Page 93 of Houston, We Have a Problem
“Yo, Briggs.”
I stop when Badir calls my name, his gaze hard as he leans one shoulder against his locker. He and I used to spend a lot of time together off the field, before I started cleaning up my life a bit, but I’ve pulled away over this last year or so. He’s a good guy and an excellent catcher, and he always calls the right pitches. But I don’t like the way he’s looking at me right now. Like I’ve betrayed him.
“What’s going on with you? It’s like the season ended and you disappeared.”
I could tell him about my shoulder. It’s going to come out tonight anyway when Darcy does an exclusive interview with me. But I’d like one more day with my team that feels semi-normal, so I don’t.
Instead, I grin. “I met a girl.”
Badir laughs. “You meet girls all the time.”
“Not like this.”
“Briggs!” Fujimura barks my name from his office, and Badir winces, probably thinking I’m about to get chewed out for being distracted the last few days.
Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t matter. Darcy and I made a plan, and she’s already talked to her boss about doing a press release tonight. I wasn’t thinking of changing my mind, but at this point I basically can’t. Not without hurting her chances, which is more than enough reason to keep going down this path.
“Duty calls,” I say to Badir, tossing my stuff into my locker before heading over to the manager’s office. “Sir?”
He waits until he’s closed the door behind me and we’re both seated on either side of his desk. He looks nervous, probably because he knew this moment was coming as soon as Solano told him about my shoulder. “Have you made a decision, Briggs?”
I didn’t think I would feel this calm. My heart beats with peaceful steadiness, telling me this is the right decision. “Yes, sir. I can’t play, and I don’t feel right about getting paid to sit on the sidelines. I’m done.”
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was afraid of that. I hoped I’d get at least another year out of you.”
“I know. That’s what made this decision so difficult. I owe everything I am to you. You took a chance on me, and—”
“And you were worth every penny and more, Houston.” He sighs again. “How am I supposed to find another player like you? You were perfect.”
That gets a laugh out of me, which thankfully brings a smile to Fujimura’s face too. “I really wasn’t, but thanks. I’m sure there’s another rookie out there just waiting to be discovered. Roundy already has some prospects to replace me on his roster.”
“That’s cold.”
“We all knew I already hit my prime,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You can’t blame him for wanting to keep his paychecks coming.”
Sitting back in his chair, he studies me for a long time. Whatever he’s looking for, I try to let him find it. “What’s next for you?” he asks, and I have a feeling he doesn’t usually do this with his players. He’s not a sentimental guy, and I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation with him that didn’t revolve around baseball.
I shrug. “Not sure yet. But I’ll figure it out. I’ll be announcing my retirement tonight, but I was hoping you could keep this quiet. Especially with the guys. I want one more day before I walk away.”
“You can still change your mind.”
“No. I can’t. Thanks for everything, sir.”
He shakes my outstretched hand, and that feels like it seals the end of my baseball career.
Oddly, I feel fine.
By the time practice ends, I donotfeel fine. I thought spending one last practice with the guys would be bittersweet, but it only stabs me in the gut every time I throw a ball or make eye contact with one of them. I’m pretty sure I come close to crying more than once, which is ridiculous, and when Hopkins says something about tomorrow’s practice, emotion chokes my throat and leaves me completely speechless.
I’m sure some of my teammates notice—they would be blind not to—but no one says a word until Badir spreads the news about my new lady friend. Then multiple guys joke about how she’s turned me soft and got me whipped, and I just go along with their ribbing because it’s easier than trying to hide my growing misery.
By the time I grab my stuff and head out to meet Darcy, I’m feeling raw and uncertain, and I rush from the clubhouse because I know she’ll be able to make me feel better about all of this.
But when I slip through a side door and head for the parking lot, a familiar voice pulls me to a dead stop.
“How was practice, son?”
I don’t bother turning around to look at him. I haven’t seen him in over a decade, since the last time I was forced to visit him, but he sounds the same, still with that weakness in his voice that came from losing control of his life.
