I stumble, falling into a person, or maybe it’s a tree?
I laugh, push on it, but it doesn’t move.
Tree it is.
I take another drink from the bottle and walk over to the cages. Slipping inside, I set the bottle down by the door and flick the switches, the gears kicking on and whistling around me.
Grabbing a bat, I step up to the red X made of tape on the ground and get into my stance.
The first ball whips by and I chuckle, wobbling back a bit before I get ready again.
I swing, but miss and stagger forward, catching myself on the metal chain links.
A ball releases, blasting against my ribs, and I lurch forward.
“Fuck.” My hand falls to my ribs, but my body jerks when I’m slammed in the chest, the wind knocked out of me, sending me stumbling back against the fence.
Gasping, I lean over, slapping at the buttons on the wall, but before I’m able to push the off switch, another comes flying forward, nailing me in the jaw and my body slumps, crashing to the floor with my back up against the cage.
“What are you doing here, Tobias?”
“I wanted to see you. I needed to see you.”
“You shouldn’t have come.”
I wince, a ball connecting with my chin.
“Why? Everything was good. We’re good.”
“Don’t make this something it wasn’t.”
Another ball sends my head snapping into the chain links behind me, and I begin to cough, blood spitting into the air.
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but it’s bullshit. I know you want me. I know what you feel. Stop this, whatever you’re doing, quit.”
There’s a hard impact against my brow, then something warm is gliding down my face.
“I need you to leave, Tobias, and please, don’t come back.”
“Baby, just … just tell me what I did, and I’ll fix it. I’ll change it. Ma, I’ll be anything you want me to be if you just let me be yours …”
Meyer laughs, but it sounds more like a cry. Don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry …
“Is that a joke? I saw you on the field, you lost your mind. I can’t have someone who acts that way around me or … or my daughter.”
I lurch forward, my eyes beginning to roll into my head.
Everything fucking aches.
“I would never do anything that put her in danger. Her or you. Meyer, I love—”
“Get away from my house, Tobias, or I’ll call the police and tell them you’re harassing me.”
I groan, my body slammed with a ball again, but I have no idea where I’m hit.
Everything fucking aches, but nothing could possibly sting more than the last words Meyer spoke to me before she slammed the door in my face.
“You’re nothing.”
I hear a crack, and then I’m choking on something thick and warm.
Everything goes black.
I might lie there, passed out on the floor, for days, I don’t know. All I do know is when my eyes peel open, I’m hunched over on the turf-covered cement of the batting cage. It’s dark, my body is burning, and I’m covered in my own blood.
Reaching up, I accidentally touch my nose, wincing.
“Fuck,” I groan.
A deep hum rings in my ears and I look up, finding the pitching machine is still on, but the bucket’s empty.
I look around at all the balls surrounding me, and it’s easy to know what happened: the thing whooped my ass. My chest rumbles as I pull myself to my feet, turn the shit off, and make a mental note to come clean this mess before anyone else has a chance to see it.
Dragging my ass through the back of the locker rooms, I slip into the shower. The water burns, but I welcome the pain.
Only when I’m stepping out do I look in the mirror, confirming what I already know. My nose is broken.
Pointer-finger knuckle wrapped tight around the bridge of my nose, I press my thumb to the opposite side. I use my other for stability, gritting my teeth as I snap it back into place. It begins to pour some more, but this time, I’m ready, having done this a time or two before, and pinch the thing with a torn towel I had ready.
I drop onto the bench, leaning my head against the locker, and the second I do, all the pain comes back, and it’s got nothing to do with the bruises covering my body.
I can’t believe the fucked-up place I’ve put myself in.
No fucking duh a woman, a beautiful, kindhearted, strong as fuck woman with a beautiful, precious baby girl doesn’t want me. Why would she?
I’m a fuckup.
I don’t think, I act.
The last few days have been a perfect example of what a piece of shit I can be.
I can’t believe I hit the only person I’ve been able to seamlessly depend on, the one person who didn’t leave me when they were done with me, who didn’t chew me up and spit me out.
The one fucking person who has stood by me, picked me up when I fell and put me back on track when my wheels fucking broke.
He could hardly look me in the eye yesterday.
Again … why the fuck would he?
I’m a fuckup.
He knows it, my parents know it.
Meyer must have realized it now, too.
With a heavy exhale, I close my eyes … and lift the bottle to my lips.
It’s five to seven when I’m finally dragging my ass into the locker room as the team’s filing out.
