Page 41 of The Battery

Cody

W e had a one day break before the Wild Card Series kicked off. Leo transformed a section of his backyard into its own little bullpen with a radar gun, pitching net, weighted baseballs, and a slope board.

Gone was the thick, humid heat of summer, replaced by the crisp breezes of autumn.

The pool would be seeing less and less use as the days went on and the hot tub became the favored spot in the backyard.

For now, however, Leo stood beside me while I threw weighted baseballs into the net at the far side of the yard.

With decent cloud coverage overhead and temperatures in the low sixties, it was perfect practice conditions.

I had my monitor removed and the feeling of being free of that sticky patch gave me wings.

I received a perfect score (if you could call it that) with zero issues through the monitoring cycle.

As expected, and explained to me by the doctors, the hardest part of recovery would be my ribs healing.

The heart stoppage was a onetime thing due to poor, awful timing.

It had almost no chance of happening again.

Of course, that did nothing to stop my paranoia.

I had yet to enter a game. I would soon.

Management already had their fingers on the “go” button to put me back in.

How much of Leo’s compartmentalizing trick could I use?

Sure, I could separate myself from the crowd, the anger toward another player.

But what about fear ? Actual life-and-death fear ?

I had never had to separate that before.

“Almost there with your mechanics,” Leo said as he did a slow walk behind me while I threw. As he had instructed, I didn’t turn to listen or acknowledge. Just kept picking up balls and throwing while he assessed. “Chest expansion is just shy of what it used to be.”

That , however, made me paused. I finished throwing another and then turned to him. “How could you possibly pick up on something that minor?”

He shrugged, then gestured for me to continue. “Don’t be afraid. Really expand out. Maybe over-expand your chest when taking a breath. Get a feel for that so you can find the middle.”

I did. I over-expanded. Blessedly, all the pain was gone and doing so didn’t cause me to wince. It did feel distinctly awkward to over-inflate my lungs and I fumbled the throw. I nodded in understanding. “Okay. Yeah. I gotcha.” I adjusted and threw again. It felt right.

“Perfect. Excellent. You’re a mechanics man, Cody. You don’t need much to set you on the right course. It’s impressive.” He stopped parallel to where I stood. “Okay. This next part. You might feel awkward but trust me, okay?”

“What’s up?”

“Take off your shirt. I’m gonna try and stand as close as I can.”

I hesitated for a moment but leaned into the trust we had built over the months.

Unceremoniously, I peeled off my t-shirt and tossed it on the ground.

Back to throwing balls. He stood diagonally from me and uncomfortably close.

Not in the sense that I didn’t want him near, it was just that a pitcher had a lot of power when throwing and you could hurt someone.

Like swinging a golf club when standing right beside someone.

“I’d record this but that might make you feel awkward,” Leo said after I threw three times.

“I’d need to see it in slow-motion. But…

There’s a slight asymmetry in the muscle activation around your chest. The trainers said this would happen, other muscles compensating for disuse because of the ribs. ”

I looked down at my chest. I wasn’t as sculpted as Leo, but I was a professional athlete and didn’t look awful shirtless. I traced my obliques with my thumb. “How do I fix that?”

“Nonstop practice. I’d say you just keep throwing fastballs. Get that muscle memory dialed in. Your body will remember, and all the muscles will settle back to what they’re used to.” He walked around me. “Keep throwing. I’ll be right back.”

I groaned. He probably was going to record me with his phone so he could see the literal muscle activations in slo-mo. Fastballs smacked the net with the radar gun indicating my speed was improving. I hovered in the low nineties. With regular weighted balls, that number would get higher.

Leo returned a few minutes later and I mentally braced myself to be awkwardly recorded with my shirt off. He called for me to halt and I turned to see him holding a vest of some kind.

I dropped a ball into the bucket. “What’s this?”

“I had it custom made for you.” He came forward.

It looked like a chest protector a motocross rider would wear but modified to have more armor around the sternum.

“This is for you to wear when you’re playing.

It’s lightweight. Should be skintight and can be worn under your uniform. Let me put it on you?”

I had no words. I didn’t give him permission and he didn’t wait. Classic Leo.

He had my hands up as he slipped it down over my head.

It was loose, until he fidgeted with any number of lightweight straps to secure the protector.

The inside was coated in a sweat-wicking fabric that wouldn’t chafe.

The straps were breathable, as well. I put my hands over the front.

Black plastic, though I’m sure it was a polymer of some kind to stop a half-speed fastball to the chest. I knocked on it, then wiggled my shoulders around. Nothing irritated.

“Okay. Let’s see a fastball,” Leo said.

But I didn’t. My mind hadn’t caught up yet until I looked at him. A wave of emotion hit me that I didn’t expect. I physically turned away from him for some semblance of privacy.

“Hey,” came his voice, quiet, sweet, a tone he rarely used.

He was at my side and still I turned from him. He let me. I fought to keep the emotion from spilling all over my face like some blubbering fool.

