“Give me another one,” Mack, the physical therapist the team has sent to work with me, encourages as I lift a much smaller weight than I’m used to with my still-healing knee. Grunting loudly, I give him what he’s asking for. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Just uncomfortable.” He hands me a water bottle and I suck that shit down like I’ve been in the Sahara for months. Even if it doesn’t hurt, it’s still very much a workout for me. “God, when is this gonna get easier?” It’s a blow to my ego that I can’t do what I’ve been doing in the past. Stupid me thought that a few weeks into this I’d be much further along.

“Nothing that matters ever is, Slater. You know that as well as I do.” He grins as he lets me rest for a few minutes. “You’ve come a long way. Remember when you couldn’t even walk in here on your own? Now you’re walking in, slower than you’d like, but you’re walking in without crutches and only wearing a brace sometimes. Things aren’t as bad as they once were.”

I run a hand across my chin, scratching against the beard I’ve grown, knowing he’s right. “It just feels like this is taking forever.”

“You’re a world-class athlete with millions of dollars riding on your shoulders. The team wants to make sure you’ve got this. It’s my job to make sure you don’t rush it, and when you’re ready to come back, you’re ready. That’s my ass on the line man, not yours.”

“It sucks watching them play,” I confess, thinking about my teammates. They’re on a losing streak right now. It’s frustrating to know I could be doing something to help, could be doing something to make it easier on them. Instead I’m stuck here, feeling fucking helpless. “They aren’t playing so hot.”

“Missing the heart of the team, dude. You’re the heart, the leader, the one they look to when things get rough. It’s tough not having you there, but they all understand this is just a bump in the road. You’ll be back next year, stronger and better than ever.”

He tells me this every session we have together. Always an encourager and never letting me get too far down on myself. It’s hard, to know they’re playing without me. The bitch of it is, I kinda feel better that they aren’t doing so great. It lets me know that I’m needed in my capacity. Damn do I miss it though - the smell of the grass, the roar of the crowd, the sun beating down as I stand in the outfield, the adrenaline rush I get when I’m about to face a pitcher that’s beaten me down a few times. I need it, all of it, and right now I don’t have any of it.

“Yeah, better than ever.” I fake an enthusiasm I don’t feel, but that’s what got me here in the first place. Faking it until I made it.

Walking out of the rehab center, I can feel the heat beating off the pavement. Summer can be classified as the time when winter ends in the South, and this year is no exception. I’m baking as I walk over to my SUV and get in. A few weeks ago, I got the okay to drive myself again, and that’s been the highlight of my month. Being a grown man and having to bum rides off your parents and brother? Fucking sucks!

Getting in, I crank up the air and turn in the direction of the nearest fast food drive-thru. Today I’m going to go watch my little brother play minor league ball with our local Double-A affiliate team. He’s seven years younger than me, and I tell everyone who will listen he’s better than me, but he has problems controlling his feelings and waiting for the pitches to come to him. If he makes it to the majors, we’ll play on opposing leagues, but one day we could meet in the World Series. Talk about the ultimate dream for two kids from nowhere, Georgia.

Once it’s my turn, I order a double hamburger and a salad. It’s been difficult to keep good weight on my frame since I don’t have the same kind of checks and balances here I have in Birmingham. The only thing that seems to work, is to remind myself I have to regain whatever muscle I lose.

Fighting mid-afternoon Friday traffic, I make my way through town and pull into the family lot for the players. Parking here gives me time to eat my food before I go in. Twenty minutes later, I grab my hat and walk into the place like I own it. I’ve learned in seven years in the majors you always have to walk in like you own the place. If you don’t, people don’t respect you, and I’m all about respect.

As I’m rounding a corner, I run right smack into my little brother, who’s not even dressed yet. “Where you been?” He should have checked in with the team over an hour ago.

“Overslept.”

I see the hickey on his neck; that’s a line of shit if I’ve ever heard one. “If you’re ever going to make this your real job, you gotta treat it like one, Six,” I use the nickname everyone gave him as soon as he started playing ball. I don’t think he’ll ever have another number on his back.

“Easy for you to say since you signed that huge bonus,” he’s almost sneering at me, but I’m used to animosity from guys in the lower leagues. “Living in that nice big penthouse in Birmingham, having everybody on your dick…”

“You’re not too old for me to fuck up,” I warn him, not wanting him to be a cocky little shit. One of the major things I’ve learned in this business and in life is to be humble. When you start believing your own hype, it’s never good.

“Yet you’re the one here nursing an injury,” he fires back at me.

If there’s anyone that can piss me off, it’s him. He has more talent in his pinky finger than I have ever had in my life, yet he seems to crumble in my shadow and want to make things a contest every time we’re at the baseball field. “Don’t let your jealously get in the way of what your capable of.” I grab hold of the back of his neck. “Don’t disappoint yourself, and don’t disappoint the family. Mom and Dad sacrificed a massive part of their lives for us to be able to follow our dreams. What the fuck are you doing?”

For a moment, reality and a sober look crosses his face. “I’m trying to do what everyone expects of me, Slater. It’s hard.”

