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Another term for being in the Major Leagues. “Being in the bigs.”
CASON
1 MONTH LATER
Graduation passes in a blur. Regionals even quicker. I make three appearances on the mound during regionals and pitch like I should have all season. With Sydney and Tatum cheering me on.
Draft day follows. The biggest day of my career. I spend it with my dad and what feels like hundreds of news outlets. I accept the offer right before the pick is made.
“Angels man, fucking Angels,” Ez groans through the phone as I’m packing my clothes.
“I know. But Pirates, man. That’s great.” Ez was picked up by the Pirates. He left on a plane this morning.
I’m not sure how I feel about being drafted to the Angels. First round, picked tenth for 6.8 million. Still, the money means nothing.
You know what does?
My dad and wondering if I’ll ever live up to his clout in the league, if my arm will hold out, and Sydney. Like it or not, I don’t want to leave her. I knew it was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier that afternoon.
“Tell Sadie I’m waiting for her to answer my text.” He laughs. “Bitch needs to stop ignoring me. I hit it better than that drummer any day.”
Chuckling, I close the zipper on my bag and leave it on the floor next to the bed. “You tell her. I’m not playing messenger for you. And if you call her a bitch, pretty sure that’s not ending well for you.”
“Oh, c’mon. Tell her she’s starting player in my bang bank.”
I stop what I’m doing, gathering my clothes from all over the place. I guess I am messier than I thought. “I don’t even know what that means.” On the nightstand, I notice the container of Jelly Bellies I picked up for Tatum. Fuck. A sharp pain hits my stomach that I’m leaving without her. No more debates about the best flavors and me teaching her to count using them. Hundreds of memories made in two short months plague my thoughts, and I wonder if where my life is heading is in the right direction.
“I’m gonna miss you.”
“I won’t miss you.”
He laughs. “Oh, bullshit.”
“Okay. I might. Is your uncle in jail yet?”
“Nah, but he left town. Something about Enzo getting into some trouble down in Mexico. Apparently, he’s pissed off some drug lord and kidnapped the kidnapped.”
“How do you kidnap the kidnapped?”
“Uh, well, all I know is he’s like a bounty hunter for the mafia. Or some shit. Anyways, he took off with the girl he was supposed to bring back. Now Luca is looking for him before the mafia finds him.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, that’s Enzo for you. Crazy as fuck and irrational.”
Can you imagine Christmas in the Rossi house? Yeah, me either. It’s probably like a scene out ofScarface. “He sounds as crazy as your uncle.”
“You’re telling me. I found a finger in the sink. A fucking finger!”
“I’m not surprised.”
He sighs, and I can hear car doors closing and voices in the distance. “You said goodbye to Sydney and the kid yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, my friend, see ya in the minors, I guess,” Ez says, more emotion in his voice than I’m sure he wants to admit. “Paint the black, Reins.”
A smile tugs at my lips. I think back to the first time I met Ezra Rossi. Summer ball. Cape Cod. He tossed me the ball and said, “Paint the black.” And then said my pitches made his balls buzz. I had no idea what to think of that five-foot-six, wild black-haired man, but regardless, I’m going to miss this crazy Italian bastard. “I’ll see ya around, man.” After I hang up with Ez, I look around the studio apartment I’ve been living in for the past couple of months. I can count the number of times on my hand that I’ve slept in that bed in the corner. I’ve spent more time in Sydney’s or on the floor in Tatum’s room to ensure no monsters go under her bed. A job I take very seriously.