Chapter 13
brADY
The sound of my bat connecting with the ball never gets old. If I’d gone pro as a pitcher, I wouldn’t get to hear that sound. But here in the Pacific Northwest Independent League, I swing at a fastball down the middle and send it into left field.
I take off at a run and land on first base, exhaling forcefully as I remove my batting gloves and slip them into my back pocket.
We’re on fire tonight, and I take second easily when Oakley connects with a line drive down the third baseline. Minutes later, I’m rounding for home, and heading to the dugout. It’s the bottom of the eighth and we’re ahead by three now. I don’t want to jinx us, but this game is ours for the taking.
It hits me as I drop to the bench and gulp down some water: A year ago, I didn’t think I’d ever get to play ball in a professional capacity. That goal was my entire identity for so long, until it wasn’t.
I’ve made peace with the fact that my life turned out very different than I thought it would. My dream of playing ball in the major leagues was replaced with the dream of simply surviving until the twins were adults.
Then I blinked, and they were grown. We had made it. And I was faced with the uncertainty of not knowing who I was meant to be now. If I wasn’t a baseball player, and I wasn’t the guardian to my siblings, who was I?
Until I got the call from the Thunder. Now, here I am, back on the field. Finding myself on the mound again, throwing pitches they don’t see coming. Letting go of the stress of my life by hitting a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball.
It doesn’t get much better than this.
The fact that I’m getting paid to be here is icing on the cake.
Skimpy icing, but better than paying to play in the local beer league.
Still, the stress of not having work lined up for the offseason is mounting as the days roll on. Turns out, there aren’t many places that will hire a guy with no education, no skills off the ball field, and no availability six months out of the year.
Now I’ve got Sage and our unborn child to worry about. Spending time with her has been incredible. Finally getting a glimpse of who she is, what she’s been through, it made me understand her so much more. And admire her so much more.
She’s strong, independent, and so beautiful it hurts.
Every second spent with her makes me more certain that I want her to stay. Not just so I can be near my child, but so I can be near her. Possibly even be with her.
But the other thing that was clear after our conversation in my car last night is that Sage doesn’t stay in one place for long.
I’m not entirely sure why, but I’m guessing it has something to do with not wanting to lose anyone again.
If she doesn’t stick around, she can’t get close enough to anyone for it to hurt if things end.
If I’m right, then I’ve got my work cut out for me. Because if I want a chance with the mother of my child, I’ve got to prove to her that I’m worth sticking around for.
Lucky, one of the outfielders, strikes out, and storms off the field with his jaw clenched. He sits down beside me and rips off his batting gloves.
“Their pitcher is solid,” I say. “His curveball isn’t easy to hit.”
Lucky just grunts.
“Nice work out there, Dixie. How’s your shoulder?” Miki walks up and eyes me critically. “Still not sure I’m on board with pitchers batting, even if your swing is picture perfect.”
“Thanks?” I say, unsure if they meant that as a compliment or a complaint. “Shoulder feels good.” They nod and turn to Lucky.
“How ’bout you? Need anything?” He shakes his head silently, and the trainer moves on.
I’m not exactly a chatty guy, and if Lucky needs to sit in his frustration for a minute or two, I’ll let him.
The sound of a bat connecting with the ball has me standing and moving to the railing, and I watch our guy sprint for first, rounding the bag for a few steps before dancing back and planting his foot on the base.
Unfortunately, the opposing pitcher doesn’t make it easy for the next Thunder player to take the plate, and the inning ends with us securing just the two runs.
The game’s not over, and if we want to hold onto our lead, we need to be on top of our game. Which means I need to focus on the field, and not on Sage, our baby, or my employment issues.
We pull off the win, and afterward spirits are high. I find myself getting caught up in the energy coming from my teammates.
Baseball locker rooms are strange places. It’s a windowless room full of men with zero modesty and huge egos. It often stinks like dirty socks and that dish you forgot under your bed for a month. And depending on how the game or practice has gone, it’s either a nonstop party or a funeral.
“Hey Dixie, you coming out with us tonight? It’s karaoke night!” Cal asks as he swaggers up to his cubby next to mine, wrapped only in a towel.
I pull my shirt over my head before I reply. “Sure, why not.”
Going out beats the alternative of going home to my too-quiet apartment and spending even more time searching for a job.
Cal clutches his chest and looks at me, shocked. “Holy shit, he said yes!” Raising his voice, he turns to face the room. “Everybody, I need your attention. Dixie actually said yes to coming out tonight. It’s a fucking miracle!”