“Uh-oh, golden boy’s late.” Some second-string punk spits, but when I turn to look at him, he’s already gone, so I push forward.
Echo’s finishing tying his shoes when I step inside.
“What up, man?” I mumble, my head fucking pounding.
“Fuck you, bro. You’re fuckin up.” He shoulder checks me on his way out, sending me stumbling a bit.
I drop onto the bench and kick my slides off, lazily tearing my sneakers from my locker and tugging them onto my feet.
Neo comes from the back, dropping onto the bench beside me with a sigh.
I scoff. “You too?”
“I’m still out of it, man.” He sets his shit down, tugging his hoodie over his head. “I fucked up, took some Molly, washed it down with liquor like a dumbass.”
“Damn, man, and I thought I was the jackass.”
“You were, but you weren’t alone.” He grins, but it falls off quickly.
Holding my breath, I manage to stand again and walk over to the dispenser for a quick cup of water.
“Aye, bring me one, yeah?”
Nodding, I fill up another and walk it over.
Neo opens up his palm and sitting inside them are two familiar blue pills. He sees me looking and scoffs. “Coach Reid to the rescue.”
A frown pulls at my brows. “Rehydrating?”
“More like flushes your system.” He tosses them in his mouth, downing the water, and climbs to his feet. “Two more tonight and I’ll be good.”
Unease slips over me. “What do you mean?”
“Remember how I tested dirty in preseason last year?” He pulls his joggers off over his shoes, his gym shorts already on underneath. “Coach said if I act a fool like that again, let him know and he’d do what he could, so I told him first thing this morning and he gave me these.” He turns to me, tossing his hat into the locker. “Didn’t want to, and he reamed my ass, but I can’t test dirty again, man.”
Neo slaps my shoulder, and if I weren’t in my head, I might wince from the shot the pitching machine got me with there, but all I can think of is the night after the Cal Poly game.
How I don’t remember drinking much and the pills he gave me the next day.
The same blue pills.
“Cruz, let’s go, or it’ll be even worse for us.”
Knowing he’s right, I follow him out and onto the practice field.
Like we could have figured, the team’s standing there, waiting for the last two fuckers to show before they’re allowed to start.
There is no one person’s fuckup.
You fuck up, you fuck your whole team, and Coach hits us hard.
He starts us off with short track runs, then base sprints, but when he feels we aren’t giving our all, we’re called to the fence and sent for a three mile, no man left behind, run around campus.
But he’s not done.
We get five seconds to breathe before he orders five laps around the field.
Two and a half in and I’m bent over a tin trash can, puking my guts out.
My body is slick with sweat and every fucking inch of me is sore.
I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten, and haven’t shaved. I can hardly lift my fucking limbs, let alone stand on the heated turf and throw a damn ball.
“Nobody breaks off into position drills until laps are finished as a team.”
I glare at the fucking trash can, sticking my finger down my throat to force more liquor out, but I’m heaving up nothing. Tugging my shirt over my head, I wipe my face, my free hand falling to my hips as I try to catch my breath.
“Let’s go!” Coach blows his whistle, but I simply look over my shoulder at him.
He lowers his clipboard, eyeing me. “You got a problem, son?”
When I do nothing but spit to the side, he starts walking toward me.
My head is fucking pounding and it hurts to breathe. I’m thinking all kinds of crazy shit and I’m probably falling down a rabbit hole that I’ve imagined. All I know is I’m pissed off at everything and everyone, and I don’t have the mental capacity for this shit right now.
So I shoulder past the man.
Fuck this.
“Tobias … Tobias!”
I don’t acknowledge him and I don’t go back into the locker room.
I abandon all my shit and walk off the field, straight out the gate, his eyes burning into my back all the way.
I go home, shower, and collapse in bed.
All I wanted four months ago was to end the year with a winning season and go pro.
Now, all I want is to look Meyer in the eye and hear her say she wants me, that I’m worth it. That I’m worth more. That she believes in me, chooses me, and knows in her heart I can be what she needs, what Bailey needs.
But that’s not going to happen, because I’ve been reminded of what I have been told time and time again
I’m not good enough.
I’m not worthy.
I wish I could see Bailey, kiss her chubby little cheeks, and make her understand I’m not leaving her, but her mama is leaving me.
All I know is I can’t go back to before they were mine.
The guy the world has seen over the last few days is who I am now.
This is the new me.
The me who isn’t wanted by her.
I fall asleep, knowing it’s all downhill from here.
