Chapter 24
“Easton,” Coach Berrios said, pointing at me from across the English room. Maybe I should have called him Mr. Berrios since technically we were in his class, but that was plain weird.
It was two days after my dad had shown up at the house, and my classmates were filing out, buzzing with the excitement of a Friday night football game starting in four hours and the last class of the week completed.
I scrunched my nose, not sure what I’d done to be held after class; usually, if Coach needed to talk to me, he’d grab me at practice.
“Pull up a seat,” he said once the room had emptied. Noise trickled in through the open door, but I focused on Coach while pulling a seat next to his desk, which was covered in papers, tests, and score books.
“What’s up?” I said.
A smile spread across his face, informing me this was a good meeting. Maybe I had aced his test on Wednesday; Zach and I had studied for two hours for it. “I got a call from the coach from Central Missouri that I’ve been working on for months. He’s interested.”
“He’s what?” I said, standing up from the chair and sliding it back, the legs screeching against the floor.
“He saw you at the showcase before your injury last summer. It scared him off, thinking you were done, but when I sent him a video of you hitting this summer, he reengaged.”
My entire body lit up, adrenaline pulsing through me as my palms went slick.
“Now, it’s not only positive news. Your grades are average at best right now.
He thinks you can get in, but he wants to talk to you.
I’m not supposed to tell you this, but if things check out, he’d offer you a half ride.
He doesn’t have a full ride available without knowing if you can pitch or not. ”
My body drooped. “I’m not sure how I’d even afford to pay for half of college, Coach.”
He studied me for a moment, his mind whirling. “I’m fairly certain you’d get financial aid, Easton. If not,” he paused, his finger tapping on the desk before continuing, “have you tried asking Scott and Morgan if they can help you out? At least with room and board?”
“No way I’m asking that,” I said, smacking back into the seat. “They’re already doing way too much for me. Plus, they have to pay for Tanner, Zach, and Gavin to go to school. That’s too much.”
“Easton, they’d do just about anything for you. I hope you realize that.”
“Yes, yes. I do. But that’s too far, Coach,” I said, my eyes focused on the floor.
“Okay. But what I’d like you to do is talk to the Central Missouri coach and see what he says.
I know you had your sights on Division I, but they’re one of the best Division II teams in the country.
I gave him your number, and he’s planning on calling you early next week. Have you thought of a major yet?”
I nodded without meaning to. “Kind of. But let me get back to you.”
“That’ll work. You’ve battled hard to get this offer, Easton. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks, Coach.” I stood and walked toward the door, unable to shake the excitement vibrating through every pore of my body.
I spun, a new question in my head, the atmosphere giving me a sense of invincibility and the ability to ask the one question Coach had never answered. “Hey, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you Puerto Rican or Mexican?” I shot quickly, hoping to catch him off guard.
He didn’t bite. Instead, he studied me for a second. Not the dodge he gave everyone else where he’d call them an idiot for asking. “Puerto Rican. My dad’s from Bayamón.” He paused for a second. “You’re the only player I’ve told in twenty years. Don’t go spreading it around.”
I’d never tell a soul. I thought I’d set a trap for him to finally get the answer. Instead, he’d given it freely, trusting me with the info.
I wondered why.
I walked into the PT building thirty minutes later, the fall air at my back. “Hi, Emily,” I said as I approached reception.
“Easton?” she said, a questioning look on her face. “I don’t have you on the schedule today. Is your shoulder good?”
“Perfectly fine,” I replied. “I wanted to talk to Nate. Does he have a couple of minutes?”
“He’s with a patient for the next fifteen minutes. I can let him know you’re here if you have time to wait.”
“That’ll work,” I said, grabbing a chair and pulling out my phone. I scrolled through social media, imagining myself playing college ball. But I needed to buckle down this year and figure out what the hell to do with my life.
“You can head back,” Emily eventually yelled across the room.
I stood, shoving my phone into my hoodie pocket, my sneakers squeaking as I found my way to Nate’s office.
“Hi, Easton. Shoulder good?” he asked. The walls of his office were covered with sports memorabilia.
