Page 31 of The Battery

Leo

I stared at my uncle’s ashes sitting atop my mantel.

The ice in my tumbler clicked as I sat down, then took a slow and careful sip of the vodka.

Outside, the only light to come through the window was the ambient glow from the porch lamps.

I squeezed the bridge of my nose, then ran my hand down my face.

Such a different feeling, no longer having the beard that had become my signature.

How many brands would drop “The Spartan” because of it?

Three days had passed since that awful early morning.

I sequestered myself for that time to meditate and recall memories to play in mind’s eye like highlight reels of a good game.

I felt his spirit join my mother, father, and brother.

I now had four guardian angels beside me.

Three of them had crowns. All I needed to do was get a fourth for my uncle to wear proudly for all the other angels to see.

I held up my glass to my uncle as I stared at the urn. “Cheers, Uncle Andy,” I said in a whisper and took another sip. I hissed through the burn. It felt cleansing.

Cody, reluctantly, left after staying the whole day Uncle Andy died.

I insisted he get home and rest before the game.

He couldn’t miss one just because of me.

I could afford to miss a few, especially since Romo—actually he insisted I start calling him Rome for some reason—filed for my family medical leave.

I swear I received a text every hour on the hour from Cody asking if I was okay the next day. He got the hint after I stopped responding as quickly as I originally had. I didn’t get the sense of him being clingy, just concerned. I couldn’t fault him for that. In fact, it was an attractive feature.

I should not have kissed him.

Another slow sip. At this rate, I’d need a refill.

No, that kiss was a mistake but it felt right in the moment.

I wanted to and I enjoyed every precious second of it.

But we weren’t ready. I wasn’t ready. It was unfair of me to initiate something so precious and romantic when I had no intention of following through anytime soon.

I didn’t know if he was aware. Perhaps he was.

So time I took.

Which was a shame, really. I had passed the first test life floated my way. And I was about to utterly fail the second one.

*

July heat. Sun below the horizon. A packed stadium of adoring fans who weren’t there just for the Riders, but for the Ottawa Diamonds.

If the Brawlers were our nemesis, the Diamonds were our allies.

Competitors, yes, but our teams exuded a friendly rivalry that ensured a good time for both players and spectators alike.

The atmosphere of the stadium was suffused with a kind of easygoing fun only found in the joy of midsummer.

I lived for games like this, though people wouldn’t think it given my penchant for acting like a tough guy.

They may not know it directly, but I adored the aura of cheers from a crowd who weren’t just excited for us, but for the game itself.

It made me want to play better, longer, if only to give them a sliver of escapism from whatever malady cloyed their lives.

So when we scored a run at the bottom of the eighth, which put us up by one, I saw an opportunity to be bold. The Riders’ darling, Rome, had scored a homer and we only had one out. When Rome came to the dugout, I decided to shoot my shot and called the skipper over.

Rome agreed without question or pause. The skipper had to mull it over. I said everything I needed to and had to. I wouldn’t plead. Rome looked like he was about to, but thankfully the skipper gave me a sharp nod and said I should do the honors.

I was at the phone that connected the dugout to the bullpen.

Someone answered, not sure who, and I barked, “Put Hill on.” Only took him a second to hop on.

“Get your ass over here. You’re closing.

” I didn’t wait for a response. Just hung up.

Turned away from everybody as a face-splitting grin nearly broke my face in two.

Then I mastered that shit real quick.

I disappeared into the coolness of the concrete corridor that would bring him to me. I kept one ear on the field to hear the progress. Another out. One left.

I had my back pressed against the wall to cool myself down. Arms crossed. Looking down. Cody came into the periphery of my vision.

“You guys serious?” he asked. I looked over and up at him.

What a smile , I thought. “As a heart attack.”

I had pitched to the skipper that we should leapfrog Cody over the next step of setup man and throw him right into closing.

There was no better time than an easy game against the Diamonds where everyone was having a good time.

It was the perfect pressure test. And coming from me, it carried more weight.

Besides, our usual closer was out due to a muscle pull.

“Holy shit. This is amazing. All right. Let’s do this.”

“Damn right.” I pushed off from the wall and turned to walk with him the rest of the way.

