Page 69 of Diamond Ring
“Is that what my whole life is going to be? Just ask Uncle Alex when I need something because I decided to be an artist?”
Why else have I been playing for the last ten years?A thought that Alex isn’t ready to handle, not with everything with Jake on top of it. That he’s put parts of his life on hold—marriage, maybe kids though Eric didn’t want them—so he could play. So he could afford milestones that matter more to him than his stats: paying off Sofia’s car note, the mortgage on the house, Evie’s orthodontia and art classes and now her tuition. “Sure, why not?”
“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Sighed with the particular gravity of the young—the one that renders every decision world-shattering—and that makes Alex feel both old and slightly melodramatic for sighing at Todd in a similar tone.
“What’d Sofia and Marianne say about this?” he asks.
“They’re not happy.” Probably meaning a fight that sounded like a dropped drum set. Nothing he can solve, since his family’s usual solution to a fight is yelling at the top of their lungs until everyone cries, then throwing a party.
“How about this?” he says. “I’ll send some rent money. If you want to work, work. But don’t drop out until you’ve thought about it for”—he tries to think of a reasonable timeframe—“at least eight more weeks.”
A silence like she might tell him to go screw himself for acting like another parent. “Okay.” Clipped the way he does when he doesn’t want to spill his temper in a conversation. Some comes leaking out anyway. With it a small flicker of pride that she gets the habit from him.
Outside the training room, the volume increases as his teammates ready themselves before the game. “I need to go.”
A huff.
“Stay in school and listen to your moms,” he adds sarcastically. Evie laughs, then hangs up.
Jake’s by his stall when Alex gets back, entrenched in scouting reports, shifting from side to side in his chair like he can’t bear to be still. He looks up when Alex approaches, concern creasing his forehead. “Everything all right?”
Alex wants to drop down into his chair and unload his worries to Jake, who knows about his family without Alex having to draw a diagram. Who’s looking at Alex with genuine sympathy.
Alex doesn’t have time to deal with that or the accompanying ache in his chest. “Yeah, all good. C’mon, we need to get ready for the game.”
The third time they get crossed-up, even the umpire winces in sympathy. At its heart, baseball is a game of catch. Pitcher throws to catcher; batter tries to intervene. Doing that would mean Jake throws the pitch Alex calls for. Or that Alex sets up in the right place to receive it.
Instead:
Alex calls for a fastball and gets a changeup that ricochets off home plate.
Alex calls for a changeup and gets a curveball that he has to go chasing after.
Alex calls for a curveball and gets—
He doesn’t even know. A disaster. A murmur of the crowd, a jostling of elbows.Hey, did you know these guys lost the Fall Classic back in the day? Funny coincidence, right?
He waves a hand at the ump, requesting time, then jogs out to the mound. Being a catcher is a thankless job. But he’d rather take a thousand pitches off his chest protector than have this conversation. Especially when he gets there and Jake’s twisting his arm and frowning, the universal pitcher sign forI think I might have tweaked something.Which can sometimes be accompanied byI’m in a shit-ton of pain.
“You good?” Alex asks.
Jake’s expression goes instantly thunderous. “I’m fine.”
“We can get the trainers.”
“I said I was fine. Now tell me what to throw.”
Alex doesn’t budge. “Fischer, it’s my job to notice if you’re injured—”
Jake makes a dismissive noise, a nothing of a sound that sends Alex’s temper into a full boil.
“Jake, you know what? Believe it or not this isn’t about you. If this is the last fucking season I ever play, I’m not letting a pitcher get hurt again.” Something he hasn’t said out loud before. Definitely not something he wanted to snarl to a teammate—toJake—in front of thirty thousand people who fortunately can’t hear him. “You gonna let someone take a look at you?”
Jake’s face goes pale like Alex managed to shock him. He nods. Whatever he might say gets lost when Alex motions for the trainers, who come jogging in.
Alex waits through the customary poking and prodding, through Jake asserting that he’s fine—really, really—and just needs to settle. After a few minutes, the trainers agree, and they’re left to look at each other.
“You gonna throw what I tell you to throw?” Alex asks.
