The Dugout(23)

He releases my chin and props his hands on his bat. “I’ve been a bastard lately for reasons I don’t need to get into, but—”

“Well, there’s your injury, not being drafted, and then having a hard start to the season,” I list off, not even thinking about it.

He pauses and then shakes his head while chuckling. “Yeah, kind of nailed it.” He pulls on the brim of his backward hat. “I haven’t been myself, and it seems you’ve caught the brunt of that this past week, and I want to apologize.”

“Like I said, it’s fine.”

“It’s not. I treated you like a dick in the dining hall, in the weight room, and then at the field. I’ve just . . . fuck, I’ve had every person I know tell me how to fix my swing, and it’s too many cooks in the kitchen, you know?”

“Totally. It’s like all the information is too consuming, and you’re adjusting too many things at the same time.”

“Exactly.” He sheepishly smiles and lightly taps my leg with his bat. “You get it.”

Oh God, that was cute.

Keep it together, Milly.

“When my brothers went through a dry spell and their coaches tried to fix whatever the problem was, they shut them out and came to me. We worked quietly together and fixed whatever kink there was in their swing.” I toe the ground. “Baseball is eighty percent mental, and the rest is muscle memory. If your muscle memory is off, then your mental state is going to be thrown for a loop, which will affect your game even more.”

Head tilted, he studies me, his eyes bouncing back and forth between mine. “Damn, I’m such an idiot.”

“What?” I can feel my nose scrunch up. “Why?”

“Because, I could have listened to Jerry and started this training a little earlier, but my stupid pride took over. You know your stuff, don’t you, Milly?”

“I mean”—I look away, anywhere but his eyes—“baseball’s my life.”

“A saying I’m very familiar with. Do you play?”

“Just in the backyard with my brothers.”

“Never softball?”

I shake my head. “I wasn’t interested. If it wasn’t baseball, I didn’t want any part of it. Plus, even though it’s technically the same sport, they’re different in every way. Softball is quick, snappy, and they rely on the short game, left-handed slappers, and Texas leaguer hits with the occasional blast over the wall. Baseball is more about the long ball, the precision of each swing. I wanted to learn the mechanics of baseball, the physics behind it. Hitting a softball is completely different than a baseball. I grew up being my brothers’ personal coach, and I didn’t want to mess any of that up with a different set of knowledge. I know it seems stupid but—”

“Not stupid at all.” He taps me again with his bat, pulling my eyes toward him. “Are you any good?”

“I can throw and catch if that’s what you’re asking, but if you expect me to walk up to the plate and pull a Mike Trout hit out of the back of my pocket, it’s not going to happen. I can make contact, but the power isn’t there.” I hold my arms out. “This frame doesn’t quite have the power to drive anything much farther than shallow outfield.”

“Got yourself some noodle arms?”

“You can say that.”

“Let’s see, flex for me.”

Chuckling, a sense of ease washes over me. This is what it’s like with Cory, Rian, and Sean. He’s listening. He’s also teasing, but not with ridicule. Even though he’s still slightly intimidating, seeing him behave like them is making it much easier to talk to him. I can do this. I am doing what I know best.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to scare you with my muscles.”

“Try me.” He smirks.

Pulling back the sleeve of my large shirt, I flex my right arm for him and say, “Startling, I know.”

He steps forward and gives my pitiful bicep a squeeze with his thumb and forefinger. “Damn, killer, you might want to lay off the ’roids for a bit.”

“I tried, but I can’t seem to stop.”

He laughs and leans on his bat again, the pose casual. It fits him so well. “Okay, I feel better now. I feel like we have an easygoing rapport. You’re good? You forgive me?”

“Like I said before, it wasn’t a problem.”

“Yeah, you say that, but I don’t believe it. I saw the hurt in your eyes when I was being a dick.”

“I’ve learned to brush things off quickly.”

“If that’s the case, I want to bring up one more thing.”

My hands nervously grip the bottom of my shirt, bunching it together at my waist. “Are you going to ask about the cookie incident?”

“I feel like I don’t have a choice. For this to be a lasting friendship, we need to get to the bottom of that. I was just an innocent guy trying to apologize and then next thing I know, I have a cookie shoved in my mouth.” He points the bat at me. “You’re lucky I wasn’t allergic to nuts.”

“Oh my God, I stalked the news websites all night, fearing news of a Brentwood baseball player going into anaphylactic shock.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I was horrified for many reasons, that being one of them.”