Be My Game Changer: A Sports Romance(35)

“Will do.”

Eventually.

Hopefully.

Me: Plan on watching the game tomorrow?

Avery: Yes.

Me: Reading-watching or watching-watching?

Avery: The latter. Probably.

A smile stretches across my face. It helps get my head in the game knowing she’ll be watching.

Grabbing my bag, I head out to board the bus that will take us to the airport. Even if my head is in the game, I already can’t wait to step off this bus next week, knowing she’ll be waiting for me.





25





AVERY





There’s no chance any book could pull my attention away from watching Carter on TV right now.

“Your regular guy is looking pretty nervous right now.”

I slap Bodie’s shoulder but keep my eyes glued on Carter. Ugh—he’s right though. There’s hesitation in Carter that I haven’t seen from him before. I squint, watching as he removes his hat and looks at something inside. He uses the sleeve of his jersey to wipe his brow before putting his hat back on, then settles into his stance before the windup.

“What’s in his hat?” I wonder aloud.

“Cheat sheet kind of, but totally allowed,” Bodie responds as Carter sends another pitch directly over the plate, untouched. Bodie clenches his fist in unison with the umpire’s gesture, calling the strike. Seconds later, Carter’s old teammate is out of the batter’s box, walking away from the plate back to the dugout. “Another inning down.”

We sit and watch the remainder of the game, my attention fully focused until Carter’s last out in the sixth inning. When the Coyotes take the field in the seventh, another guy is on the mound, so my investment in the game wanes. The Coyotes take home the win, and I know that has to be a good feeling for him. It must be satisfying to go there and prove what he needed to himself more so than anyone else.

“Your boy delivered.” Bodie slaps my leg, rising from the couch before stretching. “I’m gonna head home. Early morning.”

“Same.” Never could have predicted I’d be up late watching a baseball game of all things on a school night.

“You know, if anything, I’m grateful Carter has you watching the games without complaint.”

“I’ll remember that next time.” And I’ll be sure to find something to complain about just because.

Lying in my empty bed, I’m having a hard time falling asleep when my phone lights up with a message I’m way too happy to see.

Carter: So was it a watching-watching night?

Me: Yes. The first two-thirds of the game definitely captured my attention.

Carter: Awesome. Are you gonna be up for a while?

I shouldn’t be.

Me: Probably so. Can’t sleep.

Instead of a message, my phone rings as I see Carter’s contact flash across the screen. When I answer, he says, “I can’t sleep either.”

Tomorrow will be a long day, but I settle in, wanting to stay on the phone as long as possible. The conversation flows naturally until I say, “Yeah, but my students don’t get a cheat sheet for their tests.”

“I don’t have a cheat sheet.”

“But I saw you looking in your hat, and Bodie said that’s what y’all have in your hats.”

“It is for most guys, but I don’t need a cheat sheet though. Memorizing the lineup is always something I study beforehand.”

“Then what were you looking at?”

“I’ve never showed it to anyone. Not even my pitching coach knows what I keep in my hat. He knows it’s not a cheat sheet, but it’s what I’ve always needed to keep me focused.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “I want to show you.”

My phone dings with a message, and I see a text from Carter containing a picture. Putting him on speaker, I open the message, and the enlarged photo comes into view. It’s a baseball card. A Coyote one of a young Cash Barlowe that’s laminated and worn at the edges. In the features of the young player, I see similarities to Carter, but what my eyes focus on is the writing across the card—the same words I’ve heard him say. For me, not him.

“I needed my career to be mine, not something I did out of spite, even if it started out that way. He took so much from me; I wouldn’t allow him to take a game that I love and turn it into something I hated as much as I hate him. Because he tried.”

“I don’t know how you do it. Pretend like everything is okay when it’s not.”

“I had plenty of practice growing up.” He pauses for a second before saying, “But some days are harder than others.”

He quickly changes the subject, lightening the topic as he asks about Finn, and I follow his lead. But the picture of young Cash Barlowe stays in my mind. It’s not the retired baseball legend who consumes my mind though. It’s his son who’s put on a show, keeping the horror of growing up with the monster locked inside. Especially after hearing some of what occurred during his childhood, my heart aches for the ten-year-old with his arm in a cast who still covers the pain with a smile, but I’m thankful he trusts me enough to confide in me. Carter doesn’t appear on the surface to be struggling, but something tells me he’s still working to escape the ghost of a man who lingers in the shadows. How could he not?