Jed convulses, another keening moan of agony piercing the room.
The guys huddle closer. And we do our best to hold our friend together while life tries its damnedest to tear him apart.
FORTY-THREE
JED
I moveon autopilot as I jog up the stairs of the dugout and into the wash of blinding lights. My cleats slam into the earth, each jarring impact rolling through my calves and quads. Sound is swallowed by the roar of the green and purple swarm in the stands.
This is it.
My moment.
I’ve come down a bit from my spiral. I don’t remember getting to Connecticut. Everything blurred past like I was barely conscious, an old wound torn open and bleeding while I got rushed along on a gurney.
I’m not sure I would have made it here without the guys. They took me back to my apartment, packed up as much shit as they could, piled it in my Range Rover, then first thing in the morning, Maddox drove me down here.
I met Araujo here—he got the call-up too. Seeing that familiar face, going through the motions in the clubhouse, warming up on the field, zeroing in on pitches during BP, brought me back from the edge.
Tonight will be the hardest night. But each game, it’ll get easier. That’s my mantra.
My father’s death is a wound that’s been reopened too many times to count in the last seven years, but this was the deepest fracture. That’s what loss is. You heal, only for all those poorly done stitches to be torn out. The claws of grief rip you open rib by rib and make sure you’re fully aware you will never be whole again. Because the organ that’s supposed to sit there, strong and thriving, has had pieces gouged out. Every beat is a monumental effort.
But lately, each beat has felt a little less like a battle. For the first time, I think I’m truly healing and not just coping. Even with all the pain fresh again.
There’s been too much sunshine in my life lately to allow for the darkness.
I’ve had some cloudy days, days where the sun was lost to me. I slow to a stop just outside the dirt, still facing the outfield stands. I glance down at the bronze sun on my wrist. Cloudy days, storms…they always pass. I felt the sun again yesterday.
And the thing about the sun. It gives you strength.
Revitalizes.
I glance up at the sky, midnight black dusted with the faintest glimmers of stars.
The roar in my ears softens. Everything calms. Noise. Heartbeat. Breath.
And I know he’s here with me.
Just me and Dad.
My eyes slide shut as I sink to a knee. I bow my head, fingers digging into the grass and earth.
It’s still our moment.
I refuse to believe otherwise.
I lift two fingers to my lips, then raise them to the sky, my gaze locked on the heavens.
On Dad.
The silence registers, and I glance around until my attention snaps to the jumbo screen.
Me.
It pans out.
My teammates. Caps off and over their hearts.
