Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
“Fucking hell, man. Your arm is lethal. What the fuck did they give you up in Portland?”
I shucked off my glove as we climbed into the dugout, trading it for a sports drink from my cooler.
The scoreboard flickered to the next inning as the top of our batting lineup warmed up with the assistant coaches outside the dugout.
My name might not be as high as it once was, but it gave me a brief reprieve before I went back out there.
As I took a long sip of the ice-cold drink, August stayed at my side, staring at me, waiting for an answer.
“Seriously, man. You’ve got to tell me your secrets. ”
I groaned, dropping to sit on the bench. “Fuck off with that shit, Auggie. Don’t need Weber getting any more bad ideas about me.”
August’s face paled as he looked over my shoulder to where Benny stood out on the field.
He’d been up my ass already, checking in multiple times a day to make sure I was settling in all right.
Redness filled August’s cheeks. “Yeah, sorry, Lyons. Didn’t mean it like that.
I’m just impressed. I’ve heard a lot about your skills from the other guys, but it’s different to see them in person. ”
“No worries, man.”
August cleared his throat as he looked around the dugout, lowering his voice when some of the other guys joined us. “Not trying to make things weird, but I wanted to make sure we’re cool.”
“Cool?”
August cleared his throat. “About me stepping up to your base. It’s not like I asked—”
I chuckled, shaking my head. Yeah, thanks for getting my ass kicked to the outfield.
After a decade of playing in the infield, it rubbed the wrong way, like wearing cleats that were several sizes too small.
It didn’t help that the rest of the outfield had been playing together for a season already, having a harmony I couldn’t quite replicate just yet.
The only saving grace was that I was doing decently when I got up to bat.
My stats weren’t as good as they’d been in the minors, but I was right in the middle of the pack.
I wasn’t the guy who got booed when he walked up to the base, which was a plus.
Dr. Walken would be so proud. Despite my move, I’d kept the same therapist I’d found in Portland.
While he urged me to find someone closer, especially if my schedule didn’t allow for consistent video-conferences.
But after baring my soul to the guy and remembering how painful it had been, it didn’t make me eager to do the same with someone new.
If you want your circumstances to change, you have to be the one to change them.
His words echoed like a mantra, and I exhaled. “Listen, Bancroft. You earned that spot. And from what I’ve seen, you’re the best man for the position.” I clapped him on the arm as I stood to warm my arm up. “Now, get your head together. Tired of hearing Detroit talk shit.”
August nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
Another rookie called out his name, and, with one last grin, he darted away from me.
When the batters lined up, I slid out of their way.
The first rushed to our batting coach, nodding his head—some kid they’d picked up from a college out west but who was already making waves in the league.
Another new face on the lineup. Shit, I’d only been gone for a season, but so much had changed in a short time.
I kept expecting to hear Damien’s bark across the field, monitoring everything, even as he gave the game his all.
So many of the guys staring back at me were strangers.
Soon enough, my name echoed through the dugout, and I grabbed my favorite bat, climbing out into the chilled air.
I stretched as the batters before me got a hit or two out, nothing too showy, but enough to get us on the board.
By the time I approached the mound, we had only one out—almost closed the distance between us and Detroit.
My name echoed off the speakers, and my eyes darted in front of me, blocking out the sounds of people in the stands.
Just breathe.
Everything about raising the bat was second nature at this point.
I knew where to grip the carved wood in my palms, how to bend my elbows to swing out at the exact moment.
But new sensations joined my muscle memory—a tightness in my core, and a cold sweat dripping down my spine.
The pitcher’s eyes met mine, narrowed in his determination.
Yeah, I’d pissed him off in the past; that wouldn’t be unfamiliar territory for me.
But I tried not to think about it, only focusing on the breath circulating in and out of my lungs.
Just breathe.
But when the pitcher stared at me and released the ball, everything went blank.
The ball soared past the bat and slammed right into the catcher’s glove.
The ump screamed something, but the words came out muffled, still too focused on that fucking ball in the glove.
Sitting there. Taunting me. Good, Jace, now you’re creating vendettas with inanimate objects.
Seemed like a step in the right direction.
Probably not, but it was enough to snap me out of my head. I might be trying to find better coping mechanisms, but I still wanted to do well. Above everything else, I wanted that fucking mark in the win column, and I wanted to help the Hawks get there.
Shaking my head, I tapped the bat on the plate and then squared off with the pitcher.
His determination from earlier had shifted—more ego, less impact.
Worked for me. This time, I didn’t force away the pressure, didn’t shove it to the back corner of my mind.
Instead, it rippled through my forearms, and my fingers flexed in my gloves.
When he wound up, I was ready, every muscle in my body primed to make the hit.
When the ball collided with my bat, the vibrations ricocheted through me, spurring my legs to move.
I ignored the cries from my other teammates as I rushed to first base, trying to see where the ball had gone.
It had to be in; no one had called an out yet, so that had to be a good sign.
By the time I rounded second, the shortstop rushed toward me, his glove lifted in the air.
Fuck that. My legs pounded the dirt, red-hued clay flying out from under my feet.
When the ball slid into his glove, I dove, my arms outstretched high above my head.
My fingertips touched the bag just as he tapped my back with the ball, and I sagged against the earth, eyes squeezed shut as I waited for the call.
“Safe!”
Fuck yes. My hands slapped the bag, and I couldn’t hold back the wide grin on my face.
This was what I needed, what brought me back to the fucking field every day.
The rush. The chase. And maybe it wasn’t a home run, but I’d take a fucking double any day of the week.
As I stood, I wiped the dirt off my pants and snuck a look over at the dugout.
Benny’s stare caught mine, and he dipped his chin slightly.
