Sweet Spot: Homeruns #4 (4 page)

“What are you studying?” he asked as I loaded my profile. He let out a low whistle as he looked over my stats. I expected him to make some comment about how much time I wasted on video games, but he didn’t. I wished he had, because then I wouldn’t be searching for an answer that wouldn’t let on I was a lowly high school senior.

I shrugged and glanced away when he looked over at me. “Little bit of everything.” It was a vague answer, a bullshit cop-out, but he didn’t press for anything more.

“Cool.”

We stayed holed up in my room until Drew came up to see where Nick had disappeared to.

I’d thought that was the end our time together, but it turned out to be the beginning of the shortest, most important relationship I’d had. Nick was the benchmark for all men since then. Even though four years had passed, the next six weeks were going to be far harder than I’d anticipated.

I
t’d been
a miserable first two weeks of training. While I’d told myself I wasn’t upset about standing on this side of the training complex again, once the trainers started kicking our asses with drills that had nothing to do with the actual game, bitterness crept into my mind. I knew what type of numbers I’d put up last year, and they were sure as fuck better than some of the tools who got the invitation. With Clint and Devin’s help, I’d gotten my head out of my ass and finally let go of most of the insecurity telling me I was only here because of my dad. Every time I got into one of my moods, they rattled off my latest stats as proof I’d earned my place on the team. And then those numbers had gotten even better, because I was finally doing what I loved. I was still pissed off every time someone else got the call and I didn’t, but my head was finally in the right place.

“Stone, can I talk to you for a minute?” I looked up and saw none other than Sean Tucker standing at the edge of field three. Even though I was assigned to field five for the morning, I immediately broke away from the group I’d been following out for another morning of drills because, well, it was Sean. I’d spent years looking up to him, even before my dad took the job in Milwaukee. He was a force who only seemed to get better as the years went on. He looked out of place in the khakis and polo shirt uniform the coaching staff wore. Even after he’d announced last year was his last, I hadn’t really believed he’d walk away from the game.

“Hey Sean, what’s up?” I tried to keep my voice steady so he wouldn’t see me as some pathetic kid with a bad case of hero worship going on. Which I totally was. The hours I’d spent hanging out with Cody my rookie year didn’t settle my nerves. My idol stood two feet away from me while I had my glove in hand. Not only that, but he was the new Triple-A pitching coach, which meant he’d eventually decide my fate. Each of the coaches had something in particular they looked for in the pitches thrown. With most of them, we knew what we were up against, but Sean was a wild card. It was his first year as part of the coaching staff, which meant no one knew how to impress him.

Sean led me away from the group warming up on field three. He looked around before he spoke, as if he was about to impart some sage advice. “I wanted to let you know the pitching staff was talking about you last night. They’re impressed by your work ethic this year.”

“Uh, thanks,” I responded stupidly. I almost asked him why he was telling me this when no one else was given insight as to what the coaches talked about behind closed doors. I finally believed I was just another player, until Sean walked in and singled me out. “Is that all? I have to get out there and get to work.”

Sean shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He cocked his head to the side and studied me. There was something he wanted to say, but for whatever reason, he wasn’t. “Just thought you should know that your hard work is paying off. I know it can be tough feeling tethered to the minors when you know you’re better than that. Keep your focus and I think you’ll do well this year.”

I felt like a colossal dick. Here I’d thought he was treating me special because of my dad, when in reality he was being a supportive coach and mentor.

Sean’s pep talk worked wonders. I hit the mound determined to live up to their expectations. Most of the time, I’d try and play to the whims of whatever coach was evaluating, but I decided to take a different approach. I needed to show every single coach on staff my strengths and prove I belonged in the Bigs. This was the last day I had to prove I deserved to make tomorrow’s cut and stay on the Triple-A squad.

T
he air was
thick with tension the following morning. Sleeping like shit did nothing to help my mood. When Mark came in after two in the morning from whatever seedy motel room he’d been holed up in with a woman who wore way too much cheap perfume, I seriously contemplated whether I could smother him in his sleep and make it look like he’d simply passed out after drinking too much. The lingering stench of perfume, sweat, and sex followed him around. The nasty fucker didn’t even bother showering before he fell into his bed and passed out. I took shallow comfort knowing he’d abided by the organization’s ban on bringing women back to rooms paid for by the club.

I choked down a peanut butter sandwich while I waited for the call to head out to the fields. My stomach rumbled as I forced the food into my system. I’d learned a valuable lesson my rookie year: even if you think you’re too stressed out to eat the morning of cuts, you
have
to eat. Otherwise, you’ll wind up almost passing out while you’re trying to keep up with the guys who’ve been shuffled down to your level from higher up.

We all pretended we weren’t watching as the coaching staff convened for a final meeting. I think we were also trying to pretend we didn’t know they’d received the list of players being cut from the majors squad, which meant they knew exactly how many people at each position they were going to have to shuffle. While the rest of the guys drove themselves crazy trying to read the coaches’ lips, I pushed myself off my stool and headed down to the weight room. Might as well do something productive with my time. Plus, a little hard work before the big cut couldn’t hurt if the coaches took note of my outstanding work ethic and dedication to the team.

