Page 76 of Vegas Heat

CHAPTER 8: COOPER

Stepping into the clubhouse feels almost like an out of body experience.

I didn’t think I’d be back in one of these again, certainly not as a player. My contract was up two years after I got hurt, and since it was going to take more than a year to recover, I figured my playing days were over. I figured nobody would want a recovering thirty-year-old on their team, so I bowed out early.

I like the little life I’ve built for myself out of the spotlight, but in hindsight, I wish I would’ve fought harder to stay in the game.

I took the early retirement so I could focus on giving back. I used my name to help StrongFitKids catapult to success, and I’ll continue to do so. Carla and I are old friends—never in any sort of romantic capacity, but we attended the same high school. She was in my brother’s class, and they kept in touch over the years. When he told me she’d started up a kids’ organization in San Diego and was looking for a programming director, I jumped at the chance.

I always thought about returning to the game, but it was in a more abstract sort of way—awhat ifsort of way. Not in a realistic sort of way.

But when that call from Troy came through, it seemed like a pretty easy decision. Things are rarely handed to us in this life, but Troy was handing me the chance to play the game that saved me more than once in my life.

And here it is, saving me again.

I realize it’s alsobecause ofthe game that I can’t be with the girl I love—hell, it’sbecause ofthe game that I met her in the first place…but if I didn’t have baseball to fall back on whenthe inevitable end with Gabby came, I’m not sure how I’d get through it.

The logical side of my brain is trying to force me to believe that the endwasinevitable. How could it have ever worked? Finding out her father was Troy just saved us weeks or months or even years of added pain and suffering after we fell harder and harder for one another.

I blow out a breath as Troy takes me to my locker.

My name is already listed on the plaque above it.

Noah 21.

A jersey hangs on the side.Noah 21.

This is really happening, and my breath catches in my throat as reality slams into me.

I sit on the bench that will be my new home for at least the next three years, and my chest tightens with emotion. I grab a Vegas Heat towel sitting on the bench beside me, and I study the logo for a beat. A baseball with flames coming off it, representing our team.

My eyes heat, and I grab the towel and hold it up against my face as I draw in a deep breath to try to ward off the unfamiliar threat of tears that seems to be getting more and more familiar lately.

“Congratulations, Noah,” Troy says quietly beside me. If anyone understands the sort of emotions that are plowing into me right now, it’s him. I pull the towel away from my face as he talks. “I felt the same way when I first walked into this clubhouse. It’s fucking magic, man. Together, we’re going to be magic. We’re going to obliterate history when it comes to expansion teams, and we’re going to win out of the gate. We’re going to be a fucking force. You and me and the rest of this team we’re building. This is something special, Coop. Let’s fucking go.”

“Let’s fucking go,” I repeat, my voice hoarse but still full of fire.

“I’ll give you some time in here. I’ll be in the weight room when you’re ready.” He nods to a set of doors that lead directly to the weight room, and then he takes off through them.

I lean back into my locker and suck in a few deep breaths. I rub my palms up and down. It’s time to take the leap.

I look around the quiet clubhouse. Soon enough, it’ll be filled with players. We’ll all arrive around two on game days, and we’ll play video games or poker or waste time until it’s time for team stretching and batting practice. It’ll be relaxed until thirty minutes before game time, and then we’ll all move into focus mode as the inevitable nerves will start to kick in.

Will Gabby be in here then? If she’s interning for the team, she might be. Team and manager family members aren’t allowed in, but it’s different if she’s working for the team. She’s in marketing, so if she gets put on social media assignment, she might have to come into the clubhouse when I’m trying to focus on game mode.

I can’t have that.

I can’t be distracted by her in those important moments before game time.

I realize I have six months before I need to worry about it. I realize how different things may be in six months, but I can’t seem to push her out of my brain inthismoment.

I just want to skip over the rest of this offseason and fuckingget there. I want to play. But time’s a real steadfast bitch. When we want it to slow down, it doesn’t. When we want it to speed up, it doesn’t. It’s one of life’s most frustrating constants.

The door opens, and I recognize the man who walks through it.

“Danny Motherfuckin’ Brewer,” I say, and he grins as he walks up to me and grabs my hand in a bro shake that turns into a pound on the back.

“Cooper Motherfuckin’ Noah,” he says. “What are you doing here, man?”

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