another Pilot headed to the game. ”
A steady drumroll breaks out as I look around for the lucky player, but Dawson is staring at me. He’s in full dad mode too, with watery eyes and a trembling smile.
“Our little rookie, Cade Owens, was chosen as the shortstop reserve.”
Huh?
“Me?” I cough out. “I’m going to Atlanta?”
“Yes, rookie.” Dawson throws his head back and howls at the ceiling. “You’re going to the All-Star Game.”
His announcement doesn’t make sense. Not even as the bulking weight of Marcus tackles me to the ground, and I’m dogpiled by the rest of the team. The love from the men who have become my brothers is enough to distract me for a little while though.
“No twenty-four-year-old should have a landline. You know that, right?”
The frayed cord loops around my finger. “They’re part of history, Mom. In an emergency, you’ll be jealous that I can contact the world when cell phones don’t have service.”
She smacks her lips. “Son, I grew up in the age of landlines. Hush up.”
I laugh until the reminder of why I’m using it sobers me.
It’s ancient, with tan plastic and a spiral cord that I’ve stretched out over the years.
Mom makes jokes about my favorite mode of communication, but it’s the easiest way for me to shut the world out while being able to reach the people who matter.
This is the first time since leaving the stadium that I’ve been able to breathe.
No texts or calls to congratulate me on the All-Star roster announcement.
No passive aggressive texts from Jon saying it’s all because of his hard work.
Just me and my landline, hiding out.
“You don’t sound like someone who got life-changing news tonight,” Mom says when the silence stretches too long. “What’s wrong, golden boy?”
I flinch at the name, even though it can’t harm me.
Physically at least.
“I’m happy, Ma. I really am.” I just don’t know how to explain that the biggest moment of my career feels off. Groaning, I shove the box of Jon’s notes away and lean against the couch. “Hey. Why did you start calling me golden boy?”
“Simple.” Her laugh titters through the line. “You’re golden.”
The answer seems straightforward, but I don’t understand. “Would I still be golden if I hadn’t started playing baseball?”
My identity has always been rooted in the sport.
Everyone encouraged me to forgo school to play baseball.
When people around me were asked about their goals and dreams, I was passed over because they assumed I would go on to play professionally.
There wasn’t anything I could do about it either because I loved baseball with every piece of me.
Instead of fighting back, I buckled in and started on a road trip filled with other people’s hopes and dreams rather than mine.
I don’t regret my decision to play, but damn. I’d kill for a little bit of autonomy.
No laugh comes this time. “Oh, Cade,” she whispers. “You’re my golden boy because it’s the best way to describe my favorite things about you in two words.”
I immediately try to backtrack when I hear the wobble in her voice. “Ma, I’m sorry. Forget I said—”
“No. You need to hear this.” She takes a deep breath.
“When you were born, I felt like I had won the son lottery. As you got older, I only felt more validated in that belief. And it had nothing to do with your athletic abilities. You’ve always had an unbridled joy that shines brightly.
Your kind heart makes you a friend to all.
Your thoughtfulness had parents constantly asking me how I got so lucky with you and how their child could be more like you.
You were my golden boy long before you ever picked up a bat, and you will be until the end of time. ”
My fingers reach for the piece of yellow paper with Jon’s rules for the golden boy, which are so different from everything Mom is describing.
One, smile at anybody who approaches you.
Two, answer all questions. No matter what.
Three, never say no.
Four, emotions aren’t for the public.
Five, if you feel like quitting, smile through it.
“Even if I didn’t play?”
Her words hum with a smile I can’t see. “Even then.”
Quiet takes over as a rush of calm flows through me, but not for long. Muffled shouts send me to my feet, followed by impatient pounding on the front door. I go to check the doorbell camera, but my phone is still off. This maniac is going to wake up the entire neighborhood.
“Someone’s at the door, Ma. I’ll call you back.”
“At this hour?” Worry laces her voice. “Let them be.”
“Can’t. The neighbors will riot, but thank you for talking to me.”
“Anytime, golden boy.”
The nickname doesn’t hurt this time as she hangs up.
I slip the yellow piece of paper into my pocket and pull myself off the ground, ignoring my throbbing hip.
I hobble out of the living room and through the foyer, hoping I don’t look as tired as I feel.
By the time I peer through the peephole, the person on the other side has given up, taking the porch steps slowly.
Then I spot pink fluffy slippers.
I swing the door open. “Shay?”
She trips, barely catching herself before spinning to face me. “What the hell, Cade? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for over an hour! I called like thirty times!”
Holding up my phone, I point at it. “It’s off. What’s going on?”
Without waiting for an answer, she marches past me and enters my home, headed straight for the living room. For someone who was so nervous about me being at her house last week, she looks comfortable—and stunning—storming into mine.
I chase after her and thank my lucky stars I stuffed Jon’s notes back into the box, but it’s sitting on the couch right beside her.
Taking a seat on the opposite side of the leather couch, I grab the box and slide it under the coffee table. “Is there a reason you almost beat my door down at midnight?”
“Yes. I have great news.” Her nose wrinkles. “Well, bad, depending on who you ask. Carlos Medina got injured tonight. Something about a wrist injury. I didn’t get specifics, but people in the crowd said they could hear the snap of bone.”
Rambling Shay is my favorite. Her mouth moves so quickly that she stumbles over words, struggling to string them together without having to restart each sentence.
The only thing I’m struggling with is trying not to look at her lips, full and glossed.
Every few seconds, her tongue darts across them and I find myself even more distracted.
“So, he can’t start anymore, which is why I’m here.”
After a beat, my eyes lift to meet hers. “Who can’t start?”
She cocks her head at me. “Did you hear anything I said?”