“You still owe me a candlelight dinner,” he said.

I stopped in my tracks and turned slowly. Distantly, I heard them call the third out. We had to get on the field ASAP. “I seem to recall life going to shit for me after I said that.”

Damn him. He kept that grin on his face as he strolled right past me. “All the more reason to make up for it.”

“Next break. Let’s do it,” I said a lot faster than I intended to. “Okay, stop grinning so much. Let’s get on the field.”

One fist bump later and we were walking to our positions. This time, it was Cody who punched our new fun song into PitchCom. In the outfield, I saw Rome pumping his fist in the air. Freddie bounced from foot to foot. Cody was bobbing his head.

Buncha weirdos.

I loved them for it. I nodded my big, masked head to the beat.

I got into position as the first hitter started his walk to the plate.

I leaned side to side to stay spry. My eyes were on Cody.

The way he grinned at something Freddie said.

The ease in his walk. The way his shoulders rounded out.

The cock in his walk. The man was so comfortable up there, despite what we laid out for him.

I felt the easiness, too. I sensed the spirits that surrounded me. I imagined my mother cheering me on. My father’s encouraging words to enjoy the game. Archie, giving me pointers. And Uncle Andy. Right beside me. Telling me not to forget my third promise as I watched Cody.

I called for a curveball. Cody’s throw dove away for a swing and a miss.

Strike one. The batter made a silly comment about the rookie showing off.

Next came a fastball on the outside corner.

Swing and a miss. Strike two. The hitter stepped outside the box and feigned an angered “what the hell” look.

The crowd laughed. When he stepped inside, Cody sent a changeup that the batter swung under. Strike three.

He lobbed the bat away and looked right at me. “Where the hell did you guys find this guy?” he asked through a smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said in a light tone, “get going.”

Cody threw a slider that broke sharply. The second batter fouled it off.

He stepped out of the box and joked about how he needed glasses, then stepped back in.

Cody sent a fastball, high in the zone for a swing and a miss.

Next, he threw another slider that dropped out of the zone at the last moment.

Swing and miss. Two strikes. Cody sent me another fastball, practically the same throw. Swing and a miss.

I stood to stretch before the third batter came up to the plate. Cody shot me a smile as he rolled his shoulders. He was practically floating on the balls of his feet. He’s loving this , I thought. Living for the pressure, like he was born to be a closer.

I wish I savored that moment a fraction longer.

I recognized the third hitter, Lawson. My height and just as big, though he exuded a friendlier air than me. We nodded to each other.

Cody sent a fastball inside that Lawson fouled off. I asked for a curveball, it was called as a ball. Lawson shook his head as if disappointed. Out on the mound, Cody laughed it off.

I then called for a slider but Cody rejected it, wanting to send a fastball right down the middle. I didn’t disagree.

I wish I did.

Cody threw.

Depending on the speed, it takes a ball roughly half a second to reach home plate. Cody had thrown a fastball at ninety-five miles per hour. Lawson knew it was coming the second it left Cody’s hand. He swung and made solid contact.

I watched numbly, in time that appeared to slow, as the ball returned directly to Cody’s position like the perfect ricochet…

… and made direct contact with him, square in the chest.

Cody immediately collapsed to the dirt like a marionette with its strings cut.

I was on my feet and pulling my mask off in the time it took for the ball to reach Cody. Freddie snatched up the ball to throw to first. I didn’t fault him for completing the play—hell, we were trained to do so. Lawson made it to first on time.

I sprinted toward the mound when I realized Cody wasn’t moving. In the periphery of my vision, I saw the athletic trainer running as well. I kicked up dirt as I sprinted faster than I have ever run before.

The crowd went deadly silent as I came to a skidding halt on my knees before Cody.

He wasn’t breathing. His eyes open. Lifeless.

I never apologized , was my first thought.

Regret. Regret was my first thought.

The athletic trainer threw himself down beside Cody. He checked for breathing, then a pulse. Those five seconds felt like an eternity. Then he shook his head.

“No pulse,” the trainer said. “Leo, call for an AED.” He lined his knees up alongside Cody’s chest and braced his palms over Cody’s sternum.

Holy shit.