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I learned to choke down my nerves and refused to give in to my emotion. Any emotion.
I stuffed it all down and did what I had to do to be Doug Ashwood’s son, his legacy.
Only, I was the spare.
A dent in his otherwise perfect gold trophy.
“Baseball should be fun. You should play it because you love it,” I tell Noah. “Not because you need to win or because you have something to prove. I know it feels intense. It feels really important for you to do well, for your team to win, because one bad pitch might lead to one loss might lead to a losing season might lead to not making the next team. But, listen… None of it fucking matters.”
When I realize I cursed, I glance to Millie, who shrugs, so I say, “Sorry, kid. Don’t be like me. Don’t use that kinda language. What I mean to say is, I know what it feels like… Like every single second is so important it could ruin the rest of your life, but that’s not true. Don’t let anyone or anything, including your own brain, make you believe that the rest of your life depends on anything you do in baseball. You should want to win because it feels good to win, but beyond that, don’t let it affect you so much that you become unhappy. I don’t want you to start hating baseball. You said you love it, and I want you to keep loving it. Play hard, but remember it’s a game. It’s just a game.”
Noah heaves a big sigh. Like I’m a jackass. I am. But then he asks, “Is that what you tell yourself when you mess up? That it’s just a game?”
“No, and that’s why I’m telling you now not to be like me. Don’t let yourself forget your love of the game. Don’t let yourself become like me.”
“But…” He trails off long enough that I lean into the phone as if I could pry the words from him.
“But what?”
“I don’t know,” he says after a long pause. “I think…it would be cool to be like you.”
I’m not sure anyone’s organs have ever melted out of their body before, but I check the floor to make sure mine aren’t in a puddle by my feet. Because I don’t deserve his admiration, and I certainly don’t deserve the way Millie watches me with round eyes and her hand pressed to her heart. Like she’s elated to hear her son say he wants to be like me.
She should want him to be the exact opposite.
I’m not the nice brother.
I’m the dick.
The mean one.
I’m fucking crazy train.
I am not a role model.
And yet…after the last two months of spending time with Millie and playing fifty-six games with this new team, getting to know Yadi and starting this charity with him, there is a part of me—albeit a very small part—that thinks I could be that guy.
I want to be the good brother.
The considerate one.
A role model.
“You want to come to my game tomorrow?” I ask Noah. “You and your mom and your grandmom, if she’s feeling up to it.”
“Really? We can come again?”
“Of course.”
“Can we go, Mom?” Noah asks, and she leans into my space to answer.
“Sure, nugget.”
“Yesssss!”
“I’ll be home in a little bit,” she tells him, but he’s already off, talking to whom I presume is Shannon, relaying my invitation.
A moment later, Millie’s mom’s voice is back. “Well, he’ll never be able to concentrate on studying for his science test now.”
