A mission to get the hell out of this town.
Fuck, why was this so hard?
“Mom, I just want you to know that I won’t be back here. It’s too painful. But you’ll always be with me.” I probably looked like some lunatic babbling to myself with tears streaming down my face, but I didn’t fucking care. “And now it’s time for me to figure out what to do with my life. I’ll be graduating soon.”
Graduation. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
Dad wouldn’t have shown anyway, but no doubt Mom would’ve. She might’ve even stood and clapped and shouted my name like she did at all my games. Fuck, I missed her.
My chest ached. I wanted to be that kid again. Happy. Not so goddamned afraid. And graduation would be a good start. Maybe I’d even apply for a job out west. San Diego or something. At least they had better weather.
26
Girard
I adjusted my shin guards and squatted down to take some practice throws behind the plate. It was the final game of the season and there was a heaviness in the air alongside plenty of excitement. For the senior players, this was it. Sure, we’d move to postseason and hopefully win some brackets in the regionals, and maybe some of these guys would be invited to try out with a major or minor league team, but for most of us, this was the end of the road for baseball. The cool thing was, if we pulled off this game, we’d have the best record in Easton U Pirates’ history, and that would be amazingly kick-ass.
Maclain appeared very focused as he stepped up to the mound to throw me some practice pitches. Normally he stayed near the bullpen before games, yet for some reason, Coach thought we needed to shake off our nerves. But I also thought he sensed we needed something more—though even I didn’t know what that might be at this point.
We hadn’t talked since he went home to pack his things, and the only reason I’d even received that tidbit was because of Donovan. I’d tried to reach out, to give him some support, but he didn’t answer my call and only responded to my text with one word: thanks.
So I gave him his space and hoped for the best.
We’d still see each other through the summer, but this felt pretty final between us. I’d hoped we could remain friends after baseball was officially done, but maybe that would end up being too painful.
As it was, my chest ached every time our eyes met, but he was way better at clamping down on his emotions than I’d ever been. The guy would remain a mystery and maybe one of the biggest regrets of my life. But I couldn’t force someone to want more than he was willing to.
Even the guys had noticed the change in him, especially when he didn’t take their bait so easily or brag about one thing or another like he was known to do.
“What’s up with Maclain?” Devers had asked me our second-to-last game as we sat side by side in the dugout. “He’s always serious, but he’s usually more of a dick about stuff.”
I’d shrugged as if I had no idea, but Devers knew better, knew we’d grown close. He just didn’t know how close. “Must have some stuff going on.”
He’d nudged my shoulder. “Maybe he’s finally growing up.”
I rolled my eyes. “Says the guy who also needs to grow up.”
Truth was, we’d all gotten closer and better as a team, and it showed. It’ll be a bummer to walk away, but hopefully the younger guys would pick up the torch and keep making the coaches proud.
Just as Maclain threw me one of his killer curveballs, whistling and cheering came from the stands, which had filled up pretty quickly in the last half-hour. When I looked in that direction, I spotted a whole row of people I knew well.
My parents were seated in the midsection along with Gemma, who was beside Donovan’s brother, Ricky, and his parents. Jasmine was on the other side of my mom and they were holding a large sign with the words: Congratulations, Seniors! and Let’s do this, Pirates!
“Let’s go, Maclain,” Jasmine shouted. “Show us your skills!”
“Make us proud!” my dad called out next, followed by my mom’s cheer, “Go Nickie! Go Mase!” which sent a shiver through me.
When I glanced at Maclain, he stood frozen, his lips parted, his cheeks rosy, and I fucking loved how bowled over he seemed that people had made signs and were cheering for him.
Ricky yelled for Donovan and waved frantically, and then Gemma’s voice rang out. “Go, Girard! Woo-hoo, Maclain!”
When Maclain bent at the waist with his hands on his knees, I thought maybe he was sick or something. Not this shit again. Without waiting for a signal that he was all right, I jogged to the mound. But he didn’t appear to be swelling from a bee sting or about to puke in the dirt.
“Hey, you okay?” I murmured.
“Yeah, I…” He shook his head, then squatted down to tighten a shoelace, maybe to give his hands something to do or not to call more attention to himself. “Did you put them up to that?”
Holy fuck, this guy was killing me. I looked toward the stands where Ricky was motioning animatedly in Gemma’s direction, and Mom and Jasmine had their heads bent, smiling about something. This was normal stuff that friends and family did for each other, but Maclain never had that. Correction—he hadn’t had it in a very long time. Likely not since his mom had passed.
“Hell no. All those people care about you. Believe it or not, they actually like you just for you. Simple as that. Now if only you believed it.”
He swallowed thickly and cursed under his breath, keeping his eyes on his mitt as he fiddled with one of the stitches. I didn’t want him to get too far into his head, so I squeezed his shoulder, jarring him from his thoughts.
“So let’s win this game and go out on top. It can be our own little legacy.”
When he stood up and wiped imaginary dirt off his knees, Donovan threw me a nervous glance from his shortstop position. Hollister looked worried as well.
“I think we need a pep talk from our team captain.”
Donovan motioned for the infield to move closer, and after some encouraging words about being a kick-ass team with an amazing record, we all put our hands in. “Be fierce, play smart, win big!”
The pep talk must’ve worked—the cheering too—because we were up by two runs by the fourth inning. Then Devers hit a home run in the bottom of the fifth, and the fans were yelling—the loudest being Ricky—which only bolstered our confidence.
Until the opposing team got a killer hit top of the seventh into left field that went over Fischer’s head and had him running for it. And now they were trailing us by only one run.
“All right, team, we still got this,” Coach said as we huddled in the dugout without scoring any more runs by bottom of the eighth. “Lopez is going to go in and close this thing, and then our celebration can begin.”
“Actually, Coach, I think Maclain should pitch the final inning,” Lopez said to stunned silence. He shrugged. “I don’t graduate until next year. I say let the seniors bring in the big win.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Coach Crawford said, patting Lopez on the back.
“You still got a few more throws in you?” Coach asked Maclain, and he nodded despite looking a bit cagey, like he wasn’t feeling confident enough not to lose the lead.