Page 4 of The Battery

Leo

R omo clung to me like I was a lost puppy. Not that I didn’t appreciate his attentiveness, but this wasn’t my first trade and I didn’t need help from The Nicest Guy in the World to introduce me to my new teammates.

The sun had set beyond the stadium. Harsh, neon lights hit the rows of catering tables stuffed with hot trays and spreads from a local joint.

I had my fill twenty minutes into the meal, then followed Romo like the puppy I was to meet even more people we had missed throughout the day.

The general manager had shown up and even the owner deigned to join us and personally congratulated me on a successful transition.

My first game was tomorrow, and I felt the remark preemptive, but he was the head honcho. Like hell I would correct him.

I was standing at the end of one table speaking with the PR chick—a blond bombshell named Emma who I absolutely would have pursued in my earlier years—when the call of nature chimed.

I excused myself from her and my guardian and exited the field through the nearest exit, the guest dugout.

I lightly jogged down the short stairs, my loafers pinched my heels in the wrong way.

Damn things were too tight, but the white leather looked great with my midnight blue chinos and white V-neck.

I turned the corner in the concrete corridor to the restroom when a body swung around and crashed into me. Well, more like bounced off of me. I didn’t exactly budge.

Cody Hill windmilled his arms, found his balance, and prevented himself from falling.

Those wide eyes of his. I could read his face as easily as the jumbotron.

“ I fucked up again ,” it seemed to say.

For a single, suspended moment, I had two options presented to me.

Lean into my “piss off” mindset and walk past like nothing happened or show the poor sap that I really didn’t hold anything against him.

My agent’s pleas to get him removed from the game had fallen on deaf ears anyway.

“Oh. Great. I should probably start packing now,” he said before I could make my choice. Like he could read my agent’s mind.

That took me by surprise. My eyes went down, then up. He wore a gray t-shirt one size too large and what appeared to be an old, reliable pair of jeans.

“What?” I said.

Red cheeks. The color of my former jersey.

“Nothing. Sorry. Forget I said anything.” The embarrassment vanished, replaced by a sneer. He walked around me.

I stood still, facing forward and not turning to him. “What is your problem?”

I heard his footsteps come to a halt. He turned at the same time I did.

His Adam’s apple rose and fell. His eyes looked me up and down in the same rhythm.

Too aggressive. Why did he act like I was some kind of authority?

He averted his eyes and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “No problem here.”

Four hours ago he didn’t break solid eye contact with me in the cafeteria, but now he couldn’t look at me.

“Obviously there is.”

Way too aggressive. He lowered his head a fraction. Shit, were all the pitchers on the Riders this sensitive?

“I’m sorry I hit you. Truly.”

“I am aware it was an accident. Both times.”

“Yep.” He nodded. Finally, he looked at me. Fear.

He thinks you hold his job in your hands.

Did the previous catcher have this kind of control over the pitchers?

I would have some say, sure, but not everything.

Who stayed and left could be influenced by my suggestions but I would never have the final say.

Is that what Cody thought? Piss off the catcher, get demoted to the minors?

“Um,” Cody said as he turned. “Enjoy the dinner.” He disappeared around the corner before I could say anything.

I took a leak in the bathroom and rejoined the team on the field. Cody, apparently, had left for the evening.

Our first game tomorrow would be shaky. Cody was on the pitching roster. It was still early enough in the season that a couple of bad innings wouldn’t affect us too much, but it might reflect poorly on Cody.

Time to see what you’re made of, kid , I thought as I found Romo, who introduced me to yet another person…

*

I pulled into the garage of my rental house that sat only a twenty-minute drive from the stadium. I pressed the button to shut the car off, closed the garage door, and sat in the silence. Dropped my head against the headrest.

Everything hadn’t hit me yet. The trade. The move. The gauntlet ahead. I closed my eyes and visualized a future where I succeeded. Winning the pennant, saying goodbye to my uncle, finding someone.

Three milestones. One probable, one inevitable, one unlikely.

I had set my mind and body to task countless times in the past. I would not have made it to where I was today had I not.

Every pro athlete was born with inexhaustible determination.

Rare were the ones who ran on talent alone.

