“As for the batting order. We’re still shuffling things around,” Dominguez says, studying his clipboard. He waves toward our hitting coach. “Klein and I will make the call after BP. Let’s get out there.”
We head to the field and work through some individual drills to warm up, and then our coaches have us split off. Devereux, Michaels, Roche, and I take our spots around the infield.
“All right,” our defensive coach says. “Let’s get in as many reps as we can. This is an entirely new angle for Michaels. There’s bound to be some growing pains. Let’s start with some quick throws around the horn.”
Once we’re all loose, Coach grabs a bat and starts sending balls our way.
“Runner on first,” he shouts.
I play in, and Coach hits a chopper to my left. I snag it and flip to Michaels. He stumbles slightly over his footwork and launches it to first—straight past Roche.
“Again,” Coach calls out.
This time it goes to Devereux. He fires it to Michaels. Michaels’s movements are jerky, and he opens the wrong shoulder, but he gets it to Roche this time. His jaw tics, brows drawn tight, and it’s plain as day he’s uncomfortable. It’s like watching a righty try to write left-handed.
Which is pretty much what’s happening here. Michaels has to form new muscle-memory, replace one that has been built up over years, over thousands of repetitions. And he’sgot about another hour of this to do it. It’s a testament to how good of a player he is that by the time we clear the field, his footwork is smooth and his movements are sharp.
The real test will be once we’re in game-speed situations with runners on base and zero time to think. We head to the locker room to suit up. I guess we’re about to see.
FOURTEEN
SHANE
“Thanks for lettingme stay with you guys,” I say to Paulie and Easton as we walk into their house. Frankie’s, to be exact. He rents the four-bedroom townhouse in a small complex of connected units and rents out rooms to Paulie and East, and when I sayrent,I mean gives them a steal of a lifetime.
We’re standing in the small entryway. There’s a door directly to my right, and I can see right into the kitchen through the small hall in front of me.
“Are you kidding?” Paulie says. “We finally have the trio back together. We’re not having you live somewhere else.”
I send him a wide smile, but it’s almost as uncomfortable as playing second today with how much my body tries to refuse the action.
“This is your room here,” Nebs says, pointing to the door on my right. “Frankie’s got the master upstairs, and East and I have the other two bedrooms up there. There’s a half bath right there.” He points to one of the two doors in the small hallway. “The three of us will share the showerupstairs. It’s right at the top of the stairs so you can’t miss it.”
I nod, following him through the small hall to the kitchen. Cabinets wrap along the wall, no island, but there’s a large wooden table and chairs adjacent to it.
“Here’s the main living space,” Paulie says. “Pretty typical. Open kitchen-living room.” He points to just left of the living room. “And there are the stairs that lead to the second floor. There’s a balcony up there where we kick back some nights.”
It’s nice, if a little outdated. It’s got those 70s wood cabinets and old hardware. But the counters are speckled black granite, and they’ve got a worn leather couch and a loveseat arranged in an L that take up most of the living room. It looks comfy as fuck. I have no idea how Frankie affords a place like this in Providence. He does something with numbers, I think. Must make bank.
“Anyone want to watch a movie?” East asks. “I’d like to forget all about that game.”
My stomach twists. We lost, and while I know it takes more than one person to lose a game, there were multiple plays I didn’t make that could have gotten us out of innings before runs were scored.
“I’m actually thinking of calling it an early night. It’s been a long fucking day.” I left Portland at six-thirty this morning, and that was after being up until two packing all my shit.
East shoots me a sympathetic look. “I bet, man.”
“I texted Frankie earlier, and he got your bed all set with fresh sheets.”
Paulie shows me to my room, and I give him a quick thanks. I drop my bag and just stand there. The past twenty-four hours have been a lot. Highs and lows. I’mback with my boys. My heart swells to almost painful proportions. I’m so fucking happy to be back with my boys. But then…I lost a piece of my heart at the same time. I lost my position.
I…I think I’m overwhelmed. I drop face first onto the bed and draw in a breath of fresh linen. These sheets are silky soft. I snuggle in deeper. Kind of wish the duvet would just swallow me up.
I’m slammed into from each side, and I swear to Babe Ruth I jump out of my skin. But I don’t have time to be alarmed because I’m being smothered by two extremely large ballplayers.
“We’re so glad to have you back,” East says, giving me a noogie.
“Missed you so much, man,” Paulie says.
