Page 5 of Wild Pitch
If Sky’s news had hit me this hard, was I entirely ready to start something new?
I was leaving the stadium when my brother Jack called. He was on the Los Angeles MLB team, and while he was likely retiring at the end of the season, he still put up stats that the young kids couldn’t hit. He had always said he would leave while he still had something in the tank. He never wanted to be the old guy who hung on too long.
“That must have been some game, Coach,” he said, using the nickname he’d started calling me when I took my first coaching position. He immediately jumped to the point of the conversation and followed our typical pattern. We spoke almost every day, even if it was a brief text check-in.
“Yeah, well, after about the fifth inning, no one wanted to look at anyone else. But in the eighth inning, the dugout was dead silent.”
“I thought that last fly ball was the end,” Jack said.
“You and me both. Sam is a generational talent for sure.”
“As long as he doesn’t end up like his father,” Jack said, referring to Sam Drummond, Sr. His father had retired early from the game when his antics both on and off the field made him a risky prospect.
“I’ve watched the films, and outside of their build and strength, there’s no comparison. Sam is nothing like his father. We have clear instructions to get permission directly from Sam before even allowing him in the park as a family member.”
“Interesting,” Jack said.
While we did love talking baseball, there had to be a line. We didn’t have any games scheduled against Jack’s team during the regular season, but there was a chance we could meet in the World Series.
“That’s all you’re getting from me on that.”
“I saw Sky’s announcement. You okay?”
“Yeah. It was only a matter of time before it came out. But don’t worry about me; I got someone’s number on the flight back.”
“Clarify, please, you got someone’s number, and that’s the story? Did you call it? You flew back ages ago,” Jack asked.
“Small technicality. It was a little busy when I got back.” Left unsaid was the reminder that Skylar’s news had been a mini bomb to my psyche. See? I was doing better, not talking about her all the time.
“Oh, man. You can’t wait that long without sending at least a text message. She’s probably moved on by now.”
“What do you mean?” Skylar and I had been together for more than fifteen years. We had met while we were both still in college, and things had evolved naturally. There were no complicated dating rules when we got together.
“How old is this woman?” he asked.
“Uh, I didn’t ask, but she’s much younger than me. Maybe in her twenties?” I cringed and thought that this would put her squarely around my sister Molly’s age or younger. Molly was ten years younger than me.
Jack let out a long sigh. “Gen Z, you might as well just give up now. They move much faster; you should have texted her on the goddamn runway. And don’t youdarethink about just calling. You can’t cold call someone from Gen Z. Text her first, get permission, then call.”
“Shit, is it really that fucking complicated?”
“Honestly, it’s not complicated. It’s straightforward: you like someone, and you make an effort. And the effort needs to happen right away. Anything else is a waste of time.”
It sounded like there was no leeway for life when it got in the way. No time for one of my best players to forget how to get a pitch into the catcher’s mitt.
“So, what you’re telling me is that she’s probably moved on, and it’s too late?”
“Not necessarily, but you might have to grovel and beg for forgiveness. Tell her it’s because you’re old as dirt.”
We weren’t asold as dirt,but I understood where the sentiment was coming from. Jack and I were both surrounded by athletes in their prime. Some of these athletes were still teenagers. My brother was probably in better shape than when he’d been called up to the MLB, but that had taken discipline. Discipline that some of these kids did not need to have yet, when their bodies could recover from an all-night bender by chugging a sports drink with a greasy food chaser.
We talked a bit more, made plans to meet up in Texas during the All-Star break, and then ended the call. From there, I spent the rest of the night drafting, deleting, and drafting a text message to Kylie. I almost checked in with Jack to see if it was too late in the day to send her the message.
“Fuck it,” I said to my Maine Coon Cat, Liam. He meowed back in response and bumped his head against my hand for attention. I hated leaving him for travel, but luckily, my neighbor Denise was retired and more than happy to visit him and spoil him while I was on road trips. At seventy-five, Denise was full of piss and vinegar, an expression I only truly understood when I met her. As long as I could handle the inappropriately long hugs and not-so-accidental pats on my ass, we had a pretty good thing going.
Bolstered by Liam’s affection, I finished my text and hit send.
CHAPTER 5
