Page 20 of The Battery
“Come sit,” he said and gestured toward the couch with his chin. “Want something to drink?”
“Water?”
He walked over to a glass-doored mini fridge beside the couch, pulled out two bottles of water, and tossed one to me. He pointed at the middle cushion of the couch for me while he sat on the right-side arm, then smashed a button on the remote.
The television flared to life and I stared at a frozen video of me, mid-throw. I wore sea-green and gold, the colors of the Providence Merchants, the AAA farm team for the Riders. Leo hit Play and I completed the throw. A fastball smacked into the glove of the catcher at one hundred one miles per hour. A score at the bottom of the screen showed us at the top of the sixth. We were at seven runs. The opposing team at none. It was one of my best games and I remembered every second of it.
“Who’s that?” Leo asked me.
My brows pinched together. I ping-ponged between him and the screen. The video continued as I pitched a nasty changeup. “Um. Me?”
“Not from where I’m sitting.” He pressed more commands into the remote. Another video popped up. A highlight reel from the same season, when I closed every game in the month of August. Not a single run from the opposing teams. “Look at this guy.” He freeze-framed at just the right moment. Hit a button on the remote that let him zoom in, which he did on my face.
Calm. Composed. Focused. A man who owned the mound.
“Lookat this guy.”
“I am,” I said.
He shook his head, then played another highlight reel. More closing. More domination. He freeze-framed again, this time as I held my composure, waiting for the call to come in. Great lighting. Burning gold sunset in the background. Stadium only a quarter filled with the casual fans of the minors. I loved Providence, Rhode Island. Loved my tiny, cheap studio apartment a stone’s throw from work. I was…
Happier.
I blinked as I stared at a year-younger me.
“Where is he?” Leo asked. He tossed the remote onto the couch and rotated his body away from the television and toward me.
It was a good shot of me, I had to admit. But here and now, it felt like theyoungerme was trying to exposepresent dayme as a fraud. I felt like an imposter and this kid on the screen was the real deal.
Leo huffed out a quick sigh. “Thought you’d sail right through, didn’t you?” At that, I turned to look at him. “King shit right here had all the confidence in the world. You were on the forty-man then, weren’t you? Waiting your turn. It wasn’t talent anymore, it was patience at that point. The Riders already knew you were good. Now someone else needed to be worse.”
I had been scooting forward on the couch. It was too deep to sit with my back to it and not lounge, but now all I wanted to do was crash backward. I hunched forward, forearms on my knees, and had to crane my neck to the right to look at Leo. I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t find any words to say. I felt like I had been caught in a horrible lie.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” Admitting that hurt. I thought it was supposed to be freeing?
“Got your ego checked, didn’t you?” I could only nod at that one. “So instead of learning, you let it get the best of you. Am I right, or am I right?”
If he starts thispushingbullshit again…
“You’re right,” I admitted.
“I’ve been watching you for two weeks now,” Leo said. “Well, theoldyou. After our game against Savannah, I had Emma pull everything they had on you and send it to me. I needed to studyyou,” he said and pointed to the TV, “without interacting withyou.” Then he pointed at me. “These are two completely different people. I think maybe I saw a little bit of the old you, especially during the first two innings against the Libertines. Thenpoof. Gone. Because…?”
“Aston, Shoji, and Levine,” I said. “The Assholes.”
“The Assholes,” Leo repeated with a feigned reverent tone. “So, normal bullshit that you suddenly can’t handle. I’m betting you got plenty of teasing and douchebag competition in the minors. It’s not as cutthroat as the majors, but I know things can get ugly. Did they?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. But… I dunno. I just handled it.”
“Why?” He slid down from the armrest and plopped onto the couch, then hitched up his left leg for comfort, a long limb of tattoos on display. “What was different?”
I clamped my mouth shut. I didn’t want to admit this.
Leo took in a sharp breath. I waited for the berating. The anger to force me into speaking. Instead, he blew out the air from that intake and said quietly, “What was different, Cody?”
“I was having fun,” I said and let the words sit. Then I admitted the truth. “I’m not having fun anymore. I hate this. My dream, and I hate it.”
He pointed at the TV. “What was fun about it?”
