Page 5 of Love in Pieces

“Ladies!” Coach Charlie’svoice booms from home plate with his usual sarcastic greeting. “Good morning! I know you are all getting excited for the final game of the season. Reminder! Not that any of you need it, but winning Saturday’s game guarantees us a spot in the NCAA D1 regional tournament! I shouldn’t have to remind you that this is a big deal and in my ten years of coaching here, we have nevernotsecured ourselves a spot. Don’t make this the year. Now,Captain, do you have anything you want to add?” he asks, accentuating my title.

I move to stand next to him. The thirty-one players before me watch carefully. “Don’t fuck this up,” I say as everyone cheers and runs to their respective positions on and off the field.

Coach Charlie rolls his eyes as he follows me to home plate. I take my spot behind our third baseman and my roommate, Logan, who is first up to bat, and raise my glove, signaling to Dante, who stands ready on the pitching mound, that I’m ready to play. Logan takes a few quick practice swings before letting the bat hover above his shoulder.

“Play ball!” Coach Charlie yells.

A few hand signals and a head nod from Dante later, the first pitch is thrown and lands perfectly in the pocket of my catcher’s mitt.

As the scrimmage continues, we slowly take the lead, winning by a landslide of 8-1.

Logan eyes me as I pass by. “What on Earth kind of throw was that first one?” Gray locker doors clang through the dimly lit locker room while the water pipes moan down the hall from too many shower heads running.

I shrug and follow it with a smirk. “Gotta be ready for anything.” I toss my uniform into my duffle bag before heading to the showers to clean up.

“That was a crazy pitch,” I hear Connor say to our starting pitcher, Dante, as I round the corner.

“Dallas gave me the signal and I went for it,” he responds as he and Connor wrap white towels around their waists.

“Well, it was a great pitch, because Logan missed terribly,” I chime in, turning on the warm water. “But maybe save all the good throws for the big game, eh Dante?”

“Woah, okay, harsh,” Logan says behind me as he chuckles and settles onto the bench.

Dante shakes his head and laughs before saying, “I can only save the good pitches if I practice first.” He sends me a pointed look with a grin. He waves a hand nonchalantly behind him before leaving me alone with only the sound of distant voices and the strong pounding of the water hitting the cold tile beneath my feet.

Aubrey’s question this morning rings in my head. I truly don’t know what I would choose if given the choice: baseball or physical therapy. I’m a good catcher. I know that for a fact. I’ve got scouts watching me from a couple of teams, but they want to see what happens with the championship and see how far we can get. Fair. On the other hand, I could continue with what I’m going to school for. I love the hospital where I’m doing my clinicals and took a liking to the pediatric unit. I surprised myself at that one, but those little one-year-olds got me.

Logan’s distant voice cuts in. “You coming? You’ve been in there for fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah, sorry,” I respond, quickly rinsing out the shampoo from my hair. I hadn’t realized I’d been standing under the water for so long. My fingers are starting to prune. I head back to get dressed and find Logan with his back pressed against the bench, legs straddling it. His already thin eyes thin some more as he squints at the phone hovering above his head.

I quickly dress into a clean work uniform and toss my bag over my shoulder, the sweat-soaked uniform inside wafting past my nose. I definitely need to do laundry this weekend. I drop Logan off at our apartment before heading to Landry’s to start my shift.

Parked cars cover the lot, spilling over onto the street. As I wander in through the crowds of people gathered in every nook and cranny of the bar, I slip past our bouncer, Greg, offering him a fist bump. I shuffle past the lines already gathering at the bar, then make my way into the back to clock in and put my things away. Greasy foods are already being prepared. Hordes of fries are being salted on the back counter. The dish station is already filling up. The owner, Bill, checks in with me, making sure I check in with Aubrey before getting to work.

Aubrey yells over the crowd to me, “You’ll be on the far end, Dylan in the middle, me on this end. Let me know if you need anything.”

“You got it, boss,” I yell, taking the orders from the bar manager, squeezing past Dylan, and taking my place at the end.

Shifting from lover to manager is a dynamic we’ve gotten used to. We prefer to keep it that way. At least, I do. After this morning, I’m starting to wonder if Aubrey feels otherwise.

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