7. JACKSON
SEVEN
JACKSON
I pass a bowl of chips to O’Neil and hurry to the door.
We’re having an MLB The Show night. We try to make it out to the bar when we can, but this gig is a fucking grind and also…
we get paid shit. So, when we want some team bonding, we pile into our Clippers-provided housing and play video games all night.
Most of the guys with families don’t come out for these nights. I swing open the door.
“Hey, Ollz!” Roche pushes past me, something bundled in his arms.
Roche does manage to join us even though he’s one of the family-man guys.
We all look to him as our captain. He’s a minor league vet and had some time in The Show when he was younger.
We have a few guys like that on the team.
It’s great to have guys with experience in the big time to help coach us younger players.
And they’re reliable—if the Jetties need a solid first baseman in a pinch, they can depend on Roche.
“I brought All-Star Baseball 2000 and my N64!” he calls.
A bunch of the guys groan.
“Veto!” Thompson says. “You’re showing your age, old man. The graphics on that are offensive to the eyes.”
“This game is a classic, I hope you know. Back when it came out, the offensive graphics were beyond their time.”
“These young whippersnappers don’t appreciate nuffin’ these days,” O’Neil snarks.
Roche smacks him across the back of the head, and we all laugh. Then he takes a seat next to Thompson.
Araujo and Thompson live next door, so they’re already here.
O’Neil is one of my suitemates. He rooms with Slater, one of our relievers.
I roomed with Henderson, but now I’ve got the room to myself since he got injured and is rehabbing down in Double-A.
Can’t say I mind. Henderson is in Dev’s camp, just quieter about it.
My heart had dropped out of my ass when I saw my roommate assignment.
Dev can’t make it tonight. Stuck with the wife and kids.
When he texted me that, I nearly cheered.
It’s been a really weird year so far. It’s almost like the Clippers have a roster of good people.
Last time we went out to the bar a couple weeks ago, I got set straight about Dev by Stone, Michaels, and Nebs.
The thing they don’t know is…I’ve always agreed with them.
But the world favors men like Devereux.
We are praised and rewarded for being assholes.
We treat women as objects? Great job, son!
Grab ‘em by the pussy! We make fun of others and prey on their weaknesses? You’re becoming quite the man!
They’re not always that blunt, but it’s everywhere you look growing up.
Subtle remarks slid into everyday comments, built into people’s actions and mannerisms. TV, media, school, home.
You can’t escape it. And everyone just laughs along like it’s some big joke, myself included.
Call me shell-shocked, but for the first time in my life, I have a good chunk of teammates whose hearts do more than just beat in their chest but also pump kindness and decency through their veins. They respect others and stand up to those who don’t.
It’s made me realize some really shitty things about myself. Like how I’ve been contributing to that harmful rhetoric. My world has gone unsteady. I don’t want to be who I’ve been anymore. I just don’t really know what I want to be—what I’m ready to be. But I do know I want to change.
There’s a pounding on our door, and I hurry back over to it. I swing it open to reveal Nebs, Michaels, Stone, and Winters.
“Hey, guys! Come on in.” They shuffle in, and I spot Barnes bringing up the rear. “Barnes! Dude, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
We clasp hands and go in for a quick hug.
“Yeah, I’m up in Providence for the summer. Doing a PT clinical rotation up here. I’m shacking up with those goons.” He points to the foursome who are now greeting the rest of the team. “Frankie offered his room in particular, but I gently let him down.” He grins.
My stomach squeezes, and I force out a laugh.
I can totally see Frankie making that joke.
He’s not shy in his flirting, and Barnes is a really good-looking guy.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen Nebs’s brother, and knowing this guy gets a whole summer in the same house as him?
Damn. Barnes may be straight, so there’s no real threat there, but, fuck, I’m jealous.
“That’s exciting, man. I hope you’ll be able to catch more Clippers games.”
“That’s the plan. Will still be pretty busy with PT stuff, but at least I’ll be up here. Almost feels like the good ole days, you know?”
I don’t. I’ve never had the kind of friendship he has with Winters.
As much as the friends I’ve surrounded myself with have been assholes, I haven’t really been much better.
I never became friends with them simply to be friends.
I chose them because they could be my cover.
Something twists deep inside my gut, and I force my lips to keep smiling.
“You any good at The Show?” I lead him over to the living room.
He scoffs. “Is that even a fucking question?”
I glance back at him over my shoulder and smile sheepishly. “Right, former baseball player. Totally a criminal offense if you weren’t.”
“There you go. How’s your shoulder doing?”
I groan. “It’s a pain in my fucking ass. I’ve got this deep ache in it. The trainer works it for me pretty much every day. Just typical dead arm, you know?”
“You doing band work?”
“Yeah, and I’ve gone even lighter on my weights.”
I go to sit on the couch, but Barnes shoves me to the floor. “Nope. Sit. I’ll work on your shoulder while we watch these idiots play real baseball for once.”
A chorus of offended heys follow.
“Excuse me, Barnes,” Nebs chirps. “But pretty sure we all got drafted, and you didn’t.”
Oooohs and oh shits fill the room, and I stifle a grin. Barnes just shoots an evil look Nebs’s way. “Someone just lost massage privileges. Don’t come crying to me when that quad is bothering you.”
Nebs’s eyes go wide. “Noooo. Maddox, you are like the most bestest baseball player of all baseball players.”
Laughter swirls around us. Barnes has magic hands. It’s not a secret on the Clippers. He’s hoping to get a minor league gig once he finishes his doctorate. He earned his bachelor’s in athletic training, became a certified athletic trainer, and is now pursuing his Doctor of Physical Therapy.
Speaking of said magic hands, they land on my shoulder, and he starts softly palpating it. “Pain?”
“Nmm-mm.” I shake my head. My skin prickles, and I glance over—and stiffen. Nebs glares at me, mouth pressed in a flat line. It’s not the first time I’ve earned that look. He clearly doesn’t approve of his friend talking to me. I quickly look away.
“Did the trainer give you any limitations?”
“Yeah, but I think I need to revamp my entire routine because the light weights aren’t cutting it.”
“I’d be happy to take a look and give you suggested changes.”
I lean my head back against the couch and catch Barnes’s eye. “Thanks. I’d really appreciate it.”
Barnes and I hit it off from day one and…
I think we’re actually friends. Not for any other reason than we just vibe.
I know his crew—Nebs, Winters, Stone, and Michaels—all give me the side-eye, as Nebs just proved a second ago.
They think I’m an asshole, which is warranted because I know I am.
But Barnes isn’t privy to that, and they mustn’t have said too many shitty things, because he seems to like me.
We’ve talked a lot about his college ball days.
His eyes always light up when he talks about playing with Winters.
I was curious if there was any bitterness or envy over Winters making it and not him, but he seemed to have always known college ball was where it was going to end for him.
Now he wants to be able to help athletes keep their dreams alive. He’s a stand-up guy.
I’ve gotta say, it’s been kind of nice. Having a real friend.