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Knox

The second the door shut behind me, I wanted to rush back in and hold onto Crew for a little longer. We’d agreed we couldn’t make a relationship between us work, but I still hated having to say goodbye. Hated the circumstances beyond our control that kept us from each other. Hated that, for the very first time in my life, I’d allowed myself to fall in love only to have that love torn apart.

I tightened the grip on my suitcase and walked toward the elevator, doing my best to keep it all together as I thought about what—or rather who—I was leaving behind. In the parking lot, I tossed my stuff into the trunk and climbed into my rental car.

The seven-hour drive seemed to stretch on for an eternity as I passed endless miles of cornfields. I could’ve turned on some music or listened to my favorite podcast to pass the time, but my mind was stuck replaying the two days we’d spent together—the hours we’d stayed in bed watching movies, making out like teenagers, and trying to make up for all the sex we’d missed out on since I’d left Denver.

As I continued across Iowa, I told myself to be grateful for the time Crew and I had shared. I remembered the Tennyson quote my English professor mentioned once: “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

Right then, I wasn’t sure I believed that was true because losing him hurt like hell.

Baseball had given me so much. I’d been able to make a career out of playing my favorite sport, the chance to travel all around the country, and meet some great people.

But no one ever talked about what the game took in return.

From every player, it demanded time, health, and attention—basically his entire life. And the more focus put into the game, the less energy available to give to other people. A few months ago, I would have said it was a fair trade-off. It was simply the cost of getting a shot that most people could only dream of.

But somewhere along the desolate highway on my way home, I began to wonder if it was all worth it.

It was the first game back after the All-Star break, and everything felt off as I walked into the clubhouse. The Twins were a great organization, but I hadn’t quite found my place within the team yet.

Unlike the guys in Colorado who’d engaged in playful hazing when I joined the Rockies, my new teammates were a little quieter and more serious. Their more mindful approach seemed to be serving them well, though, since we were first in our division. But, it felt like I was playing with strangers rather than people I’d instantly connected with.

While warming up, I missed a ball I normally would have no problem digging out. It wasn’t a big deal, especially since it hadn’t happened during a game, but it was hard to ignore one of the coaches watching me a little closer for the next few minutes.

Once it was game time, I played decently, holding my own at first base and hitting a single. Not terrible, but I hadn’t done anything particularly newsworthy either. At least I hadn’t made any stupid mistakes, and in the end, we were able to add the game to our win column.

Back in the locker room, SportsCenter was playing on one of the TVs, and I did a double-take when I saw highlights from the Rockies and Mets game in New York. One clip focused on Crew crouched behind the plate, calling pitches as Torres battled the Mets’ best hitter.

I missed him.

I hadn’t realized I was standing in the middle of the clubhouse, focused squarely on the television, until Kitner, our catcher, let out a low whistle from beside me. “Stratton looked good out there tonight.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “He did.”

I grabbed a change of clothes from my locker and headed toward the showers. When I finished, several of my teammates were making plans to go out for drinks.

Nearby was a bar they all liked, similar to the place I used to go to near the stadium in Denver. I shook my head. I needed to stop comparing my experiences here with the ones in Colorado, or I would never be able to move on.

“Singleton, are you coming out with us?” Arroyo called out from across the room.

I shook my head and forced a smile. “Not tonight. I’m wiped.”

No one gave me shit for choosing to go home. Instead, Arroyo shrugged and went back to chatting with Almonte. No one seemed all that interested in what I did. It wasn’t because they were a bunch of assholes or anything, but I hadn’t given them a reason to care if I joined them or not.

To be honest, I hadn’t really put in any effort with them at all.

As we walked out of the stadium and into the warm Minneapolis night, most of the guys headed in one direction while I went in the other toward my rental car. I really needed to buy my own soon. When I was in the minors, we had lived close enough to the stadium that I didn’t need a vehicle, but since it looked like I was going to be in Minneapolis for a bit, it would definitely be more convenient to have my own set of wheels.

Before getting in, I considered changing my mind and following my teammates. Maybe I could buy a round of drinks and try to get to know them better.

It’s what I should have probably done, but I unlocked the door and slid inside instead.

Arriving home, I dropped my backpack by the door and grabbed a beer from the fridge. I was still staying in the team’s apartment, but since I was the only new player on the team, I didn’t have a roommate at the moment.

Taking a seat on the couch, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I was tempted to text Crew after seeing him on TV, but I decided against it. We hadn’t said we’d stop all communication, yet it felt like reaching out would be breaking some sort of unwritten rule on how to act after ending things.

Maybe he had already come to terms with what we’d agreed to, and sending him a message would reopen an old wound. He probably wasn’t stuck in his head, overthinking everything like me.

I set my phone down and took a large gulp of my IPA. The bitter taste matched my mood perfectly.

I missed the hell out of Crew, but no amount of sitting around, feeling sorry for myself, was going to change anything.

Although the thought was depressing, I realized I needed to push Crew out of my mind and focus on what I had control over, which was my career. I needed to get serious and prove I belonged with the Twins, even if it still didn’t feel like home.

Baseball didn’t make my heart race the same way Crew did, but I’d already lost him. I needed to make sure I didn’t lose the game too.