Chapter 3
brADY
“Okay, Dixie, if you can maybe hold the bat on your shoulder, and Cameron, how ’bout a smile, buddy?”
I glance down at the kid standing between me and Cal Prescott, another player on the Cedar Creek Thunder, a baseball team in the Pacific Northwest Independent League. As of a few months ago, I’m one of their starting pitchers.
Poor kid looks so nervous, I’m worried he might puke. My younger brother Barrett gets like that whenever he’s the centre of attention, so I recognize the signs.
This photo shoot with the local Little League T-ball team is just for some press stuff.
It should be fun and exciting for the kids, not terrifying.
But this kid is so small, I’m not sure how old he could possibly be, and the adults I saw walk up with him are standing behind a group of Thunder staff members.
Maybe he’d feel better if he could see them, but I don’t know if that’s possible right now.
Still, if this kid doesn’t relax, this photo is gonna have a very different headline than Local Ball Players Support Little League.
Ignoring the photographer, who’s still trying to stage the photo, I drop down into a crouch.
“Hey bud. Cameron, right?” I speak softly, calmly, the exact same way I used to talk Barrett down when his nerves would spike.
“Did you know elephants can’t jump? That means you and I can jump higher than an elephant.”
Wide eyes turn to face me as his nose scrunches up slightly. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nod. “Crazy, huh?”
The kid blinks solemnly.
“I know there’s a lot of people here, all of them talking and stuff. But the only thing you gotta do is hold the bat up and look at the camera like it’s the ball, sitting on top of the tee, waiting for you to smash it. Can you do that? Can you picture the camera as a baseball you’re gonna hit?”
Slowly his head moves up and down. I lift my fist up and he bumps it lightly. “Cool, dude. Just make sure you picture the camera as the ball and not the photographer’s head.” I wink as he giggles.
Standing up, I tip my head at the photographer. “Let’s do this.”
Half an hour later, the photo shoot’s done. After one final fist bump with Cameron, I’m free to go.
I walk off the brightly lit field and into the much dimmer hallway that leads from the dugout into the rest of the facility.
There’s still the faint smell of fresh paint in parts of the building, courtesy of the massive renovations that happened these last few months.
When I first arrived in town last November, there was a lot that was under construction, but now, four and a half months later, the facility is mostly complete.
Pushing through the door to the locker room, I head for the cubby with my still shiny nameplate above it, and change into my workout clothes. Then, grabbing a sports drink from the small fridge on my way out, I head to the adjoining weight room.
I need to get in a gym session today, and just like the last several workouts, I plan on going hard.
If I’m pushing myself physically, my brain shuts off. And fuck, do I need my brain to shut off so I stop thinking about the woman I spent an incredible night with back in January.
I don’t regret a single minute of the short time I spent with Sage. Except for the part where I didn’t put my phone number on the note I left. But she said only one night, and I went along with it. At the time, I even agreed that was all it could be.
But now? Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her. That one night has consumed me.
Every time I close my eyes I see her, back arched, mouth open in ecstasy, fingernails clawing at my back as I drive her body wild.
It was just one night.
I don’t even know her last name.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
And I’ve got more important things to think about now, like spring training starting soon.
I have to prove to the Cedar Creek Thunder they didn’t make a huge mistake scouting me.
Not to mention, I need to figure out what I’m gonna do in the offseason to make up for the salary cut I took by moving out here for a job that only pays me for half the year.
But having baseball back in my life was worth the sacrifice.
I’ll figure it out. Somehow.
I whip out my phone and press play on the workout mix I listen to when I need to get in the zone, just as a text message to pop up, and my focus is derailed yet again.
My financial woes wouldn’t be such a concern if I only had myself to worry about. But the text from my sister staring up at me is a reminder of the fact that even now, with both my siblings at the university in Vancouver, it’s still not just me.
BLAIR: Hey big bro! Can you float me some cashola? Books this semester were expensive and the scholarship didn’t cover everything.
I tap over to my banking app and check the balance, doing some quick mental math.
Thank fuck I was able to sell the townhouse in Manitoba for a small profit, and the Thunder offered me a decent relocation bonus.
Those two things gave me a small financial cushion to offset the loss of my full-time job as a night manager at the grocery store.
It didn’t pay that well, but it was enough.
And not having that income is gonna hurt eventually.
brADY: Yeah I can send some.
BLAIR: You’re the bestest! I think Barrett needs some too, k love you five-ever!
Even though seeing her typical parting words makes my lips tip up in a grin, transferring the money into their bank account has me inwardly cringing. But I’ll manage.