The room erupts in cheers as I roll my eyes and pull on my shoes. “Calm the fuck down, Pretty Boy,” I grumble. “I’m not that antisocial.”
Cal, now wearing clothes, leans back against the cubby next to me with a smirk. “Not antisocial no, but quiet, yes. Private, yes. Kind of boring, yes.”
I know he’s teasing, but I still punch him in the side. Despite Levi’s encouragement a couple weeks ago, I still haven’t made an effort with the guys. In all the months I’ve been here, I’ve only gone out once, and that was for a fundraiser the team was involved in.
I have to do better. And a part of me wants to. I want to be friends with the guys, not just teammates.
Besides, it’s not like I’ve got to get home for the twins or anything. I literally have no one waiting on me.
Which is how I find myself out at a bar in downtown Cedar Creek, sitting at one of two tables full of Thunder players, nursing a beer, watching Griff and Foxxy make fools of themselves on the stage singing “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond.
“Alright, since I’m the one to successfully get you to join us tonight, I’ve been nominated by the guys to be the one to ask this question. So don’t hit me or anything.”
I turn and look at Cal with my eyebrows raised. “Okay…”
He grins and holds up his hands. “Listen. We just wanna know the story. Oakley said he played against you back in high school and you were good. Like, going to the pros good. So how’d you end up here?”
I knew it was only a matter of time before one of them asked. “And you’re worried I’m gonna hit you for asking me that?”
He shrugs. “Not really, but you never know.”
“Well, I’m not. It’s not like it’s some dirty secret.” I take another drink of my beer. After so many years of not talking about it, somehow, I’m now having to tell the story for the third time—ever—within the space of a few weeks.
Funny enough, it feels easier to get the words out this time.
“My parents died in a car accident when I was eighteen, and I had to step in as guardian for my younger siblings.” I run my fingers down the side of my beer bottle, wiping away the condensation. “Couldn’t go pro with two eleven-year-olds to look after.”
Of course, right as I finish talking, Griff and Foxxy slide into their seats across from us. I glance up to see them looking at Cal, who I’m guessing has a not-so-good look on his face.
“Was our singing really that bad?” Foxxy jokes.
“Nah, I was just filling Pretty Boy in on my shitty family history,” I quip back. “Don’t think he was prepared for the truth.”
“Fuck off, Dix. Don’t make jokes,” Cal half growls, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, bro. That’s a shit thing to have to go through. I get why you don’t like talking about it.”
“Okay but is someone gonna fill us in?” Griff says, and Cal shoots him a look.
“Shut up about it.”
I exhale and shake my head. “Nah, it’s fine. Might as well let you three know now, then you can spread the word to everyone else who's wondering.” I repeat the story, and watch Griff and Foxxy’s faces fall just as Cal’s had.
I look between the three of them and feel my jaw tighten. Fuck. The last thing I want is anyone treating me differently because of it.
Griff is the one who speaks first. “That’s heavy shit, bro. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Thanks. But hey, it’s in the past. We don’t have to talk about it.”
Cal slaps my back. “I’m glad you told us, Dixie. But I’m still sorry we pushed.”
“It’s fine. Really. Let’s move on, okay?” I say, really fucking hoping the guys drop it.
With a nod, Foxxy leans back in his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Yeah, let's get the vibe back up. I’m thinkin’ shots.” He turns to the other table and shouts at them, asking who’s in. A round of shouts goes up, and Foxxy stands up.
“Fuck, yeah. Tequila for everyone.”
Beside me, Cal groans. “I’m almost thirty, I can’t do shots.”
“I’m thirty-two, so get lost with that nonsense. There’s no game tomorrow, so we’re doing tequila shots. Besides, Dixie’s still young, let the man live a little.” Foxxy points a finger at me. “You in?”
I’m gonna regret this; I hate tequila. But I nod. “Sure, let’s do a shot.”
As expected, I regret going along with Foxxy’s plan as soon as the liquor is burning down my throat. But I hide my grimace and slam the shot glass down.
Foxxy’s holding his hand up for a high five, and I slap it before picking up my beer and draining the bottle.
“That was some low-quality tequila, Foxxy.” I give my head a shake.
“Listen Dix, you want better booze, you buy the next round.”
I put my hands up with a grin. “Hell no.”
Griff pushes back his chair and stands up, clapping his hands together. “All fuckin’ right boys. Who’s going on stage next?”
This is what I didn’t realize I was missing. The friendship, connection, and camaraderie of being a part of a team.
A family.