ranch? For some reason, I’m picturing you riding a horse and it’s hysterical in my head. Have you ridden a horse? Did you wear a cowboy hat while doing it? Please say yes.
We’re opening the new facility in a week, just in time for “spring training” and I can’t wait to see everyone’s reactions. We have so many coaches lined up to train their athletes in the new cages and on the turf, we are already booked up. Don’t worry though. I saved a cage for myself.
When I was looking around the new space, it reminded me of all the good times we had in the batting cages.
I know you said we were over, that you were training and focusing on that, but it doesn’t take a long time to answer a text message. I just don’t get why you haven’t talked to me.
I don’t mean to get girly on you, but is it something I did? I hope I didn’t hurt you in any way and not even realize it.
Anyway, if you can, write me back, text me back, call me back. Any of those would work.
I miss you, Carson.
Milly.
APRIL
Milly: Saw you hit your first cycle in the minors. That’s awesome. Congrats.
Milly: Cory said you’ve moved up to Triple-A with Knox and there are rumors of you coming up to the majors this year. Is that true? If you do, let me know. I’ll drop everything to be at that game cheering for you.
Milly: Miss you, Carson.
“This is fucking bullshit,” I say, slamming my suitcase on the floor and popping open a beer before flopping down on the couch I share with Knox. “I get called up, don’t play, and then sent back down to this hellhole? What the fuck?”
“It’s how the game is played. Rivera is still viable at second on the Bobbies. They’re not about to get rid of him just yet.”
“He sucks,” I spit out, my anger taking over. “He can barely fucking bunt. They need him gone.”
“Dude, your veins in your forehead are dancing. Maybe take a chill pill.”
“Fuck this.” I stand and take off to my room, needing time away from everything.
Milly: You were called up. That’s so exciting.
Milly: What did it feel like? Were you beside yourself?
I stare at her text, my anger boiling over. Why the fuck is she doing this? I should have blocked her fucking number before now.
Carson: Lose this number and get a hint. I don’t want to fucking talk to you.
I drop my phone on my mattress and push my hands through my hair, instant regret hitting me. Fuck, I haven’t talked to her in almost a year and that’s what I say to her?
Maybe I should apologize. I go to reach for my phone when something stops me.
No, I should leave it at that because maybe this will help her realize that she needs to move on. That she needs to stop, that she needs to let go. I’m not the same man she once knew.
I briefly think of her and see her beauty, and her perfect dimples—
Stop. He deserves your complete focus. This is for him.
I’m not the same man she once knew.
What’s done is fucking done.
JUNE
Smack.
Crack—smack.
Wipe brow, replace ball.
Crack—smack.
“How long are you going to be in here?” Knox says, coming up to the cage.
“As long as it takes for me to get out of this slump.”
“Ever think you need a fucking break?”
“Can’t take a break.”
He lifts the nets just as I take another swing. I reach for another ball but he kicks the bucket to the side, scattering them across the cages.
“What the fuck?”
“Stop. Just fucking stop for a goddamn second and take a breath,” he yells. “Look at your goddamn hands. They’re bleeding. You have dark circles under your eyes, and you’re so fatigued that you can’t focus when you’re up to bat. You’re driving yourself to an early grave and straight back to Double-A, where you’ll have a hell of a time climbing back up the ladder.”
Exhausted, I let out a sigh and toss my bat to the side before taking a seat on the ground. “I don’t fucking get it. Why do they keep calling me up but not playing me? Stop fucking with me.”
“Dude, we’ve been a part of this sport for so long, we’ve watched the yo-yo effect of being in Triple-A. That’s the nature of the beast. They use you as a pinch runner here and there, but until Rivera goes down, your time belongs here, which means when