that perfume that haunted my dreams … Lily was breaking me down and she didn’t even know it. But for her sake, and mine, I had to poison her against me.
Once I’d slept off the depression of slicing her with my words, and the massive alcohol hangover, I’d started plotting.
The one thing that had brought me joy, besides Lily, and still did … that was baseball. After my college prospects dried up, I was bitter and didn’t want anything to do with the sport. I could have gone into a program for sports broadcasting, with all of my knowledge. I could have gone to school to be a gym teacher, and went the coach route, eventually. Hell, I had enough contacts and inroads that I could have done something.
But I’d been young and angry, and I’d said screw you to the sport that no longer wanted me for the way I wanted to exist within it.
Truth was, it had been ten years, but I still kept in touch with a few of my contacts from back then. I was friendly with some of the assistants and scouts, and it got me thinking …
“I’ve uh … been thinking about giving Lewis Mider a call.” I start the conversation, already feeling like the suit had shrunk three sizes with how uncomfortable my skin felt.
Keaton’s eyebrows go up. “The scout who was recruiting you for UNC?”
“You’ve got a good memory, brother.” I nod. “Yeah. We’ve exchanged a few emails over the years, and I was thinking I might see if he has a position. Or knows of anyone in the industry who’s hiring.”
“To be a scout?” Keaton frowns.
“Or a coach. Or … anything.” I shrug.
Keaton slips out of the suit jacket and slings it over the back of a folding chair. “What’s this all about, Bow?”
I’m not good at talking about feelings. Scratch that, I’m fucking terrible at it, and I rarely ever do it. But something has been itching me, picking at me like a kid at a scab, ever since Keaton and Presley got engaged.
For the last ten years, I’ve let life happen to me. I let my baseball career vanish because I couldn’t play as well. I let Dad convince me that the barbershop would be a good investment once the old owner put it up for sale. I haven’t dated, haven’t let go of the anger, haven’t … anything.
I’m not one to wish for rainbows and sunshine, far from it actually, but maybe getting out of Fawn Hill could give me the fresh start I’ve needed since I flipped my truck that night.
“I miss baseball. And I need something … else. Maybe if I leave town, I can find it.”
There, that was opening up.
Keaton snorts. “Well, that was about as detailed as I thought it would be.”
I glare at him.
He holds his hands up. “But it was better than usual, I’ll give you that. If this is what you want … if it will make you happy, then I say go for it. You’d be an awesome coach, or scout, or whatever. We both know that baseball is your first love. I just … I want to make sure you’re doing this for the right reasons.”
“And what are the wrong reasons?” I bristle.
“The wrong reason would be doing this to run away from your problems. The easy solution is moving out of town, leaving all of the turmoil behind. The hard thing … would be talking to her.”
Now it’s the death stare that I shoot back at him. “You know I can’t do that.”
Keaton’s eyes are sad, and he gives a slow nod.
I don’t let him get a word in. “Plus, I’ve been sitting in the same place for ten years. This wouldn’t be running. This would be breaking free. From the things that have held me down for a decade. I might not be able to play, but I can be around the sport. I don’t know … something about you and Presley, Keat. It eats at me. What the hell am I doing? I have a dead-end life.”
“I don’t view it that way. You have a successful business, you fight fires to help and save people, you have your family.”
His words don’t even puncture the surface. “You know what I mean. The life I have … it’s a fallback avenue. I’ve never been anywhere but here; I have no experience or miles on me. I’m almost thirty years old, single, living in the town I grew up