Page 7 of Convincing the Catcher

But no matter what happens to me, it’s better than what would happen to my friends. Liam wouldn’t have anywhere to go if he didn’t have this place. Both his parents are living on the streets. And Huck … well, being here is an opportunity of a lifetime. He’s the first person in his family to go to college. Most of them didn’t even graduate high school.

Me? I’ll be fine. But would it fucking suck to lose baseball? Yeah. Baseball is what keeps me sane. When I was a kid, hockey was my thing, just like it still is for my brother, Cash. But after my dad died, it all changed. Baseball was there when I was at my lowest, and to be honest, it kept me going when the pain of missing my old man got to be too much.

Opening the door to my truck, I climb out, slamming it behind me before heading toward Coach’s door. It’s not ideal, me showing up here after dark. But I can’t drag this out another day. I’m no martyr for taking the fall for this. I was driving the truck. The way I see it, this is all my fault even if I wasn’t the one holding the can.

Lifting my fist up to the door, I don’t even get the chance to hit my hand against it before it slowly opens, revealing Coach in his sweatpants and an NEU T-shirt. He looks like he’s been asleep, his hair all messy, and I’m not used to seeing him without his hat.

“Wondered if you were ever going to get out of your truck,” he mumbles, eyeing me over. “What the hell are you doing here so late, Hale?”

I know I need to just blurt it the hell out already. Rip the Band-Aid off. Get it the fuck over with. So, taking a breath, I look him in the eye.

“It was me, Coach,” I say evenly. “I fucked with Casco’s field.”

Whatever facial expression I assumed I’d be met with doesn’t happen right away. And for a moment, he just stares at me, almost like he doesn’t believe a word out of my mouth.

“You spray-painted their dugout?” he finally asks, his eyes narrowing. “You, my star pitcher and team captain? You drove an hour and a half and damaged another team’s dugout?”

“I did,” I say, knowing I’m only lying about half of it. I did drive an hour and a half though, so it’s not complete bullshit.

“All by yourself, Hale?” His eyes bore into mine, and I know he’s reading me like a fucking book. Or trying to at least. “Because I have to tell you, I’ve seen the pictures, son. Seems as though whoever did it had some help.”

“No, sir,” I answer quickly. “I was alone. It was stupid, and I got mad, and I just … did it.”

The silence I’m met with is worse than if he were to scream at me, I’m pretty sure. I look down to avoid his judging gaze.

“I am so disappointed in you, Cane,” he utters, and still, I don’t dare to lift my eyes.

“I know,” I whisper, swallowing. “I am too.”

More silence, followed by a long breath that conveys just how ashamed he is without even saying a word.

“Go,” he finally mutters. “I’ve got to talk to Coach King. But right now, I just want you to get the hell out of my face.”

I don’t even get turned around to walk away, and he’s got the door slammed shut in my face. This is my third year with Coach. I’ve pissed him off plenty of times, sure. But not like this. Right now, he hates my guts. And I guess I don’t blame him because I’ve embarrassed my team.

Even as I sulk back to my truck, replaying the way he just looked at me over and over in my head, I know I’m doing the right thing.

I just hope they don’t kick me off the team.

FOUR

HARLEY

I finish up a silly TikTok of me and a few of my teammates in the locker room for game day before I decide to FaceTime my mom. This is the first scrimmage of the school year, and normally, she and my dad would be here. I know it’s hard for them to miss things, so I want to make them feel included as much as I can.

I’m holding the phone in front of me, and after a few rings, my mom answers, her face on the screen. One look at me in my uniform and she smiles. But even through the smile, I can see the emotion on her face. And the exhaustion because even though she hasn’t complained once, I know she’s been caring for my dad around the clock.

“Look at you,” she says, smiling even though her eyes grow glossy. “Two years in, and it never gets old, seeing you in that sharp uniform, baby.”

“I have to agree, Mama.” I grin down at her because honestly, I feel the same way. Every time I put on my NEU uniform and my catching gear, I can’t believe I’m actually here, playing at such an incredible college. “How’s Dad today?”

She fights back emotion, plastering on a strong face. “He’s sleeping right now, but I plan to record the game so he can watch it later.” Her voice cracks, and I know, inside, it’s because we’re both aware that my dad has never missed a single one of my games in live action. He must feel so sick if he’s sleeping through it.

“How are your levels today?” She changes the subject, and now instead of sadness, it’s concern I hear.

When I left home to come here, I think her biggest worry was that I wouldn’t be able to properly control my diabetes. Luckily, I have sort of gotten the hang of it. Though I’ll admit, being so disciplined with it can be exhausting.

“A little high, but nothing that’s making me feel too off,” I tell her truthfully. “Hopefully, it’ll stay that way.”