The Dugout(103)

The loss of her.

“It was because of me,” I say. My voice is nothing but a distraught breath.

“What was?”

“His death,” I answer, choking on my own words.

“What do you mean?”

Wiping my eyes with the corner of my shirt, I take a deep breath. “His work ethic, his constant long days, it was because of me. All the medical bills from my mom and my baseball expenses piled up over time. He took out a loan to pay for it. The loan apparently was shitty and the interest was insane. He was in debt and worked tirelessly, trying to pay it off. I didn’t know until my aunt Carol told me. He sent me money, fun money, he got me everything I wanted. It was because—”

“Because he loved you,” Knox says. “He worked hard because he loved you. He didn’t die because of you; he died because it was his time. I don’t think anything would have changed his work ethic, because he was the kind of man who provided, and would do that until his last breath.”

Another wave of tears hit me hard and Knox brings me in closer.

“You can’t possibly blame yourself for his death, Carson. Shit happens to the people we love every day. We can’t avoid it. But what we can do is remember them the best way we can. I talked to your dad on the phone a few times, and I wish I’d known him better, but what I do know is he would not be happy with the way you’ve been living. Pushing people away, working tirelessly until your body gives out. He would have lectured you on taking care of yourself.”

“He was one to speak. He should have taken care of himself.”

“But that’s not the kind of man he was. I never told you this, but when he dropped you off at our dorm and you were in the bathroom, he pulled me to the side and said he made a promise to your mom that he would always take care of you. That he’d make sure you had everything you needed in life to make your dreams come true. Since he couldn’t be in Chicago with you, he asked if I would watch over you and he would make sure you were provided for.”

“He said that?”

Knox nods. “He did, and I told him I would. Why do you think I’ve stuck around your moody ass this past year? Because I made a promise as well. You’re my family, Carson, and even though you’ve been a bastard, no matter how much you piss me off, I’m never going to stop watching over you.” He clutches me tighter. “We’re in this together, man.”

Something inside me breaks. I don’t know if it’s my wall, my understanding, or my eagerness to make my promise to my dad a reality, but the tension in my body eases and I’m able to take a full breath.

In this together? Hardly. But that’s on me.

Fuck, that’s on me.

“You’ve made me so proud, Carson. Not just as a baseballer, but as a man. And the way you speak of your girl, Milly, reminds me of your mom. She pushes you, so she’s the girl for you. You may not have baseball forever, as our bodies can only sustain us for so long. But your girl . . . always work as hard at that relationship as you do in baseball. Never give up.” How had I forgotten those words that my dad spoke to me in one of our last phone calls? How had I somehow twisted his love and sacrifices for me as something he’d resented? He never told me about his debt, but not because he was ashamed. He did everything he did with pride. Fuck. He’d hate this version of me. And Milly . . . that beautiful and bright soul. “What the fuck did she ever do to you to deserve that kind of treatment?” Nothing. All she did was love, support, and push me.

I’m such an asshole.

“Fuck,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I’ve really fucked everything up.”

“Nah, you’ve just muddied the water. Time to filter out the shit and make it clean again.”

I glance at Knox, a cock to my brow. “Is that some Texas saying?”

“You should know, you spent a few months there.” He smiles. “Come on, let’s get you better first, and then we can mend everything else.”





JULY

Feeling a little more human, a little less angry, and slightly more optimistic, I stretch out on my bed after a solid win and performance and pick up my phone.

It’s been a few months since I’ve “spoken” to her, but like Knox said, I’ll never know until I try.

There’s no denying I still think about Milly every day. Even when I didn’t want to, I thought about her. She was constantly on my mind. Every time I was in the cages, I swear I heard her voice bounce off the walls, reminding me to keep my hands high. When I would stare at my glove before every game, listening to my pre-game music, I would see her face when she handed me my glove back after tightening it. And when the lights turned off at the stadium, I’d imagine the night I asked her to meet me in the dugout, the first time I told her how I felt.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t extract her from my season, even when I said some of the worst things to her.

And now that I’m feeling more like my old self, I want to reach out to her, let her know how sorry I am.

Pulling up a text message, I type up a quick text.

Carson: Hey Milly, how are you? Was hoping maybe we could talk today? Let me know if you have time.

I hit send as nerves crash down on me. Worst-case scenario, she tells me to eat my own shit. Best-case scenario, she hears me out.

As I wait for her response, I stare at the last text I sent her . . .