The Dugout(100)

Hands on my hips, looking down, I say, “Just been working hard in the cages.”

“Thompson was throwing bullets out there, but it didn’t seem to affect you at all. Do you think you have him numbered?”

“I was just seeing the ball well today.”

“And how do you feel you’re adjusting to the team? Are you getting along with all the guys?”

“Yup.” I nod, tip my hat, and take off, knowing fully well PR will be knocking on my locker tomorrow to talk to me about elaborating more, just like they did last time.





AUGUST

Hey you,

Thought an email would be easier than sending this all to you in a text. I had to share with you, because I’m so excited. I haven’t said anything to you yet, but I’m a partner with my brothers. They said yes. Can you believe it? And today we broke ground on the new facility. Well, we didn’t actually break ground, but we started renovations. I suggested we buy the space next to the building to expand, but after a walk-through, we’ll have plenty of space and if we want to expand one day, the option could still be there, or we could build our own facility.

Seeing it all come to life though, speaking with an architect . . . it seems so surreal. I always envisioned it in my head but was never sure it would happen.

I just wish you could see it, but don’t worry, I attached some pics of the empty space. As the project moves on, I’ll keep you updated.

I’ve been watching your stats online, and you’re killing it. The coaches must be seriously impressed. I was reading that you haven’t had a strikeout for at least twenty-five games? That’s insane. You must be really seeing the ball right now. I always wondered when batters are seeing the ball that well if it seems like a beach ball floating into the strike zone to them. Is that what you see? A beach ball?

Jerry is moving to California—sobs—as he got a job in Silicon Valley. He’s been walking around Chicago with his sunglasses on, telling everyone he’s too tech for Chicago now. So basically, he’s been douche-ing it up lately. That’s been fun.

Shane is working with a start-up here and loving it so far. We’ve been to a few Bobbies games and we always talk about how cool it’s going to be to see you playing on the field one day, because we know it’s going to happen.

Anyway, just wanted to check in. Feel free to write back. I miss you.

Milly





Milly: Hey, I finally got to see some footage of you batting. Killer swing there, slugger. And have you been lifting more? Your forearms are super dreamy.

Milly: Spent the last hour watching your swing and slowing it down. Everything is beautiful, just watch that lead front toe. Make sure it doesn’t turn out before you connect with the ball. It’s the difference between a fly out and a home run.

Milly: How does it feel hitting with a wooden bat? Is it everything you dreamt of?

Milly: I like that you chose a black bat. Derek Jeter always had a black bat, and I thought that was classy for some reason.

Milly: Does anyone ever say, ‘Can I get your autograph, Studmuffin?’ I would totally do that.

Milly: ^^^ That’s a lie, I would never have the guts to say that, but it’s fun to pretend.

Milly: Miss you, Stone.





SEPTEMBER

“Where are you going?” Knox asks, approaching me with his bagful of locker room crap. The season is over, we weren’t called up for the end of the regular season in the majors, so now we go home.

But where’s home?

“Staying here. Extending my rent. Training.”

“Everyone’s leaving. You’ll be alone.”

“So?” I shove three pairs of athletic shorts in my duffel bag.

“You barely talk as it is. If you’re here alone, you’ll go crazy.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” I stand and toss a few rolls of tape into my bag as well.

Sighing, Knox comes to the side of my locker and says, “Dude, I love you, you know that, right?”

“Where’s this going? I need food, and I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

“You don’t seem to have time for anything but baseball. There’s life outside of baseball.”

“Not for me.”

“What about Milly?”

“What about her?” I ask, checking my locker for anything I might be missing.

“Where are things with her? Have you answered any of the texts she’s sent you? I see them piling up on your phone.” He points to my screen where there are two text messages waiting for me.

“She’ll get the point.” I’ve closed my mind to Milly. I don’t read her texts or her emails. She has to stay nonexistent in my mind, so I have no fucking idea why she keeps contacting me.

Knox groans in frustration and says, “You’re coming home with me.”

“I’m not.”

“I already told my mom you are. Are you really going to upset Mama G after everything she’s done for you? After all the games she sat in the stands and cheered for you, all the treats she made you? Are you going to stand her up?”

For a brief moment of weakness, I let Knox’s word penetrate my emotional forcefield. Mama G has been the one and only person who shouted my name louder than anyone I knew while I was playing. She was a second mom to me during college and for the life of me, I can’t disappoint her.