The Dugout(89)

Exhaling, I bend down and glide my mouth across hers. “Thank you.”

“Anything you need, I’m here for you.”

Our hands unlock and she runs up the stadium steps toward the parking lot while I head into the dugout. I turn toward the field I spent the last four years on and give it one last look, as a lone tear streams down my face.

Fuck.





Coach Disik is still in his office, thank God, and I frantically knock on his door until his gruff voice calls out, “Come in.” When I open the door, the look on my face must speak volumes. “What’s going on, Stone?”

“My dad. He had a stroke.”

“Jesus,” he whispers and leans back in his chair, the squeak of the hinges sounding off in the silence. “How bad?”

“I don’t know much but apparently he was unconscious when they found him, and he’s in critical condition right now.”

“Topeka?” And it still astounds me how much the guy knows about each and every one of his players, despite him playing it off like he doesn’t.

“Yes.”

He nods. “Well, what the fuck are you doing in here? Go.”

“But regionals, I have no idea how long I’ll be.”

Putting both hands on his desk, Coach Disik stands and says, “Stone, your work here at Brentwood is done. You’ve carried this team, you’ve proven your loyalty and dedication, but you have a future waiting for you that means a hell of a lot more than the College World Series. You need to get your head on straight, and you’re useless to me without it. Go to your dad, because he needs you more than we do.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, my brow twisted.

He steps around his desk and holds out his hand. “I’m saying it’s been a pleasure, Stone. But turn in your gear, your time here is done.”

“But . . .”

He holds his hand out farther, encouraging me to take it. I do, but still feel confused. “I’m a hard-ass most of the time, but I know when my players need to step outside of the field and deal with life. Your father needs you. Take this time to be with him, get him better, and then prepare yourself for the minors. Your time here is up.”

I bite back the tears that threaten to fall, knowing what Coach Disik is telling me is the right thing to do.

“But the guys—”

“They’ll understand. You’ve put this team first for four years, even when you were injured.” He releases my hand and crosses his arms over his chest. “Plus, I need to see if Badcock has what it takes to stand in.”

I snort at the use of Babcock’s nickname.

“Ah, I think he has what it takes.”

“I don’t know.” Coach looks to the side. “He has some pretty big cleats to fill.”

I press my lips together, enjoying this rare moment with the rough-around-the-edges Coach of the Year winner for five straight years. Disik never shows emotion besides anger. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know how to smile, so I realize this is the closest I’ll ever get to him showing his appreciation for one of his players.

“Hey, Coach Disik?”

He clears his throat and looks at me, his once-soft features now turned harsh again.

“What?”

“Thank you . . . for everything. You taught me what it’s like to be a real ballplayer. You challenged me, you gave me an opportunity to prove myself worthy of my position, and you prepared me for my future. I’ll always be thankful.”

I hold out my hand and without hesitation he shakes it but before he can pull away, I tug him into a hug, and he immediately goes stiff. I give him a quick squeeze right before he pushes me away. “Get out of here, Stone. And . . . stay in touch, you hear?”

“I’ll keep you updated.”

I give him one last smile and then shut the door on a chapter of my life that groomed me for what’s to come.





Milly picks me up after I shower with a bag full of my things and Jason and Romeo in the back seat. The entire way to the airport, I hold her hand, placing light kisses on her knuckles every chance I get while I clutch my phone at my side, desperately wishing I would get more news.

Luckily, Milly found me a flight to Topeka with just enough time to get to the airport and get through security. On the drive, I explain to everyone what Coach said. Even though a piece of me believes if my dad is okay, I’ll possibly come back in time for regionals, the other part, a huge part, believes that even if he is okay, I should take this moment to be there for him, help him adjust back home. Coach gave me a pass, and I should take it.

The airport signs for departures loom ahead as Milly slows down to switch lanes. The silence in the car speaks for itself: no one wants me to leave, but they all know I have to. Jason and Romeo turned white when I told them the game today was probably my last in a Brentwood jersey. Not just because Badcock will be filling my position, but because who knows if we’ll ever play together again.

“You’ll keep us updated, right?” Romeo asks, sounding somber.

“Yeah, I’ll start a group text. Feel free to keep the team updated as well.”

“And if you need anything, you’ll let us know?” Jason asks, his usual joking tone completely gone.

“I will.” If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last four years, it’s the incredibly strong bond of friendship that’s found in college baseball. These guys became my brothers.