7. Chapter 7
The building smelled of disinfectant and rubber mats—the smell of a place where you admitted something was wrong with you. The white walls and floors made it feel like a jail, one I'd never truly leave. I hated it instantly.
We had gone to the doctor, and he’d recommended this office for physical therapy. Mrs. Quinn signed me in at the desk even after I told her three times I could do it myself. She didn’t argue. She just smiled at the receptionist as if she was checking in Zach for a dentist appointment.
I rotated my shoulder, the fabric of Zach’s old Missouri hoodie bunching around it. He always yelled at me for wearing it but never asked for it back. Half my closet came from the Quinn boys now, a mishmash of outfits they’d outgrown or forgotten or quietly let me keep.
We made it to the back office, and the physical therapist—Dr. Hartman, though he told me to call him Nate—was younger than I expected, maybe mid-thirties, with a beard trimmed like someone who had their life together. His handshake was annoyingly warm.
“So, you’re Easton,” he said. “Baseball player?”
“Yeah,” I muttered. I was sick of everyone acting like I was broken.
“Ah,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You aren’t the first baseball guy to walk through my doors, and you certainly won’t be the last. The human body isn’t made to throw a ball as hard and as often as I’m sure you do.”
I blushed, and he asked more questions—how long had the pain been there, what movements made it worse, how often I threw, if I’d done any work to treat it. I answered most of them. Mrs. Quinn filled in the blanks without making me feel like an idiot.
Then he started the exam. It wasn’t even the pain that bothered me. It was how he noticed every tiny thing. Every guard. Every flinch. He’d seen it all and knew my lies before I tried them.
“You’re compensating through your trap,” he said. “Trying to hide it. Bet you’ve been doing that for months.”
I looked away. Mrs. Quinn sat and watched, as patient as always, her eyes never leaving the two of us.
Nate didn’t scold me. He didn’t say I should’ve come sooner. He nodded as if he understood the words I hadn’t said out loud.
“The good news, Easton,” he said when we’d finished, “is I don’t think there’s any long-term damage done to your shoulder. The bad news is you’re going to be out of commission until spring, if not longer.”
“I can at least hit, though, right? That’s not going to cause any issues.”
Nate shook his head. “A good swing needs too much torque. You’d be exerting too much effort.”
My head sank. No high school ball. That meant no playing in college. Which meant no college.
“Easton,” Nate said gently, his voice slow but demanding my attention.
He waited until I looked up again, meeting his eyes.
“I understand this feeling. I went through it my sophomore year, and it was not fun. You can come back from this and possibly even stronger. I’ve treated dozens of kids your age. We’re going to figure this out.”
I nodded at him and acted as if I believed him, but my entire body knew he was wrong.
When the appointment ended, Mrs. Quinn walked beside me to the car without forcing me to talk. The cold air hit us when the doors opened.
“You did well,” she said.
I shrugged. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“It will,” she said. “Give it time.”
I didn’t believe her, either. But I guessed I had to try.
The following day was a Saturday. I spent the first part at my house, walking around, trying to figure out what to do. My shoulder shot with even more pain thanks to the session, and I needed a distraction.
I used my key to open the front door of the Quinns’ house.
I’d gotten it from Mrs. Quinn within a week of knowing them; I wasn’t sure why, but I had spilled almost everything to her the first moment we’d talked alone.
Maybe it was because I’d been cooking and felt at ease; maybe it was the way she’d put her hand on my shoulder like she’d understood even though there was no way she could have.
The house sat silent today. Mr. Quinn wasn’t in his recliner, and Gavin wasn’t running around the house in his underwear. I should’ve texted him or Zach to see if they were home.
I walked up the stairs, hoping one of the boys was in their room.
But I already knew—the front door opening acted like a light for moths, with everyone able to hear it regardless of where they were in the house, and they’d scramble toward the sound.
The silence overwhelmed me as I knocked on Gavin’s and then Zach’s door.
I told myself I was just checking the rooms, but when I walked by Tanner’s, my feet slowed at the entrance, the way they always did. I looked into the place where I had slept so many times my first summer here; after a slight hesitation, I entered to the faint sound of the heating unit.
The smell of acorns filled my head as I walked toward his desk. A picture of Tanner, Gavin, and Zach in their baseball uniforms caught my eye. They were a lot younger—Gavin couldn’t have been older than seven in the picture, but his face showed his delight to have Tanner’s arm wrapped around him.
Tanner's futon pulled me to it, and I sank down as the fabric scratched against my arms, and my mind went to all the times I’d fallen asleep to Tanner’s snores feet away.
My phone buzzed against my chest, and I snapped it open, not believing Tanner would text me while I was in his room.
Nope. Just Angie, who’d been flirting with me for weeks, who wanted to know if my day was good. I put my phone back in my pocket, feeling it rattle again as I stared at the ceiling.
