Page 7

Massive Mitts

Charlie

Is Coach Bryant actively trying to kill us?

I’d heard rumors from the last college team he coached that he was a sadist, but this is a whole other level. All day long, he’s been barking out commands to the point that my legs are jelly, my lungs are on fire, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to lose the will to live.

The team collapses in a sweaty heap in the dugout when we finally get a break. I glance over at Daniel, who looks as wrecked as I feel. But there’s also a faint spark in his eyes that suggests he still has something left in the tank. Bastard.

As the team’s pitcher, I rely on Daniel more than anyone else. A good catcher can make or break a pitcher, and Daniel is the best. We’ve been playing together since freshman year, and by this point, we share a brain on the field.

Reaching for my water bottle, I chug the whole thing and let out a belch that echoes across the field.

“Classy,” Daniel snickers.

“Thanks.” I wipe my brow, grimacing when my arm gets coated in sweat. “Think we’ll survive?”

“Maybe.” He dumps his water bottle over his face. I lick my lips—because I’m still thirsty, not because the move makes him appear sexy or anything. “Remember when practice used to be fun?”

I shoot him a half-hearted glare. “Dude, this is still fun. Sort of.”

Coach Bryant took over this season for old man Harley, who finally retired.

He’s been running us ragged for the past month.

Don’t get me wrong, the guy knows his stuff.

But sometimes, I miss the laid-back practices we used to have under Harley.

We’d spend half the time shooting the shit and goofing off, because he trusted that we could rein it in when the time came. Now, it’s all business, all the time.

“Break time’s over. Let’s get back to work!” Coach Bryant slaps each of our asses as we head back out onto the field and get to work sharpening our skills.

Daniel and I settle into our routine pretty quickly. He sets up shop behind home plate while I get comfy on the mound. As I wind up, he flashes me a series of quick hand signals. Fastball. Curve. Changeup. Slider.

Nodding, I let each pitch fly with as much precision as I can muster.

“Nice one, Charlie!” Daniel gives me a thumbs-up when my next throw smacks his glove dead center. “Keep that release point consistent.”

Daniel never just catches during practice. He coaches me, offering bits of wisdom and encouragement whenever Coach Bryant isn’t watching.

“Keep your shoulder closed,” he calls out when my next pitch veers off course. “You’re opening up too early on the delivery.”

I adjust and throw again, getting a nod of approval when the ball rockets into his mitt.

“Nice! You got it now.”

We keep the rhythm going, ignoring the sweltering sun that’s turned the field into a furnace. Sweat trickles down my back as I force my tired arm to cooperate.

The rest of the team is struggling too. They groan and pant while Coach Bryant prowls around the field, a panther ready to strike. He barks reminders of what we’re doing wrong, and I’m suddenly appreciative of the fact that Daniel’s always in my corner.

Finally, after an eternity of pitches, Coach Bryant blows his whistle, signaling the end of a grueling afternoon. We huddle around him, a motley crew of exhausted athletes barely able to stand. I lean on Daniel, who supports me with an arm around my waist.

“Good work today, men.” Coach Bryant stares each one of us in the eye. “Remember, hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard. Now, hit the showers.”

I snicker. Where Coach Harley would wax poetic with his speeches, Coach Bryant evidently prefers his to last as long as a prostate exam.

“What’s so funny?” Daniel whispers in my ear as we trudge down the hall to the locker room.

“Nothing. I think I’m getting loopy. Nothing a nice cold shower won’t fix.”

I walk out of the locker room feeling like a million bucks—or at least like a functional human being again. Daniel’s still in the shower, taking his time getting clean. One of the downsides of having such a furry rump, I guess.

As I sit down on the bench outside the stadium, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I glance at the screen, and my face splits into a grin. Big brother is calling.

I accept the FaceTime request, and Roy’s face fills my screen. He looks the same as always—a five o’clock shadow, dark brown eyes, and a scowl on his handsome face. He’s my hero, my rock, the person I look up to most in this world.

“Roy! What’s up, bro? ”

“Charlie.” His voice is gruff but warm. “How’s it going? You at practice?”

“Just finished. It was brutal. I think the new coach wants us dead. But you know me, I can handle it. What about you? To what do I owe the pleasure of your mug?”

“As I’m sure you know, Mom’s birthday is in a couple of months. Dad wants to throw a big party and put me in charge of planning it.”

“He wants me to be there?”

Roy nods. “Bingo. So, what’s your baseball schedule like in May? I’ll schedule the party around it.”

I rattle off the dates, my mind still reeling from the fact that Roy called me. Usually, it’s like pulling teeth to get him on the phone. I’m lucky if I can get an “LOL” from him when I text him a joke that I came up with. Yet here he is, taking the time to do what he hates…for me.

My heart swells with love for my big brother.

He’s always been there for me, even when I was an annoying snot-nosed kid following him around like a lost puppy.

Mom always says I put him on a pedestal, but how can I not?

He’s strong, smart, successful—everything I want to be.

He can also be intense at times and somewhat closed off, but that’s just how he’s always been.

And now, his plate is even fuller with managing a hardware store, tending to our parents’ farm when they can’t, and dealing with whatever personal issues he has that he deems “none of my business.” It’s a lot for one person to handle, but Roy does it all with this quiet tenacity that I can’t help but admire.

“Sounds good, Charlie. I’ll mark those dates down.” Roy’s voice snaps my attention back to him. “How are classes?”

