Page 79 of Switch Pitching

He’s tracking the ball, and while I’m not one to bet, I’m almost certain he’s going to dive.

It’s risky. I’m not sure how experienced he is, but that move isn’t something I’d eventhinkabout trying during a temporary promotion. It took me five games with Boston before I dared to pull that off. The guy has balls, I’ll give him that.

Dave is still running, just rounding third. Then it happens. The outfielder jumps at a weird angle, and I watch as his arm stretches out.

Then the ball drops cleanly into his glove before he closes his fist, landing hard.

It’s over.

I glance at Dave who’s still running, but then he notices the outfielder jogging in, holding the ball up like it’s a trophy.

The next hour is like a blur, even though I didn’t have any game time tonight. I change out of my uniform, give a cursory media interview to the two reporters who bother asking me about my season, and slip out with James.

Before we make it to his car, our phones beep with a text from Dave in our group chat.

FALCONS GC

DAVE SMITH

Commiserate @ mine?

James turns to face me. “Look man, I know we all want nothing more than to sleep this off and forget, but we should spend one last night out with the team.”

I nod. That makes sense, and it’ll be a fitting end to our first major league season.

We change direction and head toward the T stop, pull our hats down to escape recognition, and make our way to Dave’s house in Back Bay where we all proceed to get absolutely obliterated.

When I wake up, the omnipresent smell of James’s intoxicatingly delicious cologne distracts me from my mild but annoying headache. We collapsed into bed right after getting back from last night’s get-together, and as I drag my eyes across the ceiling, I make a mental note to change and wash the sheets later.

The weight of James’s warm blanket keeps me lying still for a while. The room is still dim, thanks to the new blackout curtains, and James remains asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

I shift carefully, trying not to wake him up as I shuffle quietly to the bathroom. The cold tile beneath my feet jolts me awake as I turn on the shower, letting it warm up before stepping in. As the water washes over me, rinsing off the last traces of the night, I lean my forehead against the wall and let the jets beat down on my back as I try to clear my mind. The loss stings. Part of meknows that the chances of winning the World Series in my first major league season were slim, but hey, a guy can dream.

With a sigh, I finish my shower and step out, determined to put the season behind me. I dry off and hang my towel back up before heading back to the bedroom. James is still blissfully asleep, so I don’t get any of his joking protests as I get changed.

The apartment is quiet thanks to the triple-glazed windows. I turn on the coffee maker and program a cappuccino, which begins to sputter out. My mind drifts, thinking about what comes next and we’re left with everyday life. I’ll ask James what he’s doing, and I might join him, at least for part of the winter. Without the regimented routine of training, games, and practices, it’s up to me to decide what to do with my free time.

I know I should catch up on emails since the coaches gave us a heads-up about media requests after the game, but I’m not in the mood.

Still, I open my inbox, deciding to take a quick scan through the flood of messages so I don’t have to do it later. Spam, a message from my agent that I can get to later…

I set my coffee down with a surprised, forceful thud as my eyes reach the third email in my inbox.

Anna Edwards. It’s Mom. She’s using her maiden name, but it’s her.

I’m transported back to that night almost four years ago, the day after Thanksgiving of my sophomore year. The door of my parents’ house snapping shut in my face. The frenzied dash out of their driveway. The frantic calls I made to everyone I knew, trying to find a place to sleep for the night because it was already ten, and there was no way I was making it back to Burlington.

The sheer numbness and shock I felt that whole night is back. Gripping the counter, I try to ground myself and stave off the familiar start of an emotional spiral.

I don’t even notice James across the island until he speaks. “Ethan, are you okay?” His gaze bores into me, concern etching his tired but handsome features.

“It’s an email,” I say, my voice coming out way flatter than I intended. “From my mom.”

James stiffens. “Your mom?”

“Yeah.”

Silently, James walks over and plants himself next to me, his eyes locking onto mine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

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