Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
Nate
“Miller, get off the phone. We need you to warm up.”
I shove my phone in my bag and out of the way. Easton promised to put the kids’ game on Game Changer for me.
This is Timothy’s final tournament for the park-ball championship. If I can’t be there, I at least want to keep up with it best I can.
“What’s going on?” my pitching coach asks.
“Nothing.”
I shrug off the questions and head toward the pen. My arm has been on fire this week—in a good way. I’ve been throwing sick pitches and it’s barely bothered my shoulder.
“Nate the Great!”
I turn toward the seats and find a little boy rushing toward the barrier. An older woman comes behind him, trying to keep up. He’s barely above the wall, but reaches a souvenir ball over. “Can you sign this?”
“Of course.” I take the ball and smile. “Uh, do you have a pen?”
“Here.” The woman hands a marker to me.
I scribble my signature. “What’s your name, son?”
“John.”
I write “To John” more legibly above my name. Then I blow on the ball to dry out the marker before handing it back.
“Thanks.” He lifts his head and smiles, showing a few missing teeth.
“Thank you so much.” The woman presses her lips together sweetly.
“You’re welcome, ma’am. I hope y’all enjoy the game.”
She nods and takes the kid’s arm as they walk away. Most likely to keep him from venturing off too far ahead.
I remove my cap and run my hand over my hair. Now that I know Timothy is mine, I can’t stop thinking about him, or missing him. I miss Brooke even more too, knowing we created this precious person together.
Aaron walks by, popping his knuckles. He bumps me slightly with his shoulder. I know it’s intentional. I choose not to say anything and let him keep walking. I’m starting, so nothing he can say matters much now.
He’s just as good as me, if not better. A small part of me wonders if the coaches aren’t rewarding me for coming back from an injury. Even worse, if they’re throwing me a bone since this might be my last time to shine above him.
I puff up my cheeks and blow into my hands. I’m starting in the opening game. I had to claw my way off the injured list.
But all I can think about is a Little League game. I stare at the time on the scoreboard. Timothy’s game is just starting. A lot of good that does me when my phone is out of reach.
I continue to the bullpen and begin warming up. I hear the announcer give out the starting lineups. My pulse ticks higher when my name is called and the crowd cheers, but I try to keep my focus. Fireworks shoot around us with every name announced.
I take a pause while the National Anthem is sung with a giant flag flying in the background. I hold my cap across my chest but only half hear the song. Everything is a blur against the adrenaline of soon taking the mound and everything waiting for me back in Apple Cart.
When I’m finished with my pitches, I make the walk to the dugout with our catcher. The crowd cheers. I wave and nod, scanning the stands.
Our manager meets me at the dugout steps with a goofy grin slapped across his face. He pats my shoulder as we continue walking in our respective directions.
I rub my chin as my cheeks climb to a smile. This is the moment I’ve waited for all my life.
I’m barely inside when a hard squeeze falls on my shoulder. I turn to Ace shaking it.
“Opening Day starting pitcher! That’s what I’m talking about.”
I smile.
He plops down beside me and rips open a bag of sunflower seeds. “Why are you not more excited?”
“I’m not a super excited guy.”
He laughs. “Yeah, but you look like someone ran over your dog and kicked the carcass.”
“My mind’s elsewhere. That’s all.”
He scoffs. “Well, you best get it in the game. We need you.”
I nod. “Noted.”
I smile, but this time it’s forced. My gaze falls to the small pile of sunflower seeds Ace spits to the side. It reminds me of when the kids played the team that chewed Nicorette and got sick. I laugh, causing Ace to stare at me.
“Good. You found a good mood. Stay that way.”
I ignore him and focus on the ballpark in front of me. We’re called to take the field a few seconds later.
Ace hurls a wad of sunflower seeds in the corner and grabs his glove. I grab mine and jog toward the mound. I only faintly hear the crowd, as I’ve learned to tune them out.
When I hit a mound, it’s like living in a bubble. Pitching is my escape. The only time I let any outside influence rattle me was early on when Brooke broke up with me.
Until now.
My hand sweats inside my glove and my stomach knots. As much as I want to be here, I really want to be somewhere else.
Specifically in Apple Cart with Brooke and Timothy.
I throw the first pitch. A strike. The second, a little outside. I pitch more strikes. He fouls one, but I get him with my heater.
Good start.
We continue the inning, allowing only one run. Two of the three outs were by me at the plate. I should be elated.
But I’m not. This suddenly feels like I’m living out someone else’s dream. Maybe my old dream.
Whatever the case, it’s not delivering the high I’ve been chasing. An inner struggle of guilt for not feeling grateful and guilt for not being where I belong rolls through me.
