Page 22 of The Echo of Regret

I can’t help but smile.

“Look, a lot has happened between us over the years, but we were friends first, right? We…should be able to be friends again.”

I’m not sure how convincing my words are, because there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe them myself. I do believe in their intention, to move on from the bitterness and into a place of peace, for both of us.

“I’d love that,” he says, and I can hear the sincerity in his voice. It wraps tightly around my throat, and I swallow thickly, trying to shove it aside.

“Alright, well…I’ll text you later to set up our first meeting.”

“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Night, Bishop.”

“Night, Gabs.”

I end the call and stare at my phone for a long moment, a mixture of emotions swirling inside me. That wasn’t so bad, right? And it should only get easier.

Turning back to my work, I try not to listen to the little thing inside me saying I’m kidding myself to think that could ever be true.

chapter seven

Bishop

“Alright, Justin, this time I want you to turn your back foot a bit more. It’s really important you turn your hips all the way out or you’re not going to get a full rotation.”

I demonstrate with my legs the movement I want him to make, and he just stares at me.

“The rotation starts when your front heel drops, right? You want your back hip to punch forward. Don’t be afraid to let your toe drag.” I smile and pat Justin on the shoulder. “Let’s see you give it a try.”

Stepping back, I motion for Tommy to drop a ball into the pitching machine. Justin sighs and gets into batting position, tapping the base twice with his bat then bringing it up behind his shoulders. The ball drops in, it shoots out at Justin…

…and he does the exact same swing he’s been doing since I met him last week.

“That’s okay, let’s go over it again,” I tell him, holding my good hand up to Tommy to indicate he should wait a minute. “Was there something about how I explained this that didn’t make sense?”

“Look, I get what you’re doing and all,” he replies, tucking his bat under his armpit and adjusting his gloves. “But my swing is fine. I don’t know if you know, but I’m the number one hitter on the team this year.”

I nod. “I know, Coach Rush has had amazing things to say about you. Says you have raw talent.”

Justin smirks.

“But he also says you don’t like to listen to advice, and if you don’t learn to take in recommendations from coaches, your raw talent is going to peter out in comparison to people who put in the extra work.”

At that, his arrogant expression falls, his eyes narrowing.

“I get where you’re at. I was there, too,” I continue. “You have a big swing. I had a big swing. You’re a top player on your team. I was a top player on my team. I remember what it was like to think I knew it all. It’s part of being young. You don’t know what you don’t know.”

I rest my good hand on his shoulder and try to make sure I’m communicating this as clearly as possible.

“But if you want to play in college, you’re going to have to learn to take on the critiques that come every time you level up. No coach wants a player who won’t do what they’re told.”

Justin shakes off my hand, his expression souring.

“Says the guy who ignored his coach and fucked up his hand so bad he needed surgery.”

I grit my teeth but let the irritation roll in one way and out the other.

“You’re literally making my point for me, my guy.” I chuckle, pointing at the stupid cast on my arm and wishing I wasn’t having to admit this out loud for the first time to a 16-year-old. “See what happens when you’re only concerned with showing off? When you ignore the advice of the people who are literally being paid to help you get better? You can fucking hurt yourself, or someone else. Or cost your team a game.”

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