Dominic disappears into his office as soon as he senses the arrival of Nate and Coach Heart.
He’s a man with bat instincts: lights off, absolute silence, zero human contact.
I wish I could imitate him, but I can’t: they’re waiting for me in the living room.
I reluctantly walk down the stairs, and the first thing I see is Nate standing there, looking like an insurance salesman who just signed a million-dollar contract. His brown hair is a little longer but always neat.
Next to him, sitting, is Julian Heart.
My coach.
The father of the woman I can’t get out of my head.
And that look he’s giving me is a solid reminder that I might already be dead without knowing it.
“Becker,” Heart says.
“Coach,” I reply, trying not to look guilty.
“Sit down.”
Nate opens his laptop, all enthusiastic, as if he’s about to show me the trailer for my own personal disaster.
“Okay, quick program update. The first few weeks are going great, the press is interested, the public is reacting well to the idea of the reintegration project.”
“Reintegration?” I repeat, frowning.
Julian leans forward slightly. “We spoke with management, and there’s a chance for reinstatement.”
This is the only thing that can make me shut up for more than three seconds.
Reinstatement.
The word I wasn't expecting to hear for months.
There’s a moment of silence.
I feel my heart drop halfway to my stomach.
The field.
The jersey.
The roar of the crowd.
I miss them more than I want to admit.
“Go on,” I murmur.
Nate nods. “If you agree to take one small step forward, we might secure temporary reinstatement. Only for the important games, the ones where your presence is indispensable. The rest of the time you stay here, in Elm Hollow, training and continuing with the program with Sloane.”
I look at him without speaking.
I wait for the part that smells like a catch.
Julian doesn't need to be prompted. “That step forward consists of releasing an official statement.”
Ah. There it is.