The rest of us had to work at it. Day in, day out.

Until we came out on top. I would continue to do this and secure my fourth pennant.

But I had my work cut out for me. Turner and I had schemed during spring training and went for the gold when regular season started.

Of all the teams, the Riders had the best chance by far.

Hiroshi’s departure was like a godsend. We both took it as a sign.

“I’m gonna make sure you’re set up for your fourth win, brother,” Turner had said the night we stayed up late planning, an agent and his client. “Come hell or high water. I can set you up. But you gotta take it from there.”

In the silence of my car, I exhaled a long breath and whispered, “Help me out guys.” A hushed prayer to my family. I imagined their spirits hovering nearby. Mom, dad, brother. Three clouds of divine warmth to carry me through the chill. “I’m trying,” I said with my eyes closed.

I left the garage and stepped into the mudroom of the house where I toed off my loafers and dropped my wallet and keys into a celadon bowl a fan made me almost ten years ago.

I flipped the light switch closest to the door and the hallway illuminated.

White wainscoted walls. Wide-plank, white oak flooring.

Vaulted ceiling with canned lighting. I stepped into the kitchen, a space dominated by white paneled appliances, gray quartz countertops, and almost no character besides the deposits of random junk or medical supplies.

I circled around the island the size of a minivan and walked down a hallway to what should have been the office.

Instead, I peeked inside to a converted room for my uncle.

He lay upon a hospital bed with the head raised a few inches for comfort.

Withered, wearing an oversized white shirt.

Bald with wrinkles. He had his head leaning to the side, chest rising and falling slowly.

Oxygen tank in the corner. A cart of diagnostic instruments in the other.

The acrid scent of antiseptic hit me hard.

I itched to push the door open and wake him up. I wanted to tell him about how the evening went. My nerves about tomorrow. The quirky but cute relief pitcher who was afraid of me. How many more chances would I have to give him updates like this?

Uncle Andy had swept me up in his arms when I was sixteen and didn’t look back. If I thought my parents had pushed me hard to keep practicing, this man made it an art form. He knew the only way to face my tragedy was to strengthen my mind, and baseball did just that.

The lump in my throat wouldn’t go down despite repeatedly swallowing. Seeing him frail and vulnerable stood at odds with the stalwart guardian who commanded the hurting rage of a brotherless and parentless teenager.

“You wanna take a shot at me, kiddo? Do it,” he dared me once. Oh, and I did. The first time I threw a punch it was at my uncle. Hurt like hell and he laughed .

He withstood the anger. Taught me how to channel and redirect it. He said I’d never be rid of that anger and it was my cross to bear. I didn’t understand that then, but I did later.

I started to shut the door quietly but stopped. “Hey, kiddo,” my uncle said through a groggy voice.

I pushed the door back open. “Didn’t mean to wake you up, Uncle Andy. Go back to sleep.”

He cleared his throat and pushed himself up in the bed. Before I could tell him not to, he clicked on his nightstand table lamp. Diffused amber light flooded the room. My uncle squinted against it, then waved for me to come in.

“How are your new teammates?” he asked.

I pulled up a chair to sit next to his bed. Leaned forward. Elbows on knees. “Good.” I thought of Cody. His harmless, spitfire attitude, like a ravaging kitten.

“Well, now,” my uncle said. “What’s that glint in your eye I see?” I looked up from my staring into the void. He double-raised his eyebrows. “I know a look of conquest when I see one. Does she work at the stadium? Or he?”

I stood abruptly and scoffed. “New teammates are good. Looking forward to a productive season.”

“Is she pretty?” he asked as I went for the door. “Or handsome?”

“Sleep well, Uncle Andy.” I closed the door to his muffled inquiries.

The basement had become my new retreat. The house had five bedrooms, three living rooms, a butler’s pantry that was essentially a second kitchen.

Enough spaces and rooms to keep anyone happy.

But I relegated myself to the finished basement where my tall frame still had room to move.

My bare feet crushed into high-pile carpeting as I made my way to the oversized couch set before an even more oversized television.

The bright OLED screen shined brighter than the stadium lights.

I found something mindless to watch, trying not to think about that cute pitcher I wanted to tell my uncle about.