No one said a word as we followed the coaches out to the training field nearest the locker rooms. We ignored the guys filtering into the park from the other side of the complex. Mostly, we pretended we weren’t all silently praying to stay right where we were if we couldn’t get miraculously shuffled up the line. Yes, we were all foolish enough to hold on to the hope that even though there were big leaguers getting ready to join us, we’d made such a strong impression we’d get a move up. The truth was, this was my fifth camp, and I had never seen a minor leaguer move into a majors slot on cut day.

“All right, bring it in, guys,” Sean called out. He wasn’t the most senior of the pitching coaches, but it seemed even the veteran pitching staff knew he was the right man to lead our meetings. Players respected him because he had recent, real-life experience with the hitters some of us would eventually face. “Let’s not waste any time. I’m going to go through the squads. Make sure you’re paying attention to which field you’ll be on.”

When it was all done and the dust began to settle, I was happy to find myself still assigned to the Triple-A squad. It wasn’t the miracle I’d prayed for, but it meant I was still one level away from my ultimate goal. Before we could get to work, Sean had one last order of business for us.

“Stone, Davies, and Houser,” he called out. The three of us stood at attention, knowing what he was about to say. It was funny how we’d have given anything to hear our names called ten minutes ago, but with the squads set, being told to head to the major’s side of the training complex seemed like punishment. We weren’t going over because of our outstanding performance. Okay, so talent might’ve been part of it, but the truth was we were going over there to warm the bench on the off-chance the pitching staff imploded on itself. If they somehow managed to run through all the pitchers who’d been invited to their training, then and only then would we see any action. “You’ll be traveling to Surprise for tomorrow’s road series. Have your asses on the early bus to the park unless you’re up for a fifty-mile hike.”

“You got it,” we all responded in unison. Sean smirked, knowing how hard it was for Davies and me to sit there and act happy about the news.

I
’d lost
count of how many nights it’d been since I got a full night of sleep. If something didn’t change soon, I was going to kill Mark. Straight-up kill him and worry about building my temporary insanity defense after the fact. The way I figured it, I could probably get some of the guys to chip in on my defense fund because no one, and I mean
no one,
could deal with his entitled ass. I gave up on getting back to sleep after he barreled into the room, drunk yet again. I contemplated ratting him out in hopes it’d be a violation of his contract, but I wasn’t a snitch. Didn’t matter if he had it coming, there was no way in hell I was going to tattle. Instead, I pretended to sleep until he was snoring like a lumberjack and stumbled out of bed. With any luck, I’d be able to get some sleep on the bus, even if I woke up with insults written across every inch of my skin in permanent marker. It wouldn’t be the first time it’d happened to someone who slept on the bus.

“You ready for this?” Houser asked. Unlike Davies and me, Houser was still green enough he thought it was some great honor to be called to a road trip with the major league squad. He practically vibrated with excitement.

“Is this the first time you’ve been called over?” I asked as I checked my phone for a nearby coffee shop.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool, huh?” Zach said, with enthusiasm only first and second year players could manage.

I debated whether or not I should break it to him just how uncool it was, but decided to not steal his thunder. Even though I knew it didn’t mean shit from the first time I’d been called over, I was still excited they’d picked me over the other pitchers on the squad. “Yeah, it’s cool, Houser.”

“Do you think we’ll get some play today?” he asked as we filed into the van.

“Probably not,” Davies informed him. “And do yourself a favor, don’t speak to anyone unless spoken to.”

I laughed, remembering how Davies had been hazed after trying to inject himself into a conversation the first time we’d been sent on a road trip. Minor league players were always called up for road games because the big leaguers didn’t want to miss their tee times because of something as silly as work. Sure, they’d claim it was because they needed to protect their assets, but they could all be found on the course long before we got back to the park.

“Don’t let him scare you,” I offered, because Zach seemed a bit green as he tried to figure out how many unwritten rules there were. “Just do what you’re told, don’t be a dick, and you’ll be fine.”

“Got it.” I had to laugh because I could practically see him scribbling little mental notes to himself so he wouldn’t screw this up.

The three of us stuck close together as we filed into the locker room. My stomach growled in protest when I walked past a hot breakfast buffet without stopping. I was ravenous, but there was no way in hell I was going to grab anything until it was offered. Thankfully, someone handed me a foam cup of coffee as I passed by. We made our way over to the equipment manager and quickly tried on the uniforms we’d been issued for the day. I smiled when they handed me number thirteen. It was rare for a minors player to get his number when he was a fill-in, but most of the guys shied away from thirteen. I fucking loved it, because that had been my number the first time my little league team had won the championships. The next year, when I’d been assigned number seven, I’d broken my left arm in the second game of the season. The following year, I requested number thirteen and life returned to normal. What was unlucky for some worked well for me.

When the buses arrived, we were herded out to the parking lot. The three of us hung back, waiting for everyone who belonged there to find their seats. Houser thought it’d be cool to be on the bus with the coaches so he could try to make a good impression. Davies and I insisted that, while we’d likely be on the bus with most of the coaching and auxiliary staff, it most definitely was not the time to try and find an in with the team. No one liked the guys who kissed ass to get ahead.

I reached the top step of the bus before I made a complete fool out of myself. There, in the second row, was the one person I thought I’d somehow manage to avoid seeing the rest of my life. I sure as fuck wasn’t prepared to see him on the Mavericks’ bus.

“What’re you doing here?” I asked when I regained my balance. Every set of eyes on the bus stared at me and all conversations stopped so they could see which clumsy ass rookie had made a fool of himself. I wished I could slink off the bus and out of the parking lot before anyone realized it was me.