The batters get ready, including my DH. I fumble for a ball. It’s time to do what I planned on doing one day. I just planned on it being a few years down the road.
I roll the ball across my palm and stand. I look at Aaron across the bench. He’s ready. More ready than me.
I grab a pen from the corner of the dugout and scribble something, then hustle toward the manager. I walk up to him and hand him the ball.
“What’s this?” He frowns as he stares at it.
“Turn it around.”
He spins the ball to see what I wrote. “I’m through. For Love of the Game.” He snorts. “What the Billy Chapel is this?”
“My retirement letter.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Miller.” He stands, knocking the chair over. “You struck out two players in the opening inning of Opening Day. And now you want to retire? Are you on drugs?”
“No, but I have a family I need to get home to.”
“I’ll move your mama’s trailer here myself if that’s what this is about.”
“Not my mama, the love of my life.”
He rolls his eyes. “Good Lord, I thought baseball was the love of your life.”
“It was just a placeholder.” I nod toward Aaron. “He’s ready, and he wants it.”
“And you don’t?”
I shrug. “I already started the game. Checked that off my bucket list.”
“Even after all you’ve been through with the injury and stuff.”
“If I truly thought y’all needed me to win the game and this season, I’d stay. But there’s a lot of talent on this team, and my heart is elsewhere.”
He shakes his head and laughs. “There’s no coming back from this.”
“I know. But I’ve put in my years.” I look at Aaron on the bench. “Time to retire and give someone else a shot.”
The skipper leans closer to me. “If you think I should put in Aaron, I will, but I want one more inning out of you.”
He tosses the ball back, and I catch it. I grin and turn it over in my hand.
“Maybe I’ll draft something more legit about my retirement and submit it to the team?”
He nods. “That would be wise.”
I walk back to the dugout, half-deflated, half-happy. This next inning will be my last to pitch.
Might as well go out on top.
* * *
Brooke
“Mama, Nate isn’t pitching this inning.”
I lean to the edge of the booth to get a better look. Mary brought in a large TV for this very occasion. And from the crowd of people eating around it, I’d say it’s here to stay.
“It’s fine, Timothy. MLB players aren’t known for pitching full games.”
He spouts out a few semi-familiar names from history of guys who pitched complete games.
“That’s a very low percentage of all the games among all the teams of all time.”
He frowns, then nods. I lift my lips to try and convince him it’s fine. I stroke his hair and try to ignore my nerves firing with worry.
Is Nate injured again?
If it happened on the mound, they might announce it on TV. But if he’s suffering silently in the dugout—as Nate would—there’s no way of me knowing.
The last thing I want is for him to be in pain. Lord knows I’ve caused him enough emotional pain lately. He doesn’t need his shoulder to bum out too.
“He did a great job when he did pitch. They’re probably letting him rest,” my mama reassures Timothy.
He half smiles at her and my dad in the other side of the booth. I doubt they’re letting him rest as a reward for getting so many outs in two innings. That’s a typical response from my mother, but one I don’t argue with for the sake of moving on. Anything to pretend Nate isn’t hurt.
Mary brings food to our table. Daddy unrolls his fork, then stops when Mama gives him a look.
“I’ll pray,” he says. He clears his throat and blesses the food, adding in a thanks for Timothy’s team playing hard. This is a typical Daddy response, since they got beat. I silently pray for Nate.
As soon as Daddy says “amen,” he digs into his chicken. Timothy eats a few fries, but in a zombie-like state, with his eyes glued to the TV across the room.
I almost tell him to eat and not worry about the game, then decide better. In between conversations about what time the game will start tomorrow and what needs to be done with apple fritters, I catch myself sneaking peeks of the TV.
“Mama, does Nate have his phone in the dugout?”
I laugh. “No, sweetie.”
Daddy and Mama laugh too.
“What?” he asks.
“It’s a rule,” Daddy clarifies.
“As soon as the game is over, can I call him about our game? I need some strategies for tomorrow.”
“As soon as this game ends, you’ll be in the bed.” I nod at the TV.
He groans.
“We have to be at the field at nine tomorrow to warm up. You need your sleep.”
“Okay.” He rests his head in his hand and lazily bites into a chicken tender.
“I’ll bring over some apple muffins for breakfast, if that helps. I have to get up early and make a ton anyway,” Mama says.
“So you won’t be at my game?” Timothy asks.
She wipes her mouth and glances at me.
“Why don’t y’all win the first game, so then Granny and Smith can have a later game to watch.”
Mama moves her napkin to reveal a smirk.
“I like that idea,” Daddy agrees.
“Me too.” Timothy perks up for the first time since he announced Nate was on the bench.
How awesome it would be for us to beat Jeffrey’s team. However, based on tonight’s performance, it would take a miracle.