It was already a miserable morning. I kept replaying Aaron’s comment on the phone in my head. “Maybe accepting the job in Philadelphia would be the best thing for us. We wouldn’t need to hide anymore.” It was impossible to end the call happily after he said that.

He was right, and that’s what I hated so much about it. It wouldn’t be an easy thing to be open about our relationship and come out to the team brass, the league officials, players, and, most of all, the fans, but if we worked for different teams, the revelation wouldn’t be likely to endanger our positions in baseball. I tried to think about playing a season while only getting to see Aaron when our teams played each other. Every time the idea came to mind, I buried my face in my pillow and slammed a fist against the mattress.

I woke up with the sour taste of my own words in my mouth. The batting coach position in Philadelphia would be a promotion for Aaron, and I never offered a word of congratulations. Instead, I was selfish and said, “That sucks!”

Rolling over, I buried my face in the pillow once more and reared back to slam my fist into the mattress again. I winced when I felt a twinge in my shoulder before my fist connected with the fabric. I tumbled over onto my back and reached up for the joint. Sharp pain like the thrust of a tiny knife shot through the shoulder.

“Holy shit!” I growled at the world in general. After lying in bed rubbing my shoulder for another fifteen minutes wracked with fear of what I might feel when I tried to get out of bed, I slid a leg to the edge of the mattress and decided to face the day.

It didn’t hurt as badly as I feared. I spoke to myself in the bathroom mirror and said, “I pulled a small muscle. Get a grip, Chase. You’ll be okay. You’re an adult now.”

I held onto my shoulder and rotated my arm in a circle. Then I pulled both hands back like I was holding a phantom bat and swung. I winced again, but the pain was bearable.

In the shower I let the hot water run over the joint for ten minutes, and when I dressed for the day, the shoulder felt nearly normal. I decided to ignore the minor injury and Aaron’s comments. Instead, I decided to focus on my primary goal for the day. I needed to do some investigative work with Mo.

Mo Sadler was nearly four inches taller than me. He was tall enough to be a successful point guard in the NBA. I tried to imagine him dribbling up and down the court with his long face. I chuckled to myself when I couldn’t imagine him moving faster than a slow, steady jog.

I invited him for lunch at the end of the game the day before. He had a quizzical expression on his face as he asked, “Me? Why do you want to go to lunch with me? You’ve got those three musketeers to ask.”

He looked nervous, and I tried to calm him down. “C’mon, Moose, go to lunch with me. I’ll even buy. Maybe I want to make more friends.”

I don’t know how the idea of a nickname for Mo came to my mind, but Moose sounded appropriate.

Mo said, “Okay, sure thing. Let’s have Italian, and I’ll text you about it tomorrow.” He walked toward the locker room shaking his head and mouthing the word, “Moose.”

After the server delivered a massive mound of spaghetti and meatballs and set it in front of Mo, I smiled and said, “I have to admit that I did have an ulterior movie for getting together.”

Mo ignored the comment and started to sprinkle parmesan cheese over his pasta. He asked, “Where’s your food?”

“I guess they had to make the ravioli from scratch. I hope I don’t get half as much food as you. Can you really devour that whole plate?”

He grinned. “Easy. I used to eat two plates like this when I was your age.”

I sipped my glass of wine. It was early in the day to drink, but I promised myself I would stop at one glass. None of the coaching staff would appreciate a player showing up at the stadium with the smell of alcohol on his breath. I asked, “So where did you find out about us, Mo? Was it Eric? Is he the leaky one?”

Mo furrowed his brow. “Find out about who?” He stared at me, twirled spaghetti on his fork, said, “I’m sorry. I have to start eating. I’m starving. I hope yours comes soon.”

Before I could clarify my question, the server set a plate of ravioli in front of me. It smelled delicious. The chef smothered it in a cream sauce, and my stomach rumbled as I inhaled the luscious aroma.

I said, “You know. When did you find out about Aaron and me.”

Mo still looked confused. He said, “Nobody had to tell me that you’re buddies. That’s blatantly obvious. You’re always going out to bars with Hinsdale and Gonzalez. Are you buying me lunch to ask me this?”

Mo chewed, and he stared at me. I grimaced. I suddenly felt the pain in my shoulder again. Then I saw the lightbulb go on in Mo’s head. He finally understood, but I instantly knew Eric didn’t leak the information. I’d just told Mo myself.

He leaned across the table and whispered, “You mean the two of you are…” His voice trailed off. “You two guys are…” His voice trailed off again. “Damn, no, I didn’t know. Should I say congratulations?”

I snapped, “You should keep your big trap shut is what you should do.” I reached over to my shoulder and held onto it while I shrugged to try and make the pain go away.

Mo whispered again. “Aw, man, you don’t need to get pissed at me. I won’t say anything to anyone. My word is good. I see it now. The two of you are great together.”

I sighed and raised my fork to take a bite of the ravioli. The pain sliced into my shoulder again. I cringed and dropped my fork. With the awareness that we were professional athletes in a public restaurant, I held my tongue and stopped myself from spouting profanities. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry, Mo. Something’s up with my shoulder, and it puts me in a foul mood.”

“And having to be secret about…you know…too? That’s rough.” I was a little surprised at how accepting he was of Aaron and me. It was almost like he thought it was a normal thing.

I gripped the wine glass with my left hand and sipped. I hoped the alcohol’s sedative powers would race to my brain quickly and dull the pain, but I knew it was mostly wishful thinking.

“Have you seen the trainer about that shoulder?” asked Mo.

I gingerly tried picking the fork up again. The pain failed to stab its way into my joint. I sliced into one of the ravioli and said, “It happened this morning. It’s some freak thing. I moved my arm the wrong way. I’m sure it’s no more severe than a pulled muscle.”

When the bite of ravioli made it to my mouth, it was as delicious as I expected. The pleasurable flavor helped my body relax, and I closed my eyes. I heard a rustling sound across the table and opened my eyes again.

Mo held out his hand and said, “Here, you’re going to need this more than me.”

“What is it, Moose?”

He opened his hand, and I saw the subject of many rumors on the team. It was an ancient rabbit’s foot. Segments of bone were visible where continual handling rubbed the fur away long ago. I whispered, “You do have a rabbit’s foot.”

“Yeah, it’s been in my family for at least eighty years. Keep it with you. Good luck is guaranteed. Go on, take it.”

I held out my hand. “Damn, I do appreciate it.”

He dumped the rabbit’s foot into my hand. I closed my fingers around it and pulled my hand back pushing the good luck charm into my pocket.

Mo said, “Don’t lose it. I might yank it back if my luck starts to go south. I’m having a good season, and I want it to keep going. There are rumors I could make the All-Star squad this year. I’ve only done that once before.”

I asked, “Can you do one other thing for me?”

Mo sucked a huge bite of the spaghetti into his gaping mouth. I waited for him to chew and swallow before he said, “It depends on what it is. The rabbit’s foot is something major. You wait and see.”

“It’s about the stuff with Aaron. Please keep quiet about that. Pretend like you never heard anything. It’s nobody’s business but our own, and we’ll handle it ourselves. Can you promise that, Moose?”

“Oh, you’ve got no problem from me on that. If I ever decide to write a book in my old age, I’ve got secrets in my brain about so many coaches and players. We talk with each other in baseball. You wouldn’t believe what I could tell, but I won’t. I gave my word in every conversation, and I keep my promises.”