Page 7 of The Battery
Three milestones. One probable, one inevitable, one unlikely.
I had set my mind and body to task countless times in the past. I would not have made it to where I was today had I not.Every pro athlete was born with inexhaustible determination. Rare were the ones who ran on talent alone. The rest of us had to work at it. Day in, day out. Until we came out on top. I would continue to do this and secure my fourth pennant. But I had my work cut out for me. Turner and I had schemed during spring training and went for the gold when regular season started. Of all the teams, the Riders had the best chance by far. Hiroshi’s departure was like a godsend. We both took it as a sign.
“I’m gonna make sure you’re set up for your fourth win, brother,” Turner had said the night we stayed up late planning, an agent and his client. “Come hell or high water. I can set you up. But you gotta take it from there.”
In the silence of my car, I exhaled a long breath and whispered, “Help me out guys.” A hushed prayer to my family. I imagined their spirits hovering nearby. Mom, dad, brother. Three clouds of divine warmth to carry me through the chill. “I’m trying,” I said with my eyes closed.
I left the garage and stepped into the mudroom of the house where I toed off my loafers and dropped my wallet and keys into a celadon bowl a fan made me almost ten years ago. I flipped the light switch closest to the door and the hallway illuminated. White wainscoted walls. Wide-plank, white oak flooring. Vaulted ceiling with canned lighting. I stepped into the kitchen, a space dominated by white paneled appliances, gray quartz countertops, and almost no character besides the deposits of random junk or medical supplies.
I circled around the island the size of a minivan and walked down a hallway to what should have been the office. Instead, I peeked inside to a converted room for my uncle. He lay upon a hospital bed with the head raised a few inches for comfort. Withered, wearing an oversized white shirt. Bald with wrinkles. He had his head leaning to the side, chest rising and falling slowly. Oxygen tank in the corner. A cart of diagnosticinstruments in the other. The acrid scent of antiseptic hit me hard.
I itched to push the door open and wake him up. I wanted to tell him about how the evening went. My nerves about tomorrow. The quirky but cute relief pitcher who was afraid of me. How many more chances would I have to give him updates like this?
Uncle Andy had swept me up in his arms when I was sixteen and didn’t look back. If I thought my parents had pushed me hard to keep practicing, this man made it an art form. He knew the only way to face my tragedy was to strengthen my mind, and baseball did just that.
The lump in my throat wouldn’t go down despite repeatedly swallowing. Seeing him frail and vulnerable stood at odds with the stalwart guardian who commanded the hurting rage of a brotherless and parentless teenager.
“You wanna take a shot at me, kiddo? Do it,” he dared me once. Oh, and I did. The first time I threw a punch it was at my uncle. Hurt like hell and helaughed.
He withstood the anger. Taught me how to channel and redirect it. He said I’d never be rid of that anger and it was my cross to bear. I didn’t understand that then, but I did later.
I started to shut the door quietly but stopped. “Hey, kiddo,” my uncle said through a groggy voice.
I pushed the door back open. “Didn’t mean to wake you up, Uncle Andy. Go back to sleep.”
He cleared his throat and pushed himself up in the bed. Before I could tell him not to, he clicked on his nightstand table lamp. Diffused amber light flooded the room. My uncle squinted against it, then waved for me to come in.
“How are your new teammates?” he asked.
I pulled up a chair to sit next to his bed. Leaned forward. Elbows on knees. “Good.” I thought of Cody. His harmless, spitfire attitude, like a ravaging kitten.
“Well, now,” my uncle said. “What’s that glint in your eye I see?” I looked up from my staring into the void. He double-raised his eyebrows. “I know a look of conquest when I see one. Does she work at the stadium? Or he?”
I stood abruptly and scoffed. “New teammates are good. Looking forward to a productive season.”
“Is she pretty?” he asked as I went for the door. “Or handsome?”
“Sleep well, Uncle Andy.” I closed the door to his muffled inquiries.
The basement had become my new retreat. The house had five bedrooms, three living rooms, a butler’s pantry that was essentially a second kitchen. Enough spaces and rooms to keep anyone happy. But I relegated myself to the finished basement where my tall frame still had room to move. My bare feet crushed into high-pile carpeting as I made my way to the oversized couch set before an even more oversized television. The bright OLED screen shined brighter than the stadium lights. I found something mindless to watch, trying not to think about that cute pitcher I wanted to tell my uncle about.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cody
Here we go.The sharp bite of cinnamon flooded my mouth as I wedged the nicotine pouch between my lower gum and lip. I used my tongue to get it into a better position and waited a few minutes for the drug to hit my system. When the telltalezinghit me, I sniffed, hocked a wad of phlegm, and left the bullpen.
The fourth inning arrived with little fanfare. Two to one so far. Home game. The Santa Ana Winds weren’t as good this year as they had been in previous years. This game numbered one of my chances this season to show my mettle when there was little risk in letting a rookie throw for a few innings.
As the teams changed over, Leo caught me by the arm as I jogged up the steps of the dugout. He already had all of his gear on, his mask atop his head to reveal his face. It was a wonder he could slide the thing over that iconic beard of his.
“Kid,” he said. I tried not to wince. I was only a couple years his junior. “Like we practiced. All right?”
“Yessir,” I said.
We had spent the entirety of our day off yesterday practicing with Leo and getting to know him. The Assholes took to his direction like the perfect brownnosers they were. The starters, in something of their own class, got along just fine with the man. For whatever reason, he gave me a harder time than the rest and the pressure got to me after only a few hours. The pitching coaches had to step in and ask him to cool it with me.Thatsomehow made it even worse. The Assholes wouldn’t let it go.
“You gotta trust my calls,” Leo said. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”
