CHAPTER 44 Archer Bradley
Controlled Return
Troy had mentioned a controlled return the week before I could actually get back onto the field, and because my suspension wasn’t one of the big three offenses—violence or abuse, gambling on baseball or fixing games, or performance-enhancing drugs—I’m allowed to get back into the clubhouse and training facilities with a few caveats.
I can’t be there when the media is present, and I can’t work out during peak times. I have limited access to only the training rooms and my locker, and I have mandatory daily meetings with coaches and staff.
I can’t say I’m much looking forward to my first post-game interview this season. Nor am I looking forward to the conversation I know is going to happen this week with both my publicist and the team publicity group, who will surely coach me on what to say and how to say it.
But it is what it is. I either would’ve hated the first post-game interview forty games ago, or I’ll hate it on the forty-first game. Same difference, only this time they’ll ask me questions I don’t care to answer.
Today happens to be my first day back, and I got in early—well before the rest of my teammates, who won’t be here until after lunch.
It’s weirdly quiet this early.
I draw in a deep breath in the clubhouse.
I know that sounds disgusting since the clubhouse equates to a locker room, but the truth is, it’s not gross at all.
This isn’t a high school locker room. A cleaning crew comes in multiple times a day to sanitize the place, and there’s an aroma in the air of a little bit of leather from the couches, a little bit of detergent from the clean set of towels, and a little bit of mild disinfectant.
But mostly…it smells like home. It smells familiar, like a place I haven’t been in far too long. I sit on the bench in front of my locker and think about how discombobulated I’ve felt over the last two months since Troy handed down my punishment from the league.
Even now, it’s not just the fact that I was suspended. Everything feels off since I left Paradise Island.
Because it is off. Things changed on that island, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same. One more person who let me down. One more person who got to see the real me but chose themselves anyway.
It’s more than all that, but it doesn’t even matter at this point.
I just need to get through the next week.
It’s one day at a time, and coming here today is a big step forward.
It’s a reminder that there is still a home for me.
My blood brother married my ex, but my chosen family, my teammates, came down to the island to check on me when they could. That means something to me.
It means I’m not alone even though it feels that way.
It means I have people I can rely on. People I should pick up my phone for, even.
It means I have a family when it so often feels like I’ve been abandoned by my own.
It feels like I have people I can trust when the rest of the world seems to betray me at their whims.
I stand and reset my locker, and just as I’m finishing up, Troy walks into the room.
“There he is,” he says, a broad smile on his face as he makes his way over to me. He extends his arm, and I shake his hand as he places his palm on my elbow. “How have you been?”
A lump forms in the back of my throat.
What a loaded fucking question.
I clear it out to the best of my ability, but my voice is still garbled when I mutter, “Okay.”
“One more week, son, and you’ll be back in. Talk to me about your month away.”
“I’d much rather have you talk to me about what I missed and what’s coming up,” I admit.
He nods once. “We’re twenty-four and ten so far, off to a very good start.
Fourth in runs scored across the league, and we definitely need you back in left.
Johnny’s picking up Cade’s slack. He’s steady, but he isn’t you.
Cooper’s been hitting three-eighteen, but the bottom of the order hasn’t been performing, and the team average is two-twenty-eight.
Ross took a line drive to the thigh, and he’s out another few games.
We’re three games out of first. The media has been asking about you, but we’ve kept things as tight as we could.
That video from the Bahamas with the four of you didn’t go over well with Shapiro and Bancroft, but I talked them down. ”
“That’s a lot,” I mumble, and he chuckles.
“Bottom line, kid, we’re doing good, but having you back has the potential to elevate us to great. You been keeping in shape all this time?” he asks.
I nod. “Doing my best.” I don’t mention the marathon sex sessions, but I guess the yoga and the batting cage the resort set up for me helped. “Feels good to be back in here.”
“Feels good to see you in here. I don’t think I tell my players enough how much I need every single one of them, you included, Bradley.”
I press my lips together, not sure how to respond to that.
“What happened to you is shitty, and I’m sorry. But whatever comes, you’re family to me. You understand me?” he presses.
I nod. “Thanks.”
“Okay, enough of that. The league signed off on a schedule for you this week. Today you’re meeting with me and Mike Perry,” he says, naming the general manager.
“You’re free to do some workouts and see what the trainers say.
You’ll need to clear out by noon. Tomorrow, we’ve got you set up with your strength coach.
Later in the week is more with trainers, the PR director, and easing into full workouts.
On Monday, we’ll check Ross’s readiness to return to the mound, and you’ll see some pitches off him to see where you’re at.
We’ll be on the road, so we’ve got some minor leaguers stepping up for practice.
Tuesday and Wednesday, we’ll assess whether you’re ready.
We don’t play Thursday, but I expect you’ll be officially reactivated for your first game on Friday, pending everything I just mentioned. Any questions?”
I shake my head. It’s a lot, but it’s everything I’ve been waiting for since the moment I left town, knowing I’d miss part of this season.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“I never stopped being ready,” I murmur.
He nods. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.”
He leaves, and I head to the training room to talk with the trainers about where I’m at and what I need to do to be ready to play next Friday.
I meet with the general manager. Everyone here at the organization seems to know what happened and why I was suspended, and nobody seems to blame me for any of it.
It could have been a huge hit to my reputation, but the fact is that my father played on my emotions and manipulated a signature out of me.
It’s horseshit, and if I never talk to him again, that’s just fine by me.
I’ve got my family here at the Heat, and maybe that’s all I need since every other person in my life continues to prove just how low they’re willing to go.