Page 59 of The Battery
“I love it,” I said with a smile.
“I need to clear my head. Wanna throw the ball?”
I yawned and stretched. “Sure.”
“Thank you for cleaning my uncle’s room. The coffee you made was good, too.”
I stood and stretched again. He was on his feet a moment later. “Thank you,” I said after a second yawn. “Gonna need more, I think.”
“Already have one waiting for you. On ice. Let’s head outside.”
He turned to head toward the kitchen but I grabbed his hand and he stopped. “Hey, um…” I didn’t know how to ask the question that popped into my head.I’ll stay as long as you want, but…
He pulled me half a step toward him. His left hand cupped the side of my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. He didn’t lean in. “Gonna need more time. It’s a mess in my head and I need to sort through things.”
That level tone had returned. The serious gaze of the Spartan still there.
“Take all the time you need, Leo. Let’s go play some ball.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Leo
Istared atmy uncle’s ashes sitting atop my mantel. The ice in my tumbler clicked as I sat down, then took a slow and careful sip of the vodka. Outside, the only light to come through the window was the ambient glow from the porch lamps. I squeezed the bridge of my nose, then ran my hand down my face. Such a different feeling, no longer having the beard that had become my signature. How many brands would drop “The Spartan” because of it?
Three days had passed since that awful early morning. I sequestered myself for that time to meditate and recall memories to play in mind’s eye like highlight reels of a good game. I felt his spirit join my mother, father, and brother. I now had four guardian angels beside me. Three of them had crowns. All I needed to do was get a fourth for my uncle to wear proudly for all the other angels to see.
I held up my glass to my uncle as I stared at the urn. “Cheers, Uncle Andy,” I said in a whisper and took another sip. I hissed through the burn. It felt cleansing.
Cody, reluctantly, left after staying the whole day Uncle Andy died. I insisted he get home and rest before the game. He couldn’t miss one just because of me. I could afford to miss a few, especially since Romo—actually he insisted I start calling him Rome for some reason—filed for my family medical leave.
I swear I received a text every hour on the hour from Cody asking if I was okay the next day. He got the hint after I stopped responding as quickly as I originally had. I didn’t get the sense ofhim being clingy, just concerned. I couldn’t fault him for that. In fact, it was an attractive feature.
I should not have kissed him.
Another slow sip. At this rate, I’d need a refill.
No, that kiss was a mistake but it felt right in the moment. I wanted to and I enjoyed every precious second of it. But we weren’t ready.Iwasn’t ready. It was unfair of me to initiate something so precious and romantic when I had no intention of following through anytime soon. I didn’t know if he was aware. Perhaps he was.
So time I took.
Which was a shame, really. I had passed the first test life floated my way. And I was about to utterly fail the second one.
*
July heat. Sun below the horizon. A packed stadium of adoring fans who weren’t there just for the Riders, but for the Ottawa Diamonds. If the Brawlers were our nemesis, the Diamonds were our allies. Competitors, yes, but our teams exuded a friendly rivalry that ensured a good time for both players and spectators alike.
The atmosphere of the stadium was suffused with a kind of easygoing fun only found in the joy of midsummer. I lived for games like this, though people wouldn’t think it given my penchant for acting like a tough guy. They may not know it directly, but I adored the aura of cheers from a crowd who weren’t just excited for us, but for the game itself. It made me want to play better, longer, if only to give them a sliver of escapism from whatever malady cloyed their lives.
So when we scored a run at the bottom of the eighth, which put us up by one, I saw an opportunity to be bold. The Riders’darling, Rome, had scored a homer and we only had one out. When Rome came to the dugout, I decided to shoot my shot and called the skipper over.
Rome agreed without question or pause. The skipper had to mull it over. I said everything I needed to and had to. I wouldn’t plead. Rome looked like he was about to, but thankfully the skipper gave me a sharp nod and said I should do the honors.
I was at the phone that connected the dugout to the bullpen. Someone answered, not sure who, and I barked, “Put Hill on.” Only took him a second to hop on. “Get your ass over here. You’re closing.” I didn’t wait for a response. Just hung up. Turned away from everybody as a face-splitting grin nearly broke my face in two.
Then I mastered that shit real quick.
I disappeared into the coolness of the concrete corridor that would bring him to me. I kept one ear on the field to hear the progress. Another out. One left.
