Fortunately, the shoulder injury turned out to be nothing serious. Two days later I only had a slight dull ache when I threw a ball in from the outfield. Aaron smiled and said, “I’m relieved. You moved like an old, injured man. Take care of your body. It might as well be a solid gold sculpture.”

As the pain subsided, my hitting picked up again. Three days after I first pulled the muscle, I pounded out three hits and earned four runs batted in. I was back in a groove.

Unfortunately, the groove didn’t last. The next day Eric looked white as a sheet when he caught up with me in the locker room. I was hanging my T-Shirt in the locker wearing just my underwear, and I was getting ready to pull my jersey out to put it on. I asked, “What’s wrong with you. Are you sick?”

In a halting voice, Eric asked, “Have you seen Aaron today?”

“No.” A chill swept over my body. “Is something wrong. Is he hurt? What happened?”

“I think you need to sit.”

I sat and pounded my hand on the bench. “Fuck! Why don’t people just say, ‘I’ve got bad news.’ Why do they try and hide it by saying, ‘You better sit down.’”

“Chase, I’m sorry. Yeah, I think I’ve got bad news, and maybe I shouldn’t be the one to tell you.”

“But you’re going to anyway.”

“You’d be pissed if I kept it to myself. The Yellowjackets fired Aaron.”

I heard the words, but I didn’t process them immediately. When my brain finally caught up to the meaning, I growled “What the hell? You must have heard it wrong. They couldn’t fire him. He was looking at another job, but Huggins suggested that he look at it. Firing him is crazy.”

“I think they can do whatever they want, and I heard it from Eckert. He said they already have feelers out for a replacement.”

For a moment, I thought about living in Charlotte with Aaron not working. It wouldn’t be so bad. I was earning plenty of money. Aaron would be pissed, but I guessed he could get another kind of job or eventually he would get over the firing and enjoy a more leisurely life.

Eric interrupted my thoughts. He said, “Eckert also said Aaron’s had two job offers already, too. They’re both for head batting coach positions. One is in Philadelphia, and one is in San Antonio.”

“Was he smiling when he spread the news?” I asked with a grunt. I lowered my head into my hands.

“He was trying to sound serious, but I could see the sparkle in his eyes.” Eric leaned in close and whispered, “Eckert’s an asshole, but he did promise to only say good things about Aaron to other teams.”

I raised my head. “San Antonio? Isn’t that like the desert or something? I bet it’s hotter than hell there. We haven’t played the San Antonio RoadRunners yet.”

“It’s another expansion team,” said Eric He mused, “I bet Aaron could be helpful there.”

I never did see Aaron before the game. The firing took effect immediately. I tried sending a text message just before the game started, but I didn’t get a response.

My game was a disaster. I couldn’t get the image of a ceiling caving in on me out of my mind. I committed two errors in the outfield. It was the first time that ever happened to me in a big league game. I couldn’t remember a game with two errors in the minors either.

The first error was a ball that I bobbled when I should have caught it. The ball literally rolled between my legs. After I threw it back into the infield, Eric asked, “Are you okay?”

I said, “I’m pissed, but physically? Yeah, I’m okay.” I shoved him back toward center field and said, “Get over there and play the game.”

My first time at bat, I grounded the ball to the shortstop, and the next time I struck out on three straight strikes. Mo yanked on my jersey and slapped his other hand against my chest when I returned to the dugout. I asked, “What are you doing? Stop pawing at me.”

He said, “I’m just looking at the jersey up close. I was making sure it’s really you because it looks like someone stole Chase O’Rourke’s jersey and is impersonating him on the field. Up close, you do look and feel like Chase.”

“Damn, Mo, everybody has a bad game sometimes.” I growled and sat alone in the back corner of the dugout.

The rest of the game didn’t get any better. I struck out again. This time at least I slapped one foul ball into the seats. The crowd cheered when a little boy caught it in his glove. Two strikes later, a collective groan rose from the throng. I’d stranded two runners on base, and we were a run behind.

In the eighth inning, the game was tied, and the other team’s batter hit a fly ball to right field with two outs and a man on third base. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric start to jog a few steps toward the dugout. He was confident.

At the last minute, somehow, the ball seemed to veer to my left. I dove for it, but my glove came up empty. Eric had to chase the ball down and throw it back in. The runner on third scored, and I wanted to throw my glove into the stands. I heard a fan yell, “Get a new glove, Chase! That one’s got a hole in it!”

In the ninth inning, I had a final chance to redeem myself. It was a repeat situation of earlier in the game. We had two runners on with two outs. We were down a run. A simple base hit was likely to score both runners.

As I dug in at home plate, I tried to keep Aaron out of my head, but it didn’t work. I was distracted and thinking about living in Charlotte without him. I would hang out with Eric until he found a woman, and then I would be alone.

I watched the first strike go by. It was one I could have hit, but taking a good look at one strike wasn’t always a bad thing. I looked at the signs from the third-base coach and dug in again.

This time I swung at a fastball down the middle. When I missed it, I thought about the fan’s comment that I had a hole in my glove. I had a hole in my bat, too.

I didn’t get another chance to swing. I was sure the final pitch was outside, but the umpire called it strike three. The game was over, and we lost. I wasn’t the hero of the game. In fact, the most accurate narrative had me holding much of the responsibility for the loss. I dragged the bat in the dirt behind me as I returned to the dugout.

Five minutes after I entered my apartment, I received a phone call from Aaron. I was relieved to hear his voice. He said, “I’m sure you’ve heard all the news by now.”

“What the fuck, Aaron? Why did they do that? And where the hell are you?”

“I’m packing for San Antonio. My plane leaves in the morning.”

“What? Already? No, I get at least a week to say goodbye!”

I could hear anger starting to rise in his voice. “Can’t you help at least a little bit with this? I’m the one that got fired. I’m the one that’s having my life ripped up while I get sent halfway across the country. Don’t piss on me while I’m down, Chase. What the fuck was that game about anyway? Who was the guy dressed up like you.”

I felt like Aaron slapped me about a dozen times. I sniffed and tried to stop myself, but I started to cry. I whimpered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know who it was in the game. Aaron, don’t go.”

“I’ve got to go, and it’s not all a bad thing. I promise it’s not. Can you meet me at the airport in the morning?”

“Why do you want me to go to the airport?”

“So I can say goodbye.”

I heard the word that I didn’t want to hear. It sounded so final. I didn’t want to say goodbye, but I knew that I would regret it if I let Aaron go without saying anything to him. I sniffed and got control of myself. I whispered, “Yeah, I can meet you there. I love you.”