Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“My dad was a good man, Coach. The best. Why did I get the chance to prove myself in the majors, but he didn’t? And what would he say to me now that I blew it? I can’t stop feeling like I let him down.”
Virgil scratched his head. Shifted on the bench.
I closed my eyes and exhaled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to unload all that on you. But lately I’ve been trying not to keep so much shit bottled up.”
“Yeah, that happens when there’s a girl involved.”
I had to laugh. “Right.”
Practice ended, and I rose to my feet. “I should take off. I wanted to try to talk to Chip Carswell about his offer from Clemson before he goes home.”
“Good. Good.” Virgil nodded.
I’d already started to walk away when he spoke again.
“I know what he’d have said, Shaw.”
“Huh?” I turned around.
“Your dad. You asked what he’d have said to you. I know what he’d have said.”
“What’s that?”
“He’d have said, ‘Get up, son. Dust your ass off. The game’s not over.’”
I wasn’t sure what he meant. “What game? My pitching career?”
He shook his head slightly. “Your life. You’re not done showing ’em what you got, kid. But you gotta quit hiding. That’s what he’d say.”
I thought about that for a minute. Was he right? Would my dad have been more ashamed that I’d been hiding out than the way I’d failed on the mound? But baseball had been everything to him. What could I ever do that would even come close? “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Coach.”
“Have a good night, son.”
Just for the hell of it, I treated the Brock’s asshole dad to my best menacing glare before catching up with Chip on his way to the parking lot.
“Hey, Carswell, wait up!”
He turned, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “Hey.”
“Nice job today. Your motion is already improving.”
He smiled. “Thanks. I really appreciate the help.”
“You talk to the scout from Clemson yesterday?”
“Yeah. A little.” He hesitated. “They made me a pretty good offer.”
“You gonna take it?”
“I don’t know.” He looked back toward the field. “My mom wants me to.”
“It’s a great place to play.”
“Yeah.” He chewed on his bottom lip for a second. “South Carolina is just kind of far.”
“It’s not that far.”
“Yeah, but . . . my mom’s on her own since my dad died. It doesn’t feel right to go so far from her and my sister.”
I nodded, folding my arms over my chest. “I get that. My mom died when I was young. When I left, I had to leave my dad and my little sister too.”
“You did?” He looked at me in surprise, and it struck me that he didn’t have to look up—he was almost as tall as I was.
“Yeah. I can’t say that I felt as guilty as you do at the thought, but—”
“But you got drafted.” He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “In the first round. You had to go.”
“I did, because I felt in my gut that it was what I was supposed to do,” I said. “A good pitcher trusts his gut.”
He nodded, chewing on his lip again.
“What’s your gut telling you?”
“To play baseball,” he admitted. “To go. To take the chance, because I might not get another one.”
“Then you should go, not because your mom or your coach or even I tell you to, but because your instincts are telling you to—you start ignoring that voice, it’s gonna stop talking to you.”
“Yeah. I hear you.” His eyes dropped to the ground. “I think my dad would’ve wanted me to go too.”
“I’m sure he would have, especially if he liked baseball.”
Chip smiled. “He loved baseball.”
“There you go.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Think it over. I know it’s a big decision. I’m around if you need someone to talk to.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
Coach. It was the first time anyone had called me that—and I liked it.
“You’re welcome, Carswell. You’re a really fucking talented player. Oh, shit—sorry.” I grimaced. “I’m not used to being around kids.”
A crooked grin appeared on his face. “Don’t worry about it. I’m eighteen anyway.”
“Eighteen.” I shook my head. “It’s a good age to be. And in that case, I meant what I said—you’re really fucking talented.”
The grin widened, and a dimple appeared in his cheek. “Thanks.”
Sadie had asked me if I’d stop by after practice, so I swung by her house before heading back to my hotel.
“You’re still here!” she squealed when I walked into her kitchen, rushing over to give me a hug. “I don’t believe it!”
“I’m still here.” I hugged her back, let her go, and mussed her hair. “Who else would have brought in your mail or taken out your trash?”
She swatted my hand away. “Thank you for doing that. We appreciate it.”
“No big deal.” I leaned back against the counter. “How was your trip?”