I’m looking forward to a small break before I pitch again because my shoulder’s been sore since this road series started.
At night in the hotel rooms, I do my personal therapy exercises, along with icing and praying that it somehow will be fully free of pain. I guess that’s what comes with being a pitcher for twenty years and having been in an accident.
“Give me another,” I hear a drunken voice slur from down the bar. Ian.
I didn’t even realize he was here. Ryker, Cole, and Pauly left a few minutes ago, so I hadn’t really taken in who else was at the bar.
“Sir, we cannot. You’re too drunk,” the bartender tells him calmly.
I throw money down for the two beers I had and make my way down to Ian.
“I want a fuckin—” Ian slurs.
I sit down in the seat next to him, my voice low but firm. “Ian, what is going on?”
“Oh, great. You.” He smiles, but it goes away as fast as it came.
“You’re not my cup of sunshine either,” I respond, doing my best not to lose it on him. The way he’s acting is childish. His sister is her own person. He shouldn’t still be this upset over it. “Why are you drinking?”
While we don’t know much about Ian as a team because he’s so closed off, we do know that we’ve never seen him drink during the season.
“Why do you think?”
“Look, Ian, we need to move forward for this baby.”
“It’s actually not that.” His voice is cold and detached.
That has me rearing back. “What is it then?”
Ian runs a single finger on the rim of his empty glass. “My mom called me today for the first time in years.”
I’m shocked into silence, unsure of what to say, because I know from Teagan that their mom hasn’t seen them in years and basically gave them away. Add in the fact that Ian’s telling me something personal? It feels out of body almost, the whole moment.
“What did she want?” I decide to ask because he’s sharing anyway, so why not? If he doesn’t want to share, that’s his choice. But at least I can say I tried to be there for him.
Ian pauses his finger, glancing at me then back at his empty drink.
“Oh, good ol’ mother of the year wanted to know my thoughts on us making the World Series. Because if so, she’d rearrange her schedule for that. I told her I wasn’t sure, and that she’s welcome to visit anytime. You know what she said?”
“Something that’s going to piss me off,” I say, feeling tense all over.
“She said, and I quote,‘Oh, honey, you know I only make it for the big things. You don’t need to see me for nothing.’”
I shake my head as a storm brews within me, heat radiating throughout my entire body. Because what the fuck kind of person says that to their kids? Yes, I may have left my family behind, but it wasn’t for their lack of trying. They wanted to be there, but I didn’t. It’s a different story.
“I’m sorry, Ian, she sounds awful. You should probably stop answering those calls,” I say carefully, wanting to be honest while trying not to push him too far.
“I tell myself each call is going to be the last. And then suddenly she calls out of the blue, and I get this pinch in my chest. Hope, you could call it. That maybe, just maybe this is the one where she apologizes. Where she wants to get to know me,” he says on a choked sob, tears streaming down his face.
I pause with my hand halfway in the air, then think fuck it, and wrap my arm around his shoulders as he shakes.
“I’m sorry she wasn’t the person you needed her to be. But, Ian, I gotta tell you. Apart from being a closed off know-it-all, you should be really proud of yourself. You’re a hell of a pitcher, and I know you’ve looked out for Teagan her whole life. You care, and that’s important.”
A chuckle slips between his tears that have slowed, his breathing becoming less erratic, so I remove my arm.
“Since you shared with me, I’ll share something with you. I grew up in a strict household, where hobbies were chosen for us. I had a bit more leeway, because I had so many brothers, and that’s how I got into baseball. But I knew from a young age that wasn’t the life I wanted to live. So I left and haven’t had contact with my family since, apart from Camille and one brother. I guess I’m just trying to tell you that I know what it’s like to feel like you have no one. You’re not alone in that.”
“Yours was a choice. Mine isn’t,” Ian responds, sniffling.
