CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE NICK
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
NICK
“Jesus fucking Christ, Russell. Save some energy for the regular season!”
My new teammate Solomon Guaidó purses his lips into a tight smile, nodding in approval. If there’s one thing I’m good at, that’s also helped by the clouds occupying my thoughts, is absolutely yeeting baseballs across the field.
“Who says I’m not already holding back?” I reply, managing a friendly smile.
Solomon’s taken it upon himself to be the much-needed rookie mentor, sticking by me and Jax, the other new guy who joined at the start of the preseason.
As promised, the new training grounds here in Arizona are freaking sweet.
The Detroit organization moved their major league and farm teams over from Florida starting this season, and hell if I don’t love how fresh everything is.
My short stint of enjoying WMU’s renovated facilities spoiled me for anything else.
That gives me some kind of relief from the whiplash I’ve experienced over the past week and a half. It’s nice and warm here, and my new Lansing Lemurs teammates are all amazing, but everything happened so quickly.
Ian dropped everything so he could drive me to the airport, and for the whole drive, we managed to pretend like I wasn’t about to fly across the country.
Just two guys bro-ing it out, at least until we faltered at the drop-off zone and dude-hugged each other for so long, his car almost got ticketed.
Hell, even finding a replacement for myself in the apartment back in New Hampshire was a breeze. The Kappa house found a black mold problem and left my high school buddy Cam without a place to live, so now Jeremy gets to live with yet another sweaty athlete.
Everything’s working out, except for the one major issue of me missing my damn boyfriend.
The auto-pitcher beeps and fires at me, prompting me to swing hard. I connect with the fastball, and the familiar, sharp sound of splitting wood pierces my ears. My eyes slam shut out of instinct, and I only open them again once I’m certain there aren’t any more stray splinters still flying.
Solomon walks up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Easy there, man. Take a break so you don’t pull your shoulder before we’ve even had a chance to see you play.”
Nodding, I drop the bat fragments into the designated bucket and head for the dugout. Solomon sits next to me as I grab a much-needed water, and we’re both silent—I’m chugging, and he’s…just silent.
“Something on your mind?” he asks once I’ve emptied my water. “I know rookies usually want to prove themselves when they first join training, but you were swinging at those balls like they were robbers at three in the morning.”
I chuckle, running a hand down my sweaty face and re-adjusting my hat. “Nothing much. It’s just adjustment jitters.”
Solomon purses his lips into a knowing smile. “I know what you’re talking about.” He pauses, but only for a second. “You left a girl back at college, didn’t you?” Then he blinks. “Or…a guy. Or anyone. We don’t care here. But you left someone back there, right?”
We don’t care here. Awesome. The Detroit organization’s owners are gay and married to each other, but that confirmation is still relieving.
“Yup. My boyfriend’s still there. He’s graduating in April.”
“And he’s coming to join you, right? I’ve seen your stats, and I’d be surprised if you’re held in Lansing for longer than a couple of years. Those major league wiv—partners live charmed fucking lives.”
I shake my head. “Nah. He’s an international student, so he can’t stay.
” Besides, my major league potential, if I even have any, doesn’t change the fact that I’m not being paid a ton at this level.
There’s no way I could support two people on my salary, unless I tried to swing an off-season coaching gig—
“Man, sorry to hear it.” Solomon claps my shoulder again, which I’m learning is one of his signature gestures. “I can tell you have a good head on your shoulders, though. If your guy’s anything like you, things are gonna work out.”
Will they? It’s been a week, and even though Dean and I have been calling…
semi-frequently, trying to find space between my training and his exam prep is tough.
He’s excited to see me every time, but his eyes have started to look sad.
More so than before, and the fact that he’s so obvious through the filter of a video call is distressing.
And then we haven’t managed to speak to each other at all in the last three days, save for a text here and there. God, I hate seeing him sad, and not being able to do anything about it fucking kills me.
Nope. Enough.
I have to stay focused on proving myself. Moping is for after-hours.
I go through a couple of conditioning drills with Jax, trying to force myself to stay motivated, and Solomon walks up after a while. He gathers me and Jax, an arm around our shoulders, and gets us to lean in.
“Calvin’s here,” Solomon whispers, referring to one half of the team’s executive couple.