Not enough for anyone else to catch it, but enough for me. I was finally on the right track.
Now, I just needed to stay here for good.
“Nice play out there, Lyons,” a voice called out from behind me.
With a slight shift of my chin, Cam Seda, our shortstop, moved to my side, pulling stuff out of the locker stall next to mine.
When I’d come back to the team, someone else had claimed my old locker, and this was the only open one left, all the others already tagged with the player’s name above them in the same green, thick font that covered the rest of the stadium. Mine had yet to make it back up there.
I dipped my chin in thanks but said little more.
It was an open secret that Cam and I hadn’t gotten along my first time on the team.
Some people were oil and water—we were fire and gasoline.
His calm, regimented demeanor brushed against my jaded one, and he represented everything I wanted to be.
Everything I should have been, according to my father.
While I’d been one of the first drafted within my class, Cam got picked up from the minors and joined the team early in the regular season.
The irony of our situations being reversed now wasn’t lost on me.
He was the star of the team, his jersey selling out of the stadium shops every week, while I was the interloper—the replacement for the guys handpicked for the team.
Cam cleared his throat, pulling my gaze away from the guys on the field. “How are you doing? With being back here?”
I shook my head. “Ramos tell you to check in on me?”
“You know Damien,” Cam sighed. “Can’t help but mother hen, even when he’s injured.”
“Sounds about right,” I answered, keeping my eyes trained on the new recruits.
Damn, they made us all look like amateurs.
Most were barely out of high school, and that made me feel old, even though I’d just celebrated my twenty-fifth birthday.
Baseball wreaked havoc on my joints, especially my elbows and knees, but I’d suck it up, all for the game. Without it, I had nothing else.
You need to find fulfillment outside of baseball. Doctor Walken’s words played back in my mind and made me wince. Well, fuck that. I hadn’t worked my ass off for the better part of two years to blow my shot now.
I turned to say something more to Cam when Parker Drobrek, the third baseman, dropped onto the couch in front of us. He took off his hat, shoving his blond hair away from his face, and blinked behind his brown, plastic-rimmed glasses. “Fuck, these new contacts are killing me.”
“Is that your excuse for missing that catch?” Cam said.
“Keep it up.” Parker smirked as he leaned closer, staring at the side of my head. “You good, Jace?”
I frowned. “Be better when you two assholes stop staring at me like I’m about to pop off at any second.”
Cam just shook his head as Parker barked a loud laugh. “Maybe after we kick the Rebels’ asses. Get a few runs, and then we’ll stop babying you.”
“Deal.”
Cam heaved his bag onto his shoulder, and then Parker stood to join him. Before they could leave the locker room, he bumped Cam’s shoulder. “Ollie showed me the bridesmaids’ dresses last night. Can’t believe you’re getting married in six months, Seda.”
“No shit?” I asked. “You made it official with Hadley?”
“Yeah,” Cam said, a wide smile taking over his features. “Asked her at the All-Star Game. We’re getting married this fall.”
“About time,” I grumbled.
“You’re supposed to say congrats,” Parker mused.
“Yeah, that too.” I nodded over to Parker. “What about you? Finally get Ollie to notice you?”
Parker’s grin slid off his face, a hardness setting behind his eyes. That was new. “We’re just friends. And no, that doesn’t mean you can hit on her. She’s not interested.”
I flinched, once again reminded of my old reputation.
There was a time I would have hit on Ollie; the girl was gorgeous, after all.
Plus, it was always fun to mess with Parker’s rules about her.
He’d given us the speech when she first showed up: no messing with her.
She wasn’t even his, but he imposed a strict no-touching policy, not wanting to deal with any awkwardness when things fell apart.
But I no longer had that itch to piss off Parker, and, honestly, Ollie could have been the most beautiful woman in the world, and it wouldn’t have mattered.
My bed had been ice cold for years. At first, I told myself it was because of my focus on my recovery, that the warnings about not dating during your first year of sobriety had gotten to me.
But in the dead of night, the truth always came back to me.
I’d already met the woman of my dreams.
Kinsley’s face flashed through my mind, and my hands tightened until my knuckles whitened.
For two years, she’d been a ghost—haunting my dreams, always out of reach.
One night spawned a hundred sleepless ones, stuck remembering how her body lit up under my touch, wishing for one more taste of her sweetness.
After she fled my bed, I searched for her for months, but, without a last name or any other information, every step led to a dead end.
A smart man would have let it go, forgotten about her, and moved on.
But I never claimed to be a smart man.
Cam and Parker continued their conversation without me, and I turned back to my locker, shuffling to find my phone.
Dozens of text messages filled the screen—all from my dad.
I tossed it right back into the bottom of my bag.
Even though I’d fired him as my agent, he still acted like it.
Not dealing with that right now. He could save his play-by-play analysis for another day.
“Hey, Lyons?” I turned to find Cam. “Sunday, I’m going to have some of the guys over after the game. Keeping it small, chill, but I’d like it if you came out. At least for a bit.”
I paused, searching for any hint of a lie, but his offer seemed sincere. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I asked, “Sure you want me there?”
Cam ran his hand over his face. “Yeah, I do, Lyons. You’re a part of this team, and I want to start fresh. Leave the past in the past and win this fucking year.”
I nodded, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. When I played in Portland, my game had never been better. Despite all the wins, though, something was missing between the team and me, and now that I was back with the Hawks, that unease settled in my chest.
I’d missed this—missed my team, missed the family that rallied around each other during our highs and lows. And I’d contributed my fair share of the lows. Glancing around the clubhouse, at the place I’d spend most of my days for the next five months, I nodded my head. “Yeah, man. I’d like that.”