8. CHAPTER 8
I kept checking the cupholder—wallet, phone, sunglasses—then glancing at Easton like he might vanish. My hand twitched every time his arm bumped mine at a stoplight as we battled for elbow room on the center console.
The field for the first game was nondescript; it looked to be the home field of a local high school. The dugouts were new, with an eagle painted on both brick exteriors. Two sets of batting cages lined both sides of the field, as did two shabby bullpen mounds.
Gavin joined his teammates, and they stretched on the open grass behind the field. They looked like a hive of bees, with their solid yellow jerseys and black pants. Gavin stood almost a head shorter than the rest—being the only thirteen-year-old made the gap feel even bigger.
He may have been small, but he was turning into a pretty good athlete. Gavin had come to every morning workout this summer, and he was in better shape than all the freshmen as well as every sophomore outside of Easton and Zach.
With the cages open, Easton and I decided we’d take a couple of rounds of BP. We walked back to the Durango to grab the always present bucket of balls and my favorite wood bat—you never knew when you’d have a free cage to hit in.
The chaos of bats cracking, parents yelling, and coaches barking surrounded us as Easton and I kept swinging. Gavin’s coach approached us between sets.
Coach Messina was in his upper forties. He was a bigger guy—maybe four inches taller than me—with a hint of a gut; his deep farmer’s tan was indicative of how much time he spent at the field.
He and his wife never had kids, so he dedicated his summers to coaching what he called “the most important age of a baseball player’s life.
” I had played on Coach Messina’s travel team when I was fourteen, during the summer before high school, and I’d enjoyed playing for him.
“How are you, Tanner? Glad you could make it out this weekend.”
“So am I. I’ve been wanting to get to some games, but we’ve had a full schedule all summer.”
“I’m sure. Are you guys going to be any good next season?”
“Yeah. Anything short of a state title will suck. Most of our guys are coming back, and we also added this guy,” I said, introducing Easton.
“Gavin won’t shut up about you,” Messina said.
I stared at the ground, biting back a smile I didn’t want anyone to see.
“Sounds right,” Easton laughed.
“Anyway, can you two throw to my guys? I hate to break up your session, but I’d like them to get some swings in after the long trip.”
“Sure. We have some pitches left in our arms.”
We got through most of the guys quickly. With only a couple of players left, Gavin stepped into the cage.
I threw Gavin ten pitches, and he lined all ten right back at me, just as if we were back home. I looked over at Coach Messina to make sure he was watching and then turned back to Gavin and said, “Switch!”
The next guy up, thinking I meant switch batters, tried to enter the cage.
Gavin said, “Not yet. Ten more.” He moved into the left-handed batter’s box.
Gavin and I had talked on the drive here about how he still hadn’t told Coach Messina about taking swings left-handed.
I figured it’d be easier to show than tell.
“Hit it where it’s pitched,” I yelled at Gavin.
He drilled the first nine pitches as if they had offended him.
The last pitch I threw was a curveball down the middle, and he smoked it right above the opening of the L-screen.
Gavin stepped out of the cage, head down, but the grin tugging at his cheeks gave him away. He knew he’d just put on a show.
I stole a look at Coach Messina. He sat on a bucket of balls, the scorebook dangling from his hands. Easton and I finished throwing to the last two guys then walked over to him.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Messina said.
“I bat lefty,” Easton said. “So Tanner throws to him, and I’ll watch him swing left-handed and fix what I see.”
“That’s impressive, you two. Tanner, I mean this as no offense to you, but he’s better now than you were when I coached you.”
“Well, I always said I’d make a better coach than a player. You do know that he’s more than a year and a half younger than when I played for you, right?”
“That’s why it’s so impressive,” Messina said. “I’ve got to get back to the dugout. I’ll talk to you two after the game. Thanks again for throwing.”
“No problem, Coach.”
Easton and I set up our lawn chairs just off the third baseline, tucking into the sliver of shade cast by the building behind the field.
Five hours later, both games were over. They won both convincingly, and Gavin went a combined eight for ten.
We packed up the cars and drove to the Holiday Inn. It was still early in the day, but with a triple-header on Saturday, there wasn’t going to be much playing around that night.
“Messina said we were going to dinner at six,” I said, tossing my duffel bag on the closest bed in our room. “Why don’t you shower so you don’t smell so gross?”
“Smell yourself sometime,” Gavin said, stripping off his uniform and tossing it on the floor. He grabbed clean underwear and vanished into the bathroom.
I flipped through channels while Easton climbed onto the other bed; he’d been quiet since we’d gotten to the room. He faced the window, looking out at the view that was blocked by a parking garage.
Why wasn’t he talking? Had I said something wrong—was he already regretting coming? The shower shut off before I could find something to watch or spiral any further.
“That felt good,” Gavin said. He came out of the bathroom in just his briefs with a towel over his shoulder and jumped into the open spot on Easton’s bed.
Apparently, nobody wanted to sit with me. That was cool.
“I’m so sorrrre,” Gavin moaned. He’d had a rough day catching both games of the double-header in ninety-eight-degree weather.
“You’ve got another three games tomorrow, so get used to it,” I said.
“Can you give me a massage, Tanner? My legs are like jelly.”
“Not gonna happen, bro,” I said, finally finding a Cards versus Cubs game on TV.