I’ve worked too damn hard over the last eight years to make sure the twins never go without something they need.
“Dixie, everything okay?”
I pocket my phone and look up at Levi Hutton, the batting coach for the Thunder, walking past with a clipboard. Giving him a quick nod, I say, “All good. Just some family stuff.”
He nods back and points at the weight rack. “Then get back to your set.”
I grab the thirty-fives off the rack and start curling them up, annoyed with myself for getting caught checking my phone.
I want the team to have a good impression of me, to believe I’m focused and serious about being here.
Answering a text message in the middle of a training session?
Not the greatest look. I’m sure they’d understand if they knew who was texting me and why it was important, but no one here knows my full story.
I’ve never had to tell anyone. That’s the perk of living in a small town while going through the worst thing to ever happen to me, I guess.
I push through the last few reps and rack the weights again, my arms burning from the exertion.
Giving them a shake, I walk over to the bikes.
Today’s all about interval training, my least favourite form of conditioning.
Two minutes of sprinting on the bikes followed by a superset of weights. Repeat until you want to die.
Griffin Voss, one of the catchers for the team, is on the bike next to me, already on his cooldown, the lucky fucker. He started early today because he and Denver Foxx, one of my fellow pitchers, have to go to an end-of-season debrief with the search and rescue team they’re on every winter.
“How’s it goin’, Dix?” he says, wiping his forehead with a towel that he drapes around his neck. “Ready for tomorrow?”
Tomorrow. The day I gotta bring my A-game and show the team why they scouted me.
The coaches are bringing in all of us pitchers and catchers for a special training session to see how we work together and what pairings are the strongest.
“Sure,” I reply, pushing my legs to pedal faster. “Anything’s better than interval training.”
Griff snorts. “Don’t let Miki hear you say that. It’s their favourite method of torture.” He glances around the gym as if the team trainer might pop out at any second. Last I saw them, they were following Levi and Rafe into the coaches’ office.
“Great,” I grunt as the timer beeps for me to move back to the weights.
Griff hops off at the same time and gives me a mock salute. “See ya in the morning, Dixie. Save some strength for the field.”
I jerk my chin at him and move to the squat rack. It’s set up heavy enough that I need to focus on what I’m doing, so any thoughts of Sage, the twins, money, or tomorrow’s session, are pushed aside. I’m not starting my first season here with an injury.
Just under an hour later, I push my hat down on my head and grab my duffel bag from my cubby.
“Heading out?” I turn and see Levi leaning against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t talk much, do you Dixie?” He’s smiling as he says it, so I know the words aren’t an insult, but I shift on my feet, uncomfortable.
It’s true, I’m an introvert at heart, and I don’t talk a lot. Especially to people I don’t know very well. That night with Sage, looking back on it, I’m shocked at how easy it was to open up and talk with her. Laugh with her.
“Not unless I’ve got something to say.” I shrug. “My younger sister talks enough for the whole family.”
Levi chuckles. “Yeah, my little sister was like that, too.” He pushes off the wall and steps closer. “Listen, I just want to make sure you’re doing alright. You’re kind of a mystery.”
He holds up his hands. “Which is fine, I understand wanting some privacy. I know you’re relatively new to the team and the town, so maybe you’re still finding your place. But it can be hard to settle into a new situation if you never put yourself out there. Trust me, I speak from experience.”
I can tell he’s fishing for details. I don’t blame him. Everyone here has been friendly. Welcoming, even. There have been questions about my life story and my baseball experience, but nothing super intrusive.
Still, something in Levi’s tone has me worried. Do the coaches think I’m a possible liability? If I don’t fit in with the guys and show I can be a strong team player, that I want to be here playing for this team, could they let me go?
Fuck. For the first time in a long while, I don’t have a Plan B.
I gave up everything in Manitoba to come out to Vancouver Island and play for the Thunder.
To be closer to the twins, who are just on the mainland at university, and to try and grab onto a shred of my former self and play baseball again.
If this fails, I might be moving into my brother Barrett’s dorm room.
I clear my throat. “I hear you, Coach. Thanks for worrying, but everything’s good. I’m just not a big talker, that’s all.”
Levi nods. “Okay. I can respect that. But the guys here are solid. Couldn’t hurt to get to know them a little bit, you know?”
“Got it.”
Apparently satisfied, he finally leaves.
Well, shit.
I guess I could listen to him and try to put myself out there and make friends. But some parts of my past are better left unsaid.