“I’ve been so scared,” I whispered. I was losing control. “How did you know?”

“Because I know you, Cody.” Again, with the caring tone, like a secret voice he used only for me. “If I can read your literal chest muscle contractions and not your emotional state, what the hell am I even doing with you?”

I blinked to keep the mist in my eyes from falling. “I’ve been so scared,” I repeated. “I knew I could throw but I didn’t know how I’d feel every time I did.”

Gently, Leo’s hand was on my shoulder, turning me so we could face each other.

He knocked his knuckles against the chest protector.

“I avoided getting into cars every time it snowed for almost five years. It took me a long time to get over that fear. I know a thing or two about being scared. And I—oh, hey now, Cody, don’t cry. It’s okay. Please don’t—”

His arms were around me when he realized his words were only making me feel more emotional.

The chest protector did its job well to create a solid barrier between me and him.

I leaned into Leo, buried my face in his neck as I fought off the wave of joy and relief and love that I felt for this man.

Such a simple gift to address a simple concern.

I couldn’t have asked for a better person to help me through this.

I think I’m in love , I thought as he held me. No, that was the wrong thing.

I know I’m in love.

I wiped my tears and finally pulled away. Leo held his tongue and remained stalwart, the rock I needed in the moment. He helped wipe some of my tears, then gently massaged my neck. Hit me with a smile. A beautiful one. Small but mighty. Something caring.

“Let’s throw a few with this on, all right? Then we can take a break and come out here later to start back up. Let’s keep this on for a few hours, too. We can make adjustments to the straps.”

I cleared my throat and let out a heavy sigh to clear my emotions. “Yeah. Okay.”

Leo took up his former position at my two o’clock. “Calling in a fastball,” he said. “Let’s see what you can do, Hill.”

*

It wasn’t chilly enough to start a fire, but we did so anyway to set the mood.

We sat on a shaggy rug in front of the gas fireplace in the living room.

The large ottoman was pushed forward so we could lean our backs against it.

Cans of seltzer sat around us while we pored over one of Leo’s composition notebooks reviewing our plans and expectations for the next two weeks.

He had revealed to me that management discussed my return and planned to use me as a setup man for the Wild Card Series.

Then, when we made it to the pennant, they’d bring me in as a closer.

The unexpected move would work in our favor.

October first, second, and third would see us playing the Ottawa Diamonds.

I’d be up against the one who sent me to the ICU and, if anything, I was looking forward to talking with Lawson again to show him how I was doing.

Leo wanted me to practice more in the morning with the chest protector.

I had been wearing it all evening right through dinner just to get used to it.

Finally, I was able to take it off while we sat in the firelight, sipping on fizzy raspberry and lime drinks.

Our knees and toes brushed together while we worked through the notebook, our heads practically glued to each other while looking at the pages together. When we finished after about a half hour, Leo snapped the notebook closed, then stretched his right arm to drape across my shoulders.

“We need to talk about focus,” Leo said as his eyes watched the dancing, gas-fueled fire.

Our physical relationship hit the brakes when we started to focus more on the game.

Our emotional bond held strong. We talked more than we ever did before, but once again, I had sensed Leo throwing up those walls when it came to intimacy.

Earlier in the day he claimed to really understand me and who I was.

I could say the same to him. Gone were the raw, physical interactions between us to just get off and get to sleep.

Leo couldn’t do merely that anymore. He was tied to me emotionally and he wasn’t ready to go down that path.

Ergo, no sex because that came with love.

He had another focus. I didn’t blame him. For some bizarre reason, it just made me adore him even more and look forward to the future.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I told him. I thumbed the tab of my seltzer can. “I understand where you’re at. I get it. Nothing else matters right now other than getting to the pennant and winning. I’m with you, Leo. One hundred percent.”

“Actually,” he said, surprising me, “you’re only partially right.

” I turned so I could look at him. He kept his eyes forward.

“When we win against the Diamonds, we’ll need to play the next series, which will get us to the pennant.

Between the second series and the pennant, we’ll have a few days off. ”

“Aren’t we scheduled to do a few charity events then?”

Leo nodded. “That doesn’t take up the whole time. There will be practices, yes. But they give us enough downtime to breathe.”

“Do you have something in mind?”

He shifted his arm so that he could run his thumb along the back of my neck. The hair stood on end. I reached out my left hand to rest on his knee.

“Can I take you somewhere for the night?”

“Yes,” I said before he even finished speaking.

“We’ll have two nights to ourselves. And I want it to be just us. No talk about the game. No practice. It would be like baseball didn’t exist. Just you and me. Whaddya say?”

I took a moment to find the right response. If I read between the lines correctly, I knew exactly what to expect.

“Sounds like it’s gonna be heaven.”

He nodded. Repositioned his entire arm over my shoulders. “It will be,” he said in that quiet, hopeful voice of his, the one used just for me.