“Easton, will you do it? I’m in so much pain.”
“If it’ll get you to stop bitching, I will. But put some shorts on first—I’m not giving a massage to a damn gremlin,” Easton said.
Gavin went to his bag; he pulled his underwear down to moon Easton while he was bending over to find a pair of shorts.
“Pull those things up,” Easton laughed. “You’re a little perv.”
“I’m thirteen, I can do what I want!” Gavin said. He jumped back in bed next to Easton, finally clothed. Easton got behind Gavin and began slowly massaging his shoulders.
I stared at Easton’s hands on Gavin’s shoulders. I looked away, trying not to think about what it’d feel like to have Easton’s hands on me. Heat crawled up my neck anyway, like I’d sat too close to the sun. Too close to my rule.
Easton’s voice snapped me out of my trance. “Gavin looks passed out,” he said, slipping out from behind him. He moved to my bed without asking. My body rested against the headboard. He grabbed a pillow and laid on his back, his head near my feet. “Are you going to fall asleep on me, too?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired. That sun was rough.”
“Tanner, we’ve played in the heat all summer. We only sat in a chair today.”
“Cheering for Gavin is hard work,” I said.
“Whatever you say, boss,” Easton said. “You’re a good brother, Tanner.”
“You’re really good with him, too.”
The air conditioner buzzed. He didn’t say anything, just shifted his head against the pillow and looked at the ceiling.
“I’m glad you came with us,” I added. “He loves having you around.” I hesitated. “I like having you around.”
Easton’s eyes darted to mine before we both looked away. I told myself it meant nothing. And then I told myself not to hope.
Easton ended up rolling over; as much as he made fun of me for being tired, he fell asleep before I did.
An hour later, a phone call from Coach Messina woke me; he was asking if we were ready to go to dinner.
We met everybody in the lobby. Gavin, who seemed to be rejuvenated from his nap, joined his teammates while Easton and I joined Coach Messina and his wife, Rose.
Over burgers and fries, we talked baseball for an hour.
I told Coach Messina about our team, and he shared stories from decades past of kids long grown, their names faded but the players themselves still sharp in his memory.
Easton leaned in, asking about different strategies, eager to learn.
I sat back for a while, letting their conversation fill the space around me, content just to listen and take it all in.
We returned to the hotel for the night, and almost instantly, the alarm clock was ringing.
I managed to wake everyone up, and, twelve hours later, we arrived back at the hotel at 9 p.m. with three more wins under our belt.
Mercifully, the third game had been quick, and we’d be able to get some sleep.
Within an hour of returning to the room, we had all showered, and Gavin fell asleep shortly after getting into bed to watch SportsCenter.
“Throw some shoes on,” Easton whispered. He led me to the elevator as I texted Gavin to let me know if he woke up.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Easton hit the lobby button. The elevator was empty except for a handrail running along its walls. My reflection stared back at me from a mirror on the right.
“I’m not sure. I wasn’t tired and thought we might go for a walk.”
“Cool,” I said. Most of my nerves around Easton had dissipated over the summer, but there were times when it was just the two of us that sweat started to leak onto my skin.
We stepped outside the hotel; a small breeze hit us, and Easton shivered. The coolness of the air was a nice contrast to the temperatures of the last two days, but mixed with the chills I was feeling with Easton, I wished I had packed a sweater.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” I said. “You turn seventeen in April. Shouldn’t you be going into your junior year?”
Easton laughed the laugh I loved so much—the one that seemed like his whole body was into it. “I failed kindergarten.”
“What do you mean you failed kindergarten?”
“I kind of thought I was a tiger,” he said. I snorted as he continued, “I went into class one week and started roaring at the teacher, and I’d walk around on all fours. Turns out, they don’t let you go to the first grade if you think you’re an animal.”
Our laughter hung in the cool air, words coming to neither of us. When I started to feel awkward in the silence, I said, “Nice weather we’ve got here.” Smooth.
“Yeah. This is like the perfect temperature. If I could live like this the rest of my life, I’d be happy.”
We ended up in a playground. The streetlights shone off one of the slides, creating a glare even in the darkness. I couldn’t see anything outside of the boxed-off park area, but I didn’t need to.
“What else in your life would make you happy? Like in the future,” I asked.
“I don’t know, man. I try not to think about that stuff. You do enough of that for both of us.”
“How do you know what you want to work toward, then?”
“I’m fine just hanging out with you and Gavin. That’s enough.”
“Is this what makes you happy?”
“Right now? Sure. This is peaceful, Tanner. Don’t you think?”
We sat next to each other on the swings. I swung my legs, my toes scraping the pieces of old tires that covered the playground area. I mulled over how I could answer Easton’s question without giving away what I so desperately wanted to say.
“Yeah. This is kinda perfect. I could sit like this for hours with you.”
Was that too much? Had I crossed the line?
“I wouldn’t mind that, either, bro.”
We swung with the beat of our conversation. The Milky Way started to peek out into the sky; the only sound was the squeak of our swings.
Easton’s feet dragged a shallow groove into the mulchy ground, breaking the stillness. He looked at me once, then again, then swallowed like his words had gotten stuck on the way up.
“Tanner,” he finally said, barely above a whisper. “I need to tell you something.”