I groan dramatically. “Don’t even get me started on classes, man. I’m drowning in assignments. But if Mom asks, I’m managing.”

Managing shit, more like it. Daniel did his best to calm me down yesterday, but I can’t shut up the voice in the back of my head saying I’m not good enough for the major leagues. Or that I’m going to end up back in Pennsylvania. Roy might be okay with living in a small town, but I’m not.

Roy’s eyes narrow slightly, the gears turning in his head as he assesses me the same way he used to when I was a kid. He leans in closer to the screen, brow furrowing with concern. “What’s going on, little brother? You look worried. Everything okay?”

I shake my head, my hair flopping. “We have some new guys on the team this year, and they’re really, really good.”

“Okay…what’s the problem?”

“I’m worried that they’ll outshine me. That the scouts will want them and forget all about me. I know it’s dumb. They can’t even be drafted for another two years, but still.”

I hate how childish I sound. But even more, I hate how vulnerable admitting this out loud makes me. But I know Roy. He won’t judge.

As if proving my point, his expression softens, and he smiles reassuringly. “Charlie, you’re a damn good pitcher. An even better hitter. And if I’m saying that, you know it’s the truth. Remember how much baseball I watch.”

He’s right. Roy’s been enamored with baseball since he could say the word “baseball.” Our parents always assumed it’d be him who’d pursue a sports career. His room was a shrine to the Yankees.

I remember sneaking inside whenever he was out with his friends, too afraid to touch anything, thinking that he’d know it was me if anything was even a centimeter out of place.

Posters of Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez covered the walls.

Signed baseballs lined the shelves, plucked from the depths of eBay.

His bookcase held biographies of legendary players, such as Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth.

I used to pretend I was in Yankee Stadium instead of his room. Back then, we couldn’t afford to travel to New York, so this was the next best thing. All that was missing was the smell of hot dogs and the noise of the fans .

Roy played the sport all through high school, and he was damn good.

A power hitter with a cannon for an arm in right field.

But as much as he loved playing it, he loved watching more.

He’d sit for hours, studying plays, analyzing batting stances, and memorizing stats.

Dad used to joke that Roy had so much baseball knowledge that there wasn’t any room in his head for anything else, like girls.

For as long as I’ve known my brother, I’ve never seen him with a girl, outside of school dances, that is. I’ve never questioned why. Mainly because I know he’d punch me in the face if I asked.

It wasn’t until high school that I realized how much Roy’s love for baseball rubbed off on me. I practiced for hours, trying to mimic his batting stance and throwing motion. I even begged Mom to buy me the same glove he used. I didn’t care that it was three sizes too big at the time.

But now? We both have massive mitts. Pun intended.

“Those freshmen might be good,” Roy continues, pulling me from my memories. “But they don’t have your experience or skill. Believe in yourself and your abilities the same way I do. You’ve worked too hard to let a few pipsqueaks intimidate you.”

I nod, his words sinking in. He’s not wrong. I’ve worked damn hard. I’ve put in more hours than anyone else in the batting cages, on the mound, practicing every type of pitch possible. I’ve stayed up till the witching hour studying game tapes and scouting reports.

I’ve poured my heart and soul into the game. I can’t let some minor competition shake my confidence.

Determined to get out of my funk, I smile. “You’re right. I need to focus on myself and be the best pitcher I can be.”

“That’s the Charlie I know.”

“Thanks, Roy.” My voice thickens with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He shrugs off my gratitude, but I notice his eyes shimmering and his nose reddening. If I squint hard enough, I think his Adam’s apple bobs too. “That’s what big brothers are for, bud. To kick your ass when you’re being a pest and build you up when you’re feeling down.”

The sound of footsteps distracts me from bursting into tears. I haven’t been home since Christmas. That’s three long months without being around the only guy I’ve ever loved, aside from my dad, of course. I can’t wait to be in the same room as him again. I’m going to hug him to death.

“Who are you talking to?” Daniel asks, walking up to me with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

Roy , I mouth before turning my attention back to my phone. “Daniel’s here. Wanna say hi?”

Roy’s eyes scrunch ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line when I mention Daniel’s name. It’s subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice, but Roy’s my brother. I notice everything about him.

You’d think Roy would be thrilled that I have Daniel in my life. Someone who also pushes me to be better and supports me through thick and thin. But he’s biting back words. I want to ask him about it—because it’s becoming more frequent—but before I can, my stomach growls ferociously.

Roy’s grimace melts away, replaced by a chuckle that rumbles through the phone. “Sounds like someone’s hungry. You better go feed that beast before it tries to eat Daniel.”

I roll my eyes and grin. “Yeah, yeah. I could probably eat an entire pizza by myself.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Get some grub, little brother. We’ll talk more later.”

A pang of disappointment runs through me when I realize our conversation is coming to an end. Right as I go to say goodbye, the screen goes black. Good old Roy.

“Where do you want to go for lunch?” Daniel asks, waiting patiently as I pocket my phone and yank my duffel bag off the ground.

“Taco truck down the street?”

He sticks his tongue out in disgust. “Too messy. ”

“Sub shop?”

“Boring.”

“Pizza?”

“Charlie, man. We’ve had pizza three times this week.”

I throw my hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, Mr. Picky Eater. Where do you want to go, then?”

He grins. “Luigi’s.”