“It is hard, it’s hard to be the person everyone looks to. Just be yourself, Six. Be who you are, play your own game, and don’t let them try to change you. Learn from my mistakes. You don’t have to be like me, in fact I don’t want you to be like me, I want you to be better than me.”

The grin he gives me is like looking into a mirror. “You’ve never made a mistake. You’ve always been the perfect child, the one on the pedestal, the one I have to live up to.”

“I’m not perfect, I’ve never said I was, and I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Don’t let that shit get in your head, bro. Got out there, play your game, and kick ass doing it. My biggest dream is to meet you in the World Series. Let’s make that happen, and as quickly as possible.”

Without notice, he gives me a tight hug. “Thanks, sometimes I still need you to kick my ass.”

“Don’t forget, I may be a gimp, but I’m still strong enough to do it.”

“You won’t be a gimp forever.”

That’s what I keep reminding myself, but it’s taking longer and longer for me to believe it.

“How long has it been since you’ve attended a ballgame?” my best friend from high school, Kayla, asks me as we show our tickets at the hometown Minor League stadium and walk through with the couple hundred people who’ve shown up. For a Friday afternoon, the game looks to be well attended.

“A long time.” I let my hair out of the ponytail I had to pull it up into for working at the bakery. “Since the last time I saw Slater play,” I admit.

After we broke up and went our separate ways, I stayed away from baseball, unless I heard his name mentioned as I was watching TV, or an article popped up with his name on it. Being in PR for a major brand, I saw it more often than I liked too, but luckily the energy drink I worked for never tried to get him to be a spokesperson. It would have been way too awkward, and I would have had to hand the account over to someone else.

“Our seats are over here.” She directs me through the crowd to the box seats her family has had since the Willow’s Gap Wasps made their debut in town.

We smile as we make our way down the aisle, and on second thought as I see we’re sitting in the sun, I put my hair back up.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. “The sun won’t be at this angle for long, but when games start around two, it’s the pits for an hour or so.”

“It’s okay, it’s nice to be out and feel it on my skin.”

I realize what I’m saying is the truth. It feels like forever since I’ve taken time to get out in the sunlight and let it beat down on my face. That’s what happens when you’re locked inside a cubicle for hours at a time, five to six days a week. Leaning back, I feel the warmth against my face and inhale deeply, remembering vividly the smells of watching Slater play baseball.

“The smell doesn’t change, does it?”

“No.” I shake my head as I grin over at her.

Back in high school she and I had been two peas in a pod. Slater was the centerfielder and her boyfriend (now husband) Jake had been a pitcher. Jake had been wanted by many pro teams, but in college he’d broken his throwing arm, and he’d never been the same since. Kayla and I, we’ve spent many baseball games together.

“I think that’s one of the reasons Jake likes to come out here so much. He can relive it, without really having to. He doesn’t like to step on the pitcher’s mound anymore, but he’s been known to go out there and give some pointers.”

“Did he break his arm during a game?” I haven’t followed anyone other than Slater, and I’m almost ashamed to admit I don’t know for sure what happened with him.

“He threw the ball and his arm snapped.” She shivers. “I was there. It was the strangest sound I’ve ever heard. Some people can come back from it, that’s what they kept telling us. But he didn’t. His fastball was never there anymore. He didn’t lose his scholarship, though.” She gives me a smile. “He stayed in school, studied business finance, and he’s worked his way up to manager at the bank. Regardless of where he could be right now, I’m very proud of where he is and how far he’s come. I thought the injury would turn him into a bitter person, but he’s not.”

I’m quiet for a few minutes as I take in the manicured grass, the picture-perfect diamond the dirt makes, and smell the scent of afternoon baseball. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

She turns to me. “Sorry? Why? What in the world are you sorry about?”

“I’ve only been back in town a few days and I can already tell how much I’ve missed because I’ve been stubborn about coming here. I’ve let my pride get in the way of everything and refused to come back to a place that I once loved. When Slater and I broke up, I gave up a lot because I felt like I had to. Ya know, I didn’t think it would be right of me to still love the game, to follow it, because I’d given up on him; it felt like I should give up on it too. Same with friends.” I reach over, grasping her hand. “Keeping some of those friends hurt in the beginning, but I realize now I probably should have kept trying, maybe I could have repaired some of those friendships I threw away so casually.”

“Regardless of if we’ve talked off and on over the past ten years or not, Malone, I’ll always be your friend. You and I went through so much together those three years of high school that we were with them. Watching them blossom and become so good at what they did. That time you took me to the doctor for the pregnancy scare. That time I took you to the doctor when the condom broke. I mean, we’ve been there through huge parts of each other’s lives. I can forgive the fact you had a lot to work out through, but I’ll never forget the friendship we had. I hope-” she bumps my shoulder “-that we maybe can rekindle that friendship. I’ve never had a friend like you, and I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” I reach over, giving her a hug.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m right where I belong. It’s a thought I never had before this moment, and it’s definitely not what I felt when I got my walking papers. Mom always said God puts you were you need to be, and maybe she’s right.