Page 73 of Convincing the Catcher

Mom: I love you, and I hope you’re having an all right day.

My mom doesn’t say good day because she knows that there’s no way I could be having a good one just yet. So, that’s become our thing. Instead of saying hope your day is good, we say all right. Because at this point, all right is all we can hope for.

Me: Thanks, Mom. Love you.

I set my phone down and throw my head back against the headrest.

With Cane’s social media back to normal and my insurance figured out, I guess we really won’t have any reason to communicate anymore.

And that should be what I want … right?

So, why do I feel sick?

CANE

“Looking good, Hale,” Huck says as he spots me. “Almost done.”

I push the weight bar up again before bringing it back down. My arms are shaking, and sweat pours from my face, but I know my limits. I also know what it takes for me to stay in the shape I need to be in.

Finishing my last one, with the help of Huck, I set the weight back in place and slide from underneath it. I grab my water, pouring it into my mouth as I try to catch my breath.

“That may have been a PR,” Huck says just as Liam walks over to us.

Bradley, our third baseman, steps off the treadmill, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Fuck, I feel so out of shape, and we’ve been training for months now.”

“You’re also old as fuck,” Liam teases him. “You’re like the grandpa of the team.”

“Shut up,” Bradley utters, rolling his eyes. “You’re just jealous because I’m a super senior and I’ll have a big degree soon.”

Wyatt, our shortstop and designated team clown, looks Bradley up and down with a questioning face. “So, I have a question for you,” he says, serious as can be. “Are your balls wrinkly yet? And if so, is that a deal-breaker for the women? See, I only have one year to go until I’m the grandpa of the team like you, and I want to prepare myself.”

Bradley gives Wyatt a shove but grins, shaking his head.

Basically, this is what guys do. We make fun of each other and almost always, someone does end up getting a little pissy. Lucky for us, Bradley doesn’t give a fuck. Probably because he knows that a lot of these guys are banking on their future being in the MLB, even though there’s only a small chance of that actually happening. Bradley’s going to have a flashy degree and a good job to step into.

He knows exactly what he wants to do, and meanwhile, I don’t have a fucking clue.

“All right, I’ve listened to you morons for long enough,” I say, trying to grin even though it hasn’t been easy lately. But I have to keep up my morale for my team. I’m the team captain, for fuck’s sake. And after my fuckup at the beginning of the school year, I’m lucky that they didn’t name someone else.

“Same,” Huck mutters, following me as I head toward the exit.

“Don’t forget about that breakfast tomorrow, Cap,” Juan, our right fielder, calls to me.

“I hope they have some good shit there,” Liam adds in.

Holding my hand up, I don’t turn to look back at them as I leave the gym. “See ya later, fellas,” I say before pulling the door open, Huck staying close behind.

The hardest part of being back at campus and not being able to check in with Harland? Wondering how she is and if she’s all right. I worry about her all the fucking time, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.

THIRTY-TWO

HARLEY

“Nothing like not having an early practice or class and still having to wake up at the ass crack of dawn,” Haven says, stuffing her hands into the front pocket of her NEU softball hoodie. “They better have good food.” She glances at Gigi. “What do you think? Pancakes? Maybe an omelet station?”

“Bacon would be cool,” I add, trying to make an effort to mentally be here because I know lately, I’ve sucked.

“I don’t really—” Gigi pauses. “I’m not really allowed to eat pancakes. Or regular bacon.”