Chapter Twenty-Nine
There’s a song for every moment, and Mallory is the queen of finding the perfect one.
MalPal
*Without Me by Eminem*
Because GUESS WHO’S BACK. BACK AGAIN
Congrats on being cleared, Cader Tot! ILY
It chimes five more times as I readjust in bed, shifting my computer to rest on my lap. After three practices at full intensity with no pain or tightness, I got the stamp of approval from Isla and Rio to play in tomorrow’s game.
“Seems like people are excited about the good news,” Armin says from my screen. Self-help and psychology books with worn and cracked spines fill the shelves behind him. There isn’t a photo, plant, or personal effect in sight. “How are you feeling today?”
“Much better,” I answer, silencing my phone. “Sorry about that.”
The first rule of counseling is no phones.
“No need to apologize.” As usual, his cadence is unhurried. “I’m sure missing fourteen games wasn’t easy. It’s nice to see a real smile today.”
Within ten minutes of our first session, Armin read me to filth.
“You smiled, but your eyes didn’t agree with you. You don’t have to wrap hard things in a smile, you know. Want to talk about it?”
Before our first session, Reed warned me about his therapist’s unflappable reputation, stating many players consider him to be cold and detached, but Armin is exactly what I needed.
From the moment I saw his cream sweater vest and the practical leather watch on his wrist, I knew he was perfect.
There’s no feigned warmth or performative empathy. No fangirling or flattery.
He’s just Armin, and I’m just Cade.
“Let’s continue a discussion from our second session.” He flips through a small journal, pausing when he finds what he’s looking for. “We role-played a session as if the ‘golden boy’ version of you was in the room with us. Do you remember what you said he looks like?”
Clearly. He was me until about three months ago.
“Smiling all the time, even when things suck. Outwardly confident but cracked straight down the middle. Like he’s two steps ahead of everyone and ready for whatever gets thrown at him, but it’s only because that’s the way he has been conditioned to act. ”
“What does he want from the world? And what’s his biggest fear?”
Saying it for a second time hurts even more. “To be exactly what people expect of him, and he fears losing the golden boy title. He believes it’ll be the end of him.”
“That’s a lot for him to carry every day, don’t you think?” Green eyes flicker behind thick lenses. “I know your mother gave you the nickname as a child, but when did you start feeling”—he pauses to check his notes—“the invisible weight?”
Grabbing a pillow, I press it against my chest. “I’m not sure, but I remember the day I became aware of it. It was my freshman year of high school at the state championship.”
The newspaper clipping Rio keeps in his office flashes in my mind. Every newspaper ran with the nickname, spreading it like wildfire around the baseball world. That’s when colleges started reaching out, wanting to talk to the golden boy.
Not Cade. Never Cade.
Clear Lake University was the first team that wanted to speak to me, so I signed there.
“Would you say the nickname was always tied to baseball?”
“It didn’t start off that way, but after that game, yeah.
Then it became a cage. ‘The golden boy should worry about baseball rather than try other sports’ or ‘Why do you care so much about a college diploma? You’re going to be a star.
’ It sucked to know that they looked at me and only saw baseball.
” My laugh is dry. “Everyone wanted the charming, reliable, and always-okay guy with softened edges, tucking away real emotions.”
Armin doesn’t press or jump in. The quiet stretches as if it’s part of the conversation.
I hate it as much as I need it.
“Not my friends and family,” I add. “I’m sure they don’t expect the golden boy all the time.”
“That’s good.” His ballpoint pen scratches against the paper. “Does that mean you let them see the sharper edges and the real emotions?”
My prolonged silence is a resounding no.
Keeping the people I love from worrying about me has always been my main priority.
It’s why I didn’t tell Kenneth how hurt I was after things ended with Shay, because he would’ve hopped on a plane to be with me.
It’s why I hide the cracks from Mallory, because she loves harder than anyone I know and would put her life on pause to be there for me.
It’s why I never tell Mom how I think about quitting every damn day, because she sacrificed so much to get me to this point, and I can’t let her down.
It’s why I stopped talking to Jimmy, because I didn’t want him to see how unhappy I was after years of loving baseball.
“It’s easier this way,” is all I can say.
“Easy? Sounds exhausting if you ask me.” Armin’s words reignite the fatigue I’ve carried for years. “Do you know what a martyr is?”
His question takes me by surprise. “Someone who sacrifices their own needs and desires for others.”
“Exactly. The guy who always smiles. The guy seen as perfect and effortlessly happy. The guy with no issues. The guy who’s golden.” The notebook closes with a quiet thud. “Can you see how those titles could damage an identity? Could cause confusion and doubt?”
I squeeze the pillow in my arms. “Asking the hard-hitting questions today, huh?” Armin’s brow arches, waiting for me to continue, so I do. “I can see how it can be damaging, but I have shown one person. My agent. She knows more about my feelings than anybody else.”
His neutral expression shifts into one of surprise. “How did she respond when she saw the Cade that nobody else sees?”
“Perfectly.”
“Do you feel like it dragged her down and made her life harder by helping you?”
“Not at all.”
