Page 107 of Drop Three

Coach Leggins continues, “For those of you who know Crew Briggs, I expect you to welcome him and accept his position on the team.” He nods to the corner of the room and out walks Mr. Steal Your Girl himself.

“Crew, welcome back,” Coach says.

The man who has unknowingly been fortunate enough to hold the woman I long for with every fiber of my being stands before me, a new player on my team, and now even more of a threat to the limited time I get to spend with Navy without him around.

We may live together, but she avoids me when she can.

And now, Navy works at Makers and Briggs is back.

I should be happy; Briggs is a great center fielder and myfriend.

The word friend causes bile to rise up the back of my throat. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to put on a semi-happy face and fake it.

Whenever I’m in proximity to Navy, I’m tempted to throw caution to the wind and claim her as mine—what she has always been and always will be.

If only I could tell her that.

“Happy to be here, Coach,” Briggs tells the team.

Thrilled, really.

Coach nods, ushering Briggs to join us where we’re seated. “Now onto the second thing. I know this is on a more personal note, but I consider you all family so I’m gonna keep you in the loop.”

Nods and agreement echo in the quiet locker room.

There’s an unspoken anxiousness for the second thing Leggins needs to talk with us about. Last year, he told the team about his wife, Taylor, and her unexpected cancer diagnosis. Saying it shook us is an understatement. Not because we love Taylor—we hardly know her, but we know Coach and it fucking sucks what he’s having to go through—Taylor, too.

Wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“Tay’s not doing great. Things are declining quickly, and her primary oncologist wants to do some further testing to see how much time she has left.”

Fuck.I wasn’t expecting that kind of news.

“Shit, Coach,” Kingston exhales.

Coach scratches his head. “I wish I had more answers, but we are just taking it a day at a time. She’s in good spirits, which is all I could ask for given the circumstances.”

“Need anything?” Cal asks.

He shakes his head. “Nah. We’re good. You boys have done enough. Now it’s a waiting game and focusing on making her comfortable.”

The silence in the room is deafening. There are no words to take away Coach’s reality, and nothing we can do to make Taylor’s diagnosis go away.

It sucks.

Coach looks at us in a daze. That’s one thing about him I admire: he looks at you head-on when he speaks to you, no matter how difficult the topic of conversation may be.

Coach perks up slightly. “With that being said, there’s a possibility I will have to miss your first spring training game.”

We nod in unison.

Coach’s gaze sweeps the group of players to confirm everyone is on the same page.

We are.

Does it suck? Yes. But family first, always. That’s a motto we have and work hard to keep as a team.

Family over everything.

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