Page 21

21

Knox

The Florida sun and humidity were worse that afternoon than they’d been during most of spring training.

I stood near home plate, waiting my turn for batting practice and trying to ignore Henderson, our manager, chatting with Fernandez, a first base prospect everyone had been buzzing about. He’d been killing it all spring and seemed to be eating up all the attention his performance had brought his way.

When we wrapped up BP, I headed back to the clubhouse to get ready for our final exhibition game in Ft. Myers. I’d just finished buttoning my jersey when one of the assistants let me know Henderson wanted to see me in his office.

Over the past few days, the coaching staff had been meeting with players to discuss their performance so far and what their role would be during the upcoming season. After Crew and I ended things during the All-Star break, I’d thrown myself into baseball. Without sounding too cocky, I believed the way I’d played had helped the Twins get to the first round of playoffs last season, and it seemed to have carried over into the spring, so I was cautiously optimistic about making the roster.

“Hey, Singleton. Have a seat,” Henderson said as I stepped into his office.

I dropped into the chair across from him and waited for him to begin. The longer he stayed silent, the more doubt began to creep in. My stomach dropped when he finally tossed his hat onto the desk and rubbed a hand over his head.

Any confidence I’d possessed a few minutes earlier disappeared as it became clear whatever he had to say wasn’t going to be good news.

“We’re sending you to St. Paul.”

“The Saints?” I clarified, making sure I’d heard him correctly and was on my way back to the minors.

He nodded. “You exceeded our expectations last season, but we’ve decided to give Fernandez a shot at the big leagues. Plus, we’ll be playing Kitner at first more while Paulson gets some time behind the plate.”

Paulson was another prospect who was making quite the impression on the staff, and since Kitner was approaching retirement age, it only made sense management wanted to bring up a new catcher.

“Got it,” I replied, for lack of a better response. It wasn’t as though I could beg to keep my job. The roster only had so many spots, and clearly, none of them were for me.

We both stood and walked out of his office. As he headed toward the field, he turned to look at me one last time. “Remember, things can change fast around here. Keep grinding and putting in the work. You never know when you might get called up again.”

He didn’t have to remind me. The previous season had been a lesson on how a career in the majors could shift at any time. I was one injury or trade away from rejoining the team, but that didn’t mean not making the roster didn’t sting.

In the now-empty clubhouse, I began packing up my personal belongings and happened to glance at the TV in the corner. As usual, SportsCenter played on the screen. The announcers were discussing the Seawolves and the Crushers. It had been decades since the MLB had expanded, so the talk about the two teams had dominated most sports shows for the last two months.

Of course, I knew the Seawolves had picked up Crew, and it was impossible not to catch glimpses of him when the media dedicated so much airtime to his team. Despite the many months we’d been apart, it still felt like a gut punch every time I saw his smiling face on the screen.

The show switched over to an interview with the Seawolves manager who was talking about the team’s chemistry and the hard work they’d all been putting in. Not for the first time, I wondered if playing for Parker and Matthewson—who were both open about their sexuality—might give Crew a push to come out. But I reminded myself that he didn’t owe anyone details about his personal life. Still, anytime I had those thoughts, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if he was seeing someone.

When I’d decided to use the game as a way to get over Crew, I hadn’t gone looking for hook ups and rarely went out. It wasn’t as if I’d set out to be celibate, but the few times I’d tried talking to someone, it hadn’t gone anywhere.

It was a far cry from who I’d been before joining the Rockies.

I’d tried to convince myself the change was because I was dedicated to my job. But if I were honest, it was because I was scared. The first time I ever wanted more with someone, it had ended in heartbreak, and I wasn’t in a hurry to experience that soul-crushing pain again.

Was it possible Crew felt the same way?

Or had he found someone to move on with? Someone he could relax with after a game like we used to. Somebody to have late-night talks and mind-blowing sex with.

The thought sucked, but I couldn’t do anything about it.

Baseball had always been enough to make me happy.

Now, I hoped it would continue to be even if my career wasn’t turning out the way I’d always dreamed it would.