Before I'd decided anything, I was on my feet, the Uber app already open in my hand. I needed to see him. To tell him about my dad. About my shoulder.
Twenty dollars for a ride to his apartment. I really didn’t have twenty bucks to spare, but I needed to see him.
The ride was quick and quiet. I’d learned nodding my head when I got in a car meant most drivers wouldn’t try to talk to me.
I reached the apartment complex as the sun faded away, leaving only a streak of orange that smeared the sky. I stood at the door for a minute before finding someone I could sneak in behind.
Last week, I had overheard Gavin and his dad talking about Tanner’s apartment—number 805—so I went up the stairs, forcing myself at each floor to keep going, not knowing if I should even be here.
I found the door and knocked once, then twice. No answer. I started to wonder if I was even at the right place when the deadbolt clicked. At the sound, every part of me said run, but I had to see him.
When the door swung open, the shock on Tanner’s face matched the relief in mine. “Easton?” He sounded surprised with the kind of happiness that ripped through my body.
But then I saw Calvin behind him.
Calvin didn’t look much different from the first time I’d seen him. Still shorter and smaller than me, but this time a slight frown covered his face.
“Oh,” he said. “Hey.” He shifted on his feet, looking from me to Tanner and back again.
“Sorry,” I muttered, suddenly hating myself for showing up unannounced. “I should’ve—forget it. I’ll go.”
“No running,” Tanner said quickly, yanking at my shirt. “Come in.”
Calvin didn’t say anything else, but Tanner shot him a look—one that said Please and I’m sorry. Calvin moved enough for me to come in.
The apartment seemed warm and cozy, but the living room wasn’t built for more than two people and the awkwardness I brought with us. A movie was paused on the TV, with the Netflix symbol in the corner. A half-finished bowl of popcorn sat on the table by the worn-down couch.
“I didn’t know you were stopping by,” Tanner said, shutting the door behind me.
“Yeah. I didn’t really plan it.” I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets. My shoulder throbbed, reminding me of one of the reasons I’d come. “I needed to get away. And your family wasn’t home.”
“Everything okay?” Tanner asked, handing me a bottle of water from his fridge.
I opened it and took a sip, the coolness sitting on my tongue. I looked at the carpet, shaggy and an off-color blue that was a stark contrast to the yellow-painted walls. Talking was easier when I didn’t have to meet his eyes. “Have you heard about my shoulder?”
Tanner’s entire body snapped to even more attention. “No.”
“I can’t—I’m not allowed to play right now. Your mom is making me go to physical therapy and stuff, and Gavin and Zach are circling me like hawks. I’m out for at least six months.”
Tanner took a step closer, not touching me but coming close enough I imagined he would have if Calvin hadn’t been here. “You want to talk about it?”
Not with an audience, I almost said. But I was intruding and didn’t want to be ruder than I already had been.
Still, Calvin must’ve read my face because he butted in. “I can give you two a minute,” he offered, but the way he said it made it obvious he didn’t trust us alone.
Tanner’s head snapped toward him, then to me, then back again.
“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head, ready to leave, “I’m the one who interrupted your night. I shouldn’t have shown up without texting you. I’ll leave, dude, it’s not a big deal.”
“You came here for a reason,” Tanner said stiffly.
“Yeah, to tell you about my shoulder. How my season is over before it started. I did that. I can text you the rest.” I started toward the door.
Tanner followed for half a step then held off.
I got to the door, ready to open it.
“Easton?”
“Yeah, Tanner,” I said, refusing to turn back to him.
“Text me whenever. Make sure you’re going to PT.”
I nodded, a tear forming in my eye, mad at myself. For all of this.
I closed the door between Tanner and me and nearly ran for the exit to the building. Don’t give him a chance to catch you, I thought, as I flew down the steps two at a time.
By the time I got outside, the sun had fully set. I walked two blocks away before calling another Uber. I’d forgotten about the drive back—another twenty dollars wasted.
How dumb could I be? Of course, Tanner was spending a Saturday night with his boyfriend. Why wouldn’t he be?
Tanner sent me a text when I was in the car. Six months sucks. But you’ll be healthy by next summer and ready to kick some ass!
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. I sat in the car, facing the blurring building as we drove. I gripped the seat then the seat belt then threw my hands in my pockets, trying to ground myself in... something. Anything.
My feelings for Tanner had always been... complicated. I’d spent most of last year denying they even existed, with Dad’s voice never leaving me; I’d never been able to fully kick him from my mind. But every time I looked at Tanner, my feelings jumped, my heart trying to overcome my brain.
I’d been so close, so many times, to saying what he used to want. What I thought I wanted. Maybe it would have happened by now if it weren’t for Calvin.
Soft music played from the radio, but I barely registered it. I didn’t want to be at my grandparents’. I didn’t want to be at the Quinns’. I didn’t want to be in this car. And I couldn’t be at Tanner’s apartment.
I guess the only answer I had left was my old friend stashed in my bag under my bed.