She laughs and leans her head on my shoulder all too briefly before she straightens to continue eating her popcorn. Still, she remains quiet, waiting for me to fill the silence, waiting for me to tell her why she’s here. Why I asked her to stare at an empty baseball field.
“Last year?—”
“No!” Her feet fall off the back of the chair in front of her, and she swivels, putting her hand on my thigh. “I told you, you don’t need to explain yourself.”
“I want to.”
“It won’t change my opinion of you—which is pretty great, I have to say. I only said that shit in the alley because of my own issues and being scared. You owe me nothing. No explanations.”
“And that’s why I want to tell you.”
She smiles softly as her palm runs down my thigh. My dick twitches in my pants. If she were mine, I’d probably be trying to figure out the logistics of how I could fuck her in these uncomfortable seats.
“Okay. If you really want to.” Her voice is soft, tender.
I look at the green grass, the brown basepaths, the empty stadium seats. “I was already struggling at the beginning of last year. I was pissed that I didn’t win the Gold Glove, and the chip that’s been on my shoulder my entire career just grew bigger.”
“Chip?” She frowns. “I never thought?—”
“It started way back with Coach Linden.”
“He was an asshole.” She’d know, since he was the gym and health teacher at our school.
“Well, he didn’t believe in me—said I was only there to make the pitcher look good. And played games with my playing time.”
She sips her water. “Weren’t you All-State?”
I nod. “After Coach Linden retired, my senior year. But him telling me he didn’t think I had what it took always stuck with me. Then when I hit the minors after college, I was a throw-in to a trade package for another player.” I shrug, remembering how I doubted myself and my worth at that point. Figured I’d never even see a professional field. “There’s a lot of ups and downs in this career.”
“But you’ve persevered. So many fans love you, Hayes. You’ve proven Coach Linden wrong. You made it.”
I laugh, and it sounds hollow as fuck. “I’ve never won a Gold Glove. I’ve never gotten any accolades for my performance. Sure, I’m consistent and steady as far as my play goes, except last year, but I’m replaceable. That’s why the Colts only took me on for one year. They’re probably just buying time until the next hot catcher comes up, and then I’ll be out.”
“That’s not true,” she says. “They’re lucky to have you.”
I open the Twizzlers package and pull one out for myself. “Anyway, I was pissed that I’d had my best year in the league and was still passed up for the Gold Glove. I always believed that if you work hard enough, the reward will come, but that didn’t seem true for me. So, I decided I didn’t give a shit anymore. I was halfway into that spiral when my mom and dad showed up unexpectedly at an away game.” I hold out the Twizzlers bag. “Sorry, I’ll stock some Twix at my place for next time.”
She gives me a smile that says don’t dodge this with humor, but she takes one.
“For them to come to an away game that wasn’t in Chicago raised my red flags, but Callie wasn’t with them, so I figured if it were something bad, she’d have been there too.”
I remember wanting to text Callie in the locker room before the dinner that would change everything. But then I thought that I was the oldest, and my parents were telling me whatever it was first so that I could be there to help Callie through it. Turns out I was the last to know.
“Neither of my parents said anything about my game and how horrible I’d played. It might’ve been my worst game that year. We went out to eat, and that’s when they told me my mom had done a routine medical exam, and they found something. After an ultrasound and a biopsy, it confirmed what the doctors thought—she had cancer.”
A short, strangled noise comes out of Leighton.
“They already had her chemo schedule. They knew what steps the doctor would take and explained to me exactly what would be happening going forward. The milestones they hoped she’d reach. I should’ve been there with them during those doctor visits.”
“They understood.” Leighton turns to face me and takes my hand. Her thumb runs along my pointer finger, and just that small contact feels like so much comfort.
“I was in shock at first, I think. I didn’t say anything… just excused myself, put my napkin on my chair, walked right to the bathroom, and wept.” Tears sting my eyes, but I suck them back, not wanting to remember how my dad came in and hugged me so tightly, his tears wetting my white silk shirt, the two of us terrified we were going to lose her.
“And after that, I didn’t give a shit about my average, or stops, or wins. I just wanted to be here in Chicago with her, holding her hand during her treatments, making her laugh to distract her from the poison being delivered to her bloodstream. But she told me I couldn’t, that her greatest joy would be to watch me play the game she knew I loved. So, I stayed, and I managed to screw that up too.”
Leighton throws herself on me, her arms wrapping around my neck. My water bottle crinkles in my hand, and the Twizzlers press into my body.
“She loves you. You’ve never disappointed her,” she whispers in my ear. Just when I think I can’t hold the tears back anymore, she draws back and stares right into my eyes. “You’re a great son, a great brother, and a great baseball player.”
