Page 22 of The Problem with Players

“The smartest man.” She shook her head and gently chuckled. “Gosh, I’m so sorry for being a hot mess. My emotions are all over the place lately. The past few weeks have been so wild. Pregnancy is intense.”

“But beautiful,” I told her. I couldn’t wait to hold my niece or nephew one day. Alex and Yara weren’t finding out the baby's gender until birth. My anxiety could never wait that long but to each their own. What mattered most was their having a healthy baby to bring home.

A part of me felt selfish for the thoughts that raced through my head when I learned my sister was pregnant. There was a touch of jealousy, of longing, that I felt from the news. Don’t get me wrong, I was truly happy for Alex and Yara. They would both be amazing parents. I just thought that by age thirty-six, I would already have the things my younger sister was experiencing.

Of course, I never spoke about my fear of falling behind. I didn’t want to make anyone else feel bad or have pity for me. Still, my heart longed for children someday. At least Wesley and I were on the same page about that. We planned to start our family shortly after our wedding. Only three weeks until the rest of my life took off, like my sister’s.

“Enough about me and my tears,” Yara said, wiping away the final emotions falling from her eyes. “How are you?”

For a moment, my mind traveled back to my morning struggles. My heart beat faster as I thought about the panic I’d felt as I lay in the darkness, not wanting to get up at all. Almost unable to move from the shadows of the hovering depression that floated over every inch of my being.

I couldn’t tell Yara that.

It would’ve broken her heart, and her sweet heart was already fragile.

Besides, I’d be fine.

I’d always be fine.

Being fine was my default setting.

The sprouts of depression were only something that came every now and again. It wasn’t anything worth making others feel bad about.

Instead of telling her the truth, I pushed out a smile and said, “I’m good.”

7

NATHAN

Islept awfully all weekend. The boys kept me out way too late on Saturday, and I worked around the farm from sunrise to sunset on Sunday. No one talked about how much work it took to run a farm as large as my family’s. We had a solid crew of employees, but I still felt as if it was never enough.

Mom told me I was a workaholic, but I liked being busy. The more I kept my mind occupied with other things, the less time I had to overthink things. Or to overthink people. People like Avery.

Still, even while I worked all Sunday, thoughts of her would slice through my brain. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way I’d made such an ass of myself in front of her on Saturday night. Not only did I jeopardize her job by following her outside and getting us locked out but I also looked damn near like a stalker.

Not exactly the vibe I was going for.

I just wanted her to know I wasn’t trying to ruin her life. In my attempt, though, I almost proceeded to ruin her life.

When Monday afternoon came and it was time to meet theteam at practice, I felt a heaviness sitting against my chest. As I approached Avery’s office, I knocked against her open door.

“Knock, knock,” I said.

She sat at her desk, looking down at her paperwork. “You don’t have to say knock, knock if you’re going to actually knock, Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel.

A telltale sign that she still, indeed, hated me.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stepped into her office. My eyes danced around the space, taking it in for the first time. When I chased her into her office last Friday, I didn’t get a chance to see her space. I was too focused on trying to get her not to hate me.

The space wasn’t huge, but it was a decent size. Much bigger than the office I was given down the hall. Framed photographs of past teams and motivational quotes covered the walls. One was a sign with the word “heart” written over the word “head.” A reminder to lead with one’s heart on the field, more than one’s head. She was the one who taught me that lesson when we were young. I was nervous about my baseball career, and she told me that if I led with my heart, I’d end up at home plate every single time. Heart over head was the saying that changed my confidence, which in turn changed my game.

It was clear she still believed in that technique, which was odd to me, seeing how she seemed to live a lot more in her head than her heart from what I’d noticed.

Her large and well-worn desk sat in the middle of the space. It was covered with lineup sheets, player stats, and a few too many coffee mugs that needed a good washing. In a fancy case was an autographed baseball. I couldn’t help but wonder who signed that thing, but I knew I couldn’t approach it or ask her about it. I was probably already crossing her boundaries by even breathing the same air as her.

A whiteboard filled with practice schedules and gamestrategies was on the right wall. The number of scribbles over her work showed how much she changed her mind once she found a better game plan. The markings looked like a beautiful disaster, something that probably only made sense to Avery’s brain. I wished I could learn how her thoughts worked in that day and age. How she figured things out and pieced together her strategies.

---