Evan and I texted a few times back and forth last night after I let him know I got home okay, so before I overthink anything, I text him the picture.
He’s quick to reply.
My guy! Let’s go!
I laugh, not responding, and tuck my phone into my pajama pants pocket before I crawl in bed with Nolan, wrapping my arms around him as he lies on his side.
“Morning, baby,” I whisper.
He holds my arm closer to him and kisses my hand. “Morning, Mommy,” he responds in a sleepy voice, melting my heart.
Waking him is honestly my favorite part of the day.
“What time is the game today?” he asks, still partially asleep.
“It’s tomorrow. One more sleep.”
“Ah man,” he whines.
I giggle and hold him tighter. “You’ll survive. Let’s get going though, so we can get a good breakfast in your belly before school.”
Evan
The picture Christy sent me of Nolan put the biggest smile on my face. I wanted to text her so many things today, but I know we need to take it slow.
Once all my furniture arrives, I text her photos just so she can see how it turned out.
Hey! It’s an actual home now!
Her response makes me laugh.
Thanks to you.
Happy to help!
I know she’s at work, so I tuck my phone back into my pocket and get my things ready to head to the park for batting practice.
I walk into the locker room, which is full of the players getting ready, hanging out, or goofing off by throwing a football around the room.
I say, “What’s up?” to a few of the guys and head to my locker, pausing for a quick second when I see the plaque with my name on it. I swear it will never get old.
The closer I get, I notice my entire locker is painted bright pink, every centimeter of it looking like a highlighter exploded in it.
Taking a deep breath, I know there’s one of two ways I could handle this. I could get mad and lose my shit, or I could nod my head and realize this is just how it goes when you’re the new guy on the team and take it like a man. I’ve witnessed some crazy shit—of how others have welcomed guys to the club—so in reality, this isn’t that bad.
I notice the room has gone silent around me, so I drop my head to my chest, open my arms out wide, and say with a chuckle, “You guys got me.”
When I turn around, everyone is laughing and high-fiving each other.
“Welcome to the team, brother,” Carter Callahan, one of our closing pitchers, says to me as he walks up, slapping my hand and bringing me into him for a side bro hug.
This is what it’s like being a closing pitcher. He can go in and throw nine pitches, and that’s all he needs to do every couple of weeks to get paid the big bucks. So, while the rest of us are grinding it out daily, he has time to come up with these pranks to pull on guys.
A few of the other players come do the same while others just high-five me as they walk by.
When I see it again, I let out a loud laugh, knowing now that it was done in good fun and realizing just how funny it actually is. When I take a closer look, I notice a whole bunch of tiny ducks hiding throughout the locker as well.
“Is this shit going to come off?” I ask, rubbing it with my thumb.
