Page 92 of All For You
“I miss you too, cricket. I’m sorry about the holidays. It’s just easier to fly my mom out.”
I’d been hopeful he’d make it home to Ashfield for Thanksgiving or Christmas, but he was recruited to host a charity marathon on Thanksgiving—a Turkey Trek. And on Christmas, he’d be participating in a local food drive with a guest spot on the televised New Year’s Countdown. It was less than ideal, but at least I’d get to see his pretty mug on TV.
Beverly was ecstatic to join her son for the holidays. They’d really made headway in healing the rift caused by Owen’s father. It took a while for Owen to understand that his mom had his best interests at heart, but I knew it would happen eventually.
“It’s okay. I understand.” I yawned uncontrollably and felt my jaw ache when my mouth closed.
“You should get home and rest. Seems like you’ve had a big day.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Text me when you get home or I won’t be able to sleep.”
“We’re staying at a hotel across the street. Dad insisted.”
“Good. I love you.”
“I love you too, Owen.”
With my hand on the door handle, I glanced at my sister and her husband curled over their newborn son, looking like they were in the most blissful dream. My family stood by watching, and it was in that moment I knew something I wasn’t ready to admit yet. Not to myself or anyone else.
And my chest ached as I made a decision.
Chapter Twenty-Two – Owen
The breeze whipped around my cap, cooling off my face in the midday California sun. I’d been gearing up for this day for the last two months, since we started our physical training schedule. It was the end of February and the first day of spring training.
Most of the players on the field were first years, with just a few of us veterans scattered throughout. It was where the coach and general manager could get a good feel for the team as a whole.
It always reminded me of the scrimmages we used to play in gym class. The games didn’t matter, but they were played as if they did.
Today, though, was special in that we were playing the Nashville Bears. The same team that loaned us one of their physical therapists to help me with my shoulder in the off season.
We were only two innings deep, and I could tell a few of the players would need more field time. The others we would pair with a veteran player to tailor their training regime. But overall, the team was solid, and I thought we’d have a good chance at the championship.
The score read two to one, Coyotes.
The inning ended with a walk for the other team, and we headed toward the dugout.
Coach Hampton pulled me aside as I descended the steps.
“You’re doing great tonight, Owen. I’m putting you up on the batting roster for the third. Knock one out for us.”
“Sure thing, Coach.” He glanced down at his phone for a moment and then smirked before walking away.
While I waited for my turn, I leaned against the railing and glanced toward the crowd. Spring training wasn’t always full, but most of the seats were occupied. A group of ball chasers catcalled from the far end, hoping to get a picture, signature, or a hotel key. They called my name, but I sent them a quick wave and descended back into the dugout. That was a fire I definitely didn’t want to play with.
The first two Coyotes players struck out. I watched from my stance as I swung my bat in practice. I hated watching anyone miss their hits, but the pitcher for the Bears had a great arm. I couldn’t deny it. He was going to be one I’d have to look out for during the regular season.
Walking up to the plate was like coming home. I felt a sense of peace and belonging as I scuffed my foot along the dirt and took my position.
The first pitch flew by my face, and I felt myself sneer as the umpire called out a strike. Adjusting my legs, I crouched down a bit lower. Suddenly, an image of me standing behind Aspen came to mind when I helped her at the camp in Ashfield. Before the next pitch launched, I took a step out of the box to collect my thoughts. I’d never broken out of my mental block during a game. I was always focused. Always absorbed in the role I needed to play.
Not until Aspen.
“You’ve got this, Ramsey,” someone called off in the distance, and I stepped back onto the plate and took my stance.
The pitch was too low to swing, and the umpire called a ball. I set up for the third pitch and adjusted my grip on the bat.
