I couldn’t do that to my teammates, but sitting at home while they practiced today was going to damn near kill me. It didn’t matter who you were; Coach’s rules were meant to be followed. If you broke them, you paid the price. I’d always admired that about him. It felt good, being part of a team where no one received special treatment. It helped keep egos in check—mine included, apparently.
My phone buzzed as I sat in my Bronco, and I reached for it without looking. A text from Danika, congratulating me on passing my test with a million exclamation points, couldn’t even bring me out of my bad mood. To be honest, I’d already forgotten about the test. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to think about anything else.
A quick rap on my window made me jump. I turned to see my dad’s face staring at me, his expression twisted in confusion. I rolled it down, and he placed a hand on my side mirror.
“Why are you sitting out here instead of lifting inside?”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “I was late.”
My dad cocked his head back in surprise. “You were late?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
That was the one question I’d been dreading more than any other. “I was having breakfast with Danika in the comm.”
He moved toward my window and leaned in, bracing himself on his forearms as I prepared myself for the lecture that I was sure would follow my answer. “Did you lose track of time?”
“No.”
My dad started laughing. “No? Not even gonna lie to me, son?”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“Don’t most kids lie to their parents to stay out of trouble?”
“Am I in trouble?” I asked with a little more arrogance in my tone than I had intended because what was he going to do, ground me?
“Looks like it to me,” he said with a smug look on his face before pushing away.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m just pissed off.”
“At who?”
“Myself,” I breathed out in frustration. “Who else would I be pissed at?”
He shrugged both shoulders. “Never know. You could be mad at Danika. Or Coach Jackson. Or the commissary for being open.”
I huffed out a quick laugh. “You and Mom raised me better than that. I don’t really deflect.”
“You can thank your mom for that one. Taking responsibility for your actions. Owning up to your mistakes and not blaming others. That’s all her,” he said with a smile, and I didn’t say anything. “How long did Coach kick you off for?”
“Just today.”
“That’s good,” he said with a nod before snapping his fingers. “Oh, hey, how was your test?”
“I got a B minus.”
My dad’s grin grew even wider. “Nice. Guess the tutoring’s working then,” he said before taking a few steps away. “Hey, Chance. Don’t beat yourself up too much for today. Just don’t let it happen again.”
“Never,” I reassured him because I wouldn’t. What had happened this morning could never happen again, and I’d make sure of it.
“And don’t show up today. No matter how badly you want to, do not come to the field.”
“I know. I won’t.”
I spent the rest of the morning damn near sulking in my room until well past noon. It was weird as fuck, being home alone while the rest of my teammates were at the field, practicing. I wanted to be there. I needed to be there. I was supposed to be there.
But I wasn’t.
Grabbing a bat, I walked into the backyard where a tee and a small net were already set up. I might not be able to hit with my boys at the moment, but I could still practice at home. It wasn’t quite the same, but it would have to do. I’d swing this bat until my fingers bled.
It might have looked extreme to someone from the outside, but when you loved something as much as I loved baseball, you fought for it. And when you fucked up and had no one else to blame for your mistakes, you punished yourself for it.
My phone buzzed and kept buzzing. I wondered who was actually calling me instead of texting as I pulled it from my pocket. Cole’s name flashed across the screen.
“Hey,” I answered.
“Hey. I thought I’d swing by later. You gonna be home?”
“Yeah. I’m here all day. Come by anytime.”
“All right. That was easy. See you later,” he said with a laugh before ending the call.
Most of us guys didn’t tend to chitchat. We got straight to the point and then got on with our lives … with the exception of Mac. I was pretty sure that guy would talk on the phone for hours if you let him.
I kept hitting off the tee, even as sweat dripped down my forehead and burned my eyes. Only when my stomach growled and I felt a little dizzy on my feet did I stop. I needed food. And a shower.
By the time I got out of the shower, the house was loud, and I knew that my roommates were back. Toweling off my hair, I pulled on a pair of shorts and walked out of my room to find Cole sitting in the kitchen, drinking a beer with Mac, Colin, and Dayton.
“There he is.” Mac gave a nod in my direction, and Cole swiveled in his chair to face me.
“Hey.” He stood up and walked over, patting my back with both fists.
I hadn’t realized how much I missed having him around until he was standing right in front of me.
“Hey, man. It’s good to see you,” I said.
“You too. Heard Coach kicked you out today. What happened?” he asked before sitting back down and reaching for his beer.
I eyeballed the rest of my roommates, who were waiting for me to answer. “I was late to weights.” I tried to play it off like it was no big deal, but we all knew that being late during the off-season was as unacceptable as being late during the regular season.
Cole gave me a knowing look. “Coach Jackson doesn’t fuck around, man.”
“Tell me about it,” I agreed, and he finished off his beer. “How’s ball?” I asked, dying to know how playing professional baseball was from his perspective. He was already doing the one thing we were still striving for.
“It’s good but hard.” He looked me dead in the eye. “It’s different than this was.”
“How so?” Dayton asked.
We were all practically foaming at the mouths for this information. Every one of us wanted the chance to play professional baseball, and Cole was currently doing it. He was living the dream.
“Every player is good at what they do. Don’t get me wrong; the guys here at Fullton are good, too, but it’s just different,” he started to explain, and we all seemed to lean closer toward him on instinct. “Everyone has the same goal. Every guy is getting paid to be there, and they all want to get to the next level. No one is there to stay in Single-A baseball for long, you know?”
I nodded my head and noticed that the guys were all doing the same. I’d had at least a million talks about this exact subject with my dad, but maybe things were different now. “What’s the biggest change that you’ve noticed from college to pro?”
Cole stayed quiet for a minute, clearly weighing his answer. “It’s twofold, I think. The hitting is one.”
“What do you mean? How?” Colin asked, and I knew it was because hitting was the one area he was constantly trying to improve. He struggled on and off at the plate.