Out of curiosity, I flick my eyes over to the training ground gates, and sure enough, Calvin Smith has arrived, his clean-cut suit standing out amongst the crowd of sweaty, jersey-clad athletes.
“He likes getting to know everyone the team signs, so you and Jax are in line to have a little chat with him.”
The color drains from Jax’s face—he looks like he’s about to shit his pants.
“Relax, man!” Solomon slaps his back. “He’s super chill. I bet he’s gonna get his exec assistant to schedule some time with you guys one-on-one after the afternoon break, so get showered and changed when that happens.”
As if on cue, Jax and my phones light up on the bench. Swallowing my nerves, I silently thank myself for not dressing like a total slob to practice today.
This waiting area is quieter than anywhere I’ve ever been before, and I am not about to make a fool of myself by fidgeting noisily. So I keep my muscles clenched, preventing myself from tapping my foot against the shiny linoleum floor of the practice facility’s executive office.
Then again, I’m alone—I don’t exactly have an audience.
I showed up ten minutes early, which is a habit I’ve picked up from Dean, and while it’s good optics, waiting around is nerve-racking.
Still as a statue, I shut my eyes, waiting for Calvin to show up and trying to distract myself from how I’m alone.
Staying completely motionless for longer than a few seconds is all but impossible for me.
I compromise by running my hands along the coarse fibers that make up the inside of my jeans pockets, picking at the ridges with my fingertips and hoping I don’t accidentally rip anything.
And then I hear footsteps. I jerk my head to the side, following the noise, and Calvin walks up, giving me a smile.
“You’re early,” he says, and I nod. “Head on in. This won’t take long.”
Something about going into someone’s office before them doesn’t sit right with me, so I crack the door open and hold it for Calvin to walk in.
He settles at the head of the dark wood conference table, motioning for me to take a seat a few chairs over from him, and I sink into the plush, cushioned fabric.
“So, Nick,” he starts, leaning back, “how’s the team been so far?”
“Really great,” I reply. “Everyone’s been welcoming, and I’m definitely getting used to the new dynamic here.”
“Awesome.” Calvin has a subtle southern drawl, and he drags the word out. “I’ve been keeping an eye on all of the new guys, and you’re going really hard with practice.”
I chuckle. “For sure. Just trying to prove myself.”
His green eyes narrow, scrutinizing me. “Is that the only reason?”
Dear god.
“Am I that obvious?” I wonder out loud before checking myself. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
Calvin waves me off. “Don’t worry about it. But I want to make sure all the new guys get integrated as well as possible, so if there’s anything going on, you can feel free to tell me. I’m all ears.” He gestures at me to offer something up, so I shrug.
“I don’t know. My boyfriend has to leave the country in a matter of weeks, so unless you guys have a way to make that not happen…”
“We can definitely help with a spousal visa. We work on a ton of those every year.”
“Oh, we’re nowhere near the marriage stage.” Unfortunately. “He’s waiting to hear from a master’s program at Washtenaw, which would be perfect, but they aren’t moving fast enough.”
“They never do,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The dipshit university president is a lazy asswipe with a spending problem.”
My eyebrows raise. Perfectly groomed Calvin Smith, co-owner of the Detroit organization, just spouted extremely personal vitriol about the president of a top university—
“He’s also my cousin. I’d know,” he continues. “So in the absence of Washtenaw U actually hiring enough staff for…anything, everyone just has to wait and see what happens.”
“You think you could give your cousin a call?” I ask half-jokingly, laughing to give myself an out if needed.
For a single, fleeting second, I let myself think the prospect of Calvin pulling some strings is the best-case scenario. But Dean’s the kind of guy to stand on his own. He got to where he is based on being smart and independent.
Calvin chuckles. “Good one. I don’t know if he’d be willing to hear me out, though.”
Unease sinks into my gut again. “Got it. Thank you. I mean, I know he’s good enough to get in himself, but—”
“I don’t doubt that at all. I hope things work out.”
Nodding silently, I think back to Dean’s admirable but irritating insistence that we don’t intentionally prepare evidence to help with speedrunning visa sponsorship.
The topic shifts away from my imploding, uncertain personal life, and to my history with the sport, my journey, and what I’m looking forward to. The sun is starting to set by the time I leave the executive office, and I reach my hotel room exhausted.
Maybe I am going a little too hard in practice.