The most prominent were a framed Torry Holt jersey from when the Rams were still in St. Louis and a Missouri basketball plaque next to his framed college degree.
If it weren’t for the drawers filled with paperwork, I’d think I’d walked into somebody’s man cave.
“Sup, Nate,” I said, grabbing a chair. “Best I’ve felt in years.”
“Good to hear. Why’d you stop by then?”
I tapped my fingers to the beat of the song playing softly over the loudspeaker. “You talked about playing baseball before. Did you play in college?”
“Sure did.”
“Where?”
“A small Division II school in Illinois.”
“Did you regret not playing Division I?”
“At the time I did,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “But I never took my rehab as seriously as you did. I didn’t invest in myself enough. But I realized quickly baseball wasn’t my future.”
“This was.”
“This is.”
“Coach said I’m probably going to get an offer soon to a DII school.”
“Easton! Congrats! That’s awesome!”
“I looked up the school on my way here. They have a PT program.”
Nate’s smile got wider as I tried to hold mine back. “You’ve given it some thought?”
“Kind of. I’m not positive it’s for me. But I like the idea of it.”
Nate sat back for a second, rocking in his chair. “You know I’m the owner here, right?”
“I kind of put that together when I found out your last name.”
“I could use an assistant. Someone to come in a couple of days a week to clean the mats and help me keep the bands organized—that kind of stuff. I could schedule you around your baseball games, and you could see if this is work you enjoy.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah. One condition, though. Once you get your degree, if the MLB doesn’t come knocking, you consider coming to work for me.”
“Absolutely, Nate. Thank you.”
I walked to the Quinns’—err, my—home, my steps quicker than they had been yesterday.
I pulled out my phone and tapped on the name at the top of my contacts. It only took one ring for Tanner’s face to come across the screen.
“About time you called me back.”
A laugh overcame me. “I’ve sent you fifty texts since you came home.”
“And yet no calls. Interesting,” he said, a smile on his face. I’d missed seeing that smile, the way his nose scrunched up while his eyes made me feel like the most important person in the world.
“Guess what, though?”
He didn’t answer, just gave the Quinn smirk and shook his head.
“Coach Berrios said Central Missouri might want me to play for them next year. If I can get my grades up.”
“EASTON! Let’s fucking go, dude!”
“Kind of cool, right? Not DI but still something.”
“Who cares? Better than I did.”
“That’s because I’m better at baseball than you ever were.”
“Really? We’re going to go there?”
Our laughs came out together then faded into silence until he started up again. “Have things settled down, though? Like with the dad shit.”
I took a second to find the answer. The type of answer I’d only give him.
“I’m... okay. I think. I don’t think he’ll show up again.
Zach probably scared him to death; he got his bat out and—” I stopped for a second.
“But he keeps trying to contact me. I’ve had three different new numbers try to call me, and I’m pretty sure they’re all him. Like he’s just—”
Before I could finish, Calvin’s voice came on the other end. “Tanner, I’m here!”
Tanner turned his head. “One sec, Cal!” He turned back to me, his smile turning flat.
I didn’t let him find the excuse. “I’m in the front yard, and Gavin is staring out the window like a lost dog. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, dude,” I said as we ended the phone call.
I closed my eyes for half a second. When I opened them, I started the last half mile back to the house, trying to focus on the things that had gone well today. A coach that wanted me, and a new job to boot. A future that wanted me that didn’t run through the army or anyone named Chase.
My phone buzzed against my leg. Maybe Tanner, having snuck away from Calvin enough to finish the talk.
I pulled it out. Not Tanner—a 573 number I didn't recognize. I let it buzz in my hand until it went still, and a second later the little voicemail dot appeared. I didn't tap it.
Two days since he’d shown up at the house. Two days, and somehow I’d let myself believe a bat and a locked door were the end of it.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket and kept walking, the good day already going thin around the edges.
I tried to focus back on the feeling from before I called Tanner.
Not whatever he and Calvin were doing. And not whatever was on the other side of that number. Dad didn’t get to have my mind today.