He leans forward. “And why do you think that?”
“Because she told me so, and I trust her. All I needed to do was tell her what was going on, and she listened. She cares about me, not the golden boy.” I swallow hard. “Just me.”
Shay has always seen me. It’s the reason I hid from her.
It’s the reason I’ll always love her.
“What did it feel like to be seen like that? Like the real Cade?”
My eyes sting as Reed’s word comes to mind. “Honestly? I felt free.”
A smile, the first one ever, appears as Armin looks straight into the camera. “Then it sounds like you’re on the right path to finding yourself without the title and labels, Cade. And surrounding yourself with people who see you. That’s the best thing you can do.”
Why did nobody tell me therapy is emotionally and mentally draining?
I crawl out of bed and nearly trip over my suitcase.
The Pilots leave for Washington D.C. bright and early tomorrow, and I’m ready to get back on the field.
Marcus and Dawson are equally excited, unrelenting with messages and reminders of what to bring, as if I’ve been gone for months instead of a little over two weeks.
It’s Shay’s all-client dinner tonight that has me nervous.
With a stretch session and hot shower on my mind, I open the front door and grab the package that contains my massage gun. But something leaning against my porch railing makes me halt. Then I spot those assessing eyes topped with caterpillar brows, and the air grows thick with history.
History I have no interest in rehashing.
Jon pushes his foot into the gap before I can close the door. “Come on, Cade! Don’t do this. You haven’t answered my messages, so I had to try the old-fashioned way.”
I scoff at the use of my first name. “Get lost.”
“Just give me five minutes!” he pleads, slamming his palms together.
There isn’t a chance in hell I’m letting him inside for a second.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I set a timer. “Five minutes.”
A relieved sigh rumbles out of him as I free his trapped foot and he bends down to inspect the expensive shoe.
“I was hoping things hadn’t changed too much, but I guess everything I heard was true.
You’re not talking to media. You benched yourself.
Can’t believe it only took three months for you to fuck everything up. ”
“I fucked everything up?” The words rush out of me. “You’re not going to come to my house, demand my time, and then talk to me like this. It’s why I fired you, remember?”
Broad shoulders sag. “That’s why I’m here. To fix things.”
“You’re ready to apologize?”
The lines around his eyes tighten, and I try not to laugh.
Getting an apology from Jon is as likely as the sun rising in the west. He never believed he was in the wrong.
Not when he screamed for hours about my poor game performances or pushed me past my limits.
He was always doing what he deemed best for my career.
Which was code for his career.
“I’ve got some potential clients I need to sign, Cade, and your silence is loud. Athletes are paying attention to it. ProPact Agency is even starting to question things.”
I knew there was an ulterior motive somewhere.
“You’re here because you need me to speak to the media?”
“No! I came here to talk,” he says quickly. “But I also wanted to ask you to break your silence. A quote would go so far coming from you. And after all I did to get you where you are now, I think it’s worth some compassion. You could—”
“You think I owe you a glowing review?”
“Honestly, yeah. You need to grow up, Cade. Stop pouting because I pushed you to be the best. We were a team! Me and you. We could’ve made it all the way to the top together, but you couldn’t handle the pressure. You were supposed to be my shining achievement.”
My calm begins to slip. “I’m not a trophy, Jon. Or a title you can use. Managing my career was your job, but you were creating a version of me that made you look good.”
“And made you successful!” he shouts, revealing the real Jon Sweeney.
Not the calm guy he tried to emulate when he stepped onto my porch.
“All I did was take the title and image you came to me with and made it better. Stronger. Irreplaceable. The league wanted the golden boy, not Cade Owens, so that’s what I gave them! ”
“But I lost myself in the process!” I shout before I can stop myself.
In the sleepless nights filled with critiques and stuffing my brain with film and spray charts until I was fuzzy-headed and barely able to function. All because I felt as if my image was nonnegotiable.
“All I did was help you become the best shortstop you could be and the player the league adored. And you got everything you wanted. Didn’t you?” He gestures at the house behind me. “The big house back in your home state. The major league contract and salary. When will you realize that I did this?”
I am certain Shay would never say that to any of her clients. Taking credit for her athletes’ achievements would never cross her mind.
Jon isn’t half the agent she is, and he never will be.
“If you got a quote from me, I can promise it wouldn’t save you.”
The skin under his eye twitches. “And what if I lose everything? What if I don’t get these clients I need? What does that say about you?”
“That I have boundaries. And when they get crossed repeatedly, I can hold the line.” I flash him a real smile. Nothing like the one I gave him for years. “It’s called growth.”
He staggers backward. “You’re gonna let me fall like this?”
It’s weird how the question calms me, anger and betrayal dissipating as I look down at the man standing on my porch. Jon always seemed so powerful back then. He acted larger than life, so I believed he was. Now I know better, and I’m done with the manipulation.
“You’re not falling, Jon. This is what we call dealing with the consequences of your own actions.” I check my buzzing phone. “Your time is up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a party to go to.”
Stepping back into the house, I close the door behind me and don’t look back. It’s only when I hear a roar of anger that I take a deep breath.
Good riddance.