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“Look where the ball is.”

I cocked my head. Every pitch was different—my stance had to be the problem.

“That’s the pitch from my first at bat on opening day, where I hit it out of the park. A low sinker, below the zone but in the center of the plate. The other one is a strike on the outside of the zone, up. I should be able to hit that one.” I had to be able to hit that one, even if it wasn’t for power anymore. Even a base hit off a pitch like that was better than a dribbling ground ball, which was all I’d achieved last night.

Raine pushed play on the video, and I watched as my bat swung forward and topped the ball, driving it into the dirt in front of the plate. I cringed as I watched the ball roll slowly toward the pitcher, little better than a swinging bunt. I should be better than this. I was better than this.

The catcher had managed to snag the ball and get it to second base in time to put out the lead runner, and then they still threw me out at first because I couldn’t run like before my injury. I couldn’t do anything like I used to. Maybe everyone was right and I should hang up my cleats. “I drove it into the ground. What I can’t figure out is why.”

Raine pushed play on the second video, and I watched my first Triple-A home run in over a decade fly over the Airfield fence.

“What do you see? What was different?” he asked.

I played both videos again, side by side, looking for anything that might get me out of this slump. Raine thought he had seen something, so why didn’t I see it? I clenched the tablet so hard I was afraid I’d crack the screen.

Raine paused both of them mid-swing. There it was. I was raising my shoulder as I reached for the high strike. It was subtle, but I was rolling forward and lifting slightly, which took away all my power and led to me hitting the top of the ball.

Unbelievable. A week of feeling like I’d never hit again, and now I had an answer. I’d work with our hitting coach to adjust my swing, and hopefully that would help me break out of this slump.

“Shit. I’m losing power and contact when I swing. How did you catch that? It’s hardly noticeable.”

Raine shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the praise.

“Two years ago my Double-A team was about to cut me because I’d lost my ability to hit. My oh-fer streak was a lot longer than yours. I watched hours of video before I spotted my problem. I was twisting one wrist too far back and swinging under everything. I only noticed it because of the batting gloves I was wearing; they had a blue band on them that I could see in one set of videos, and not in the others. A few minor adjustments, and I was back to at least hitting for average. When you drove that ball into the ground last night? It was the third time in three games, and it reminded me of what I went through. I figured a fresh set of eyes might help.”

“You have no idea. Thanks, man. Not sure yet how to fix it, but at least I have a place to start.” Fixing my swing wouldn’t solve all my problems, but I had to do something.

The bus slowed as we hit the city limits of Bismarck, North Dakota, where our next series would be. This was another Independent League team that had been turned into a big-league affiliate during the expansion.

When the bus took the exit to the airport, I knew something was going on. Someone was being called up. My heart raced, even though there was no way the team wanted me. It was always like this when someone was getting the call. “What’s happening, Skip?”

“You don’t miss a thing, do you, Cook?” Wally grumbled.

“Except the ball!” one of the cocky young players, Blake Tyler, yelled out from the back of the bus.

Ouch. He wasn’t wrong, but it made for shitty team dynamics when players picked at the scabs of other players going through a rough patch. Eventually it would happen to them, and then what? Bad morale in the clubhouse would only hurt me, so I blew off the comment.

“Pretty hard to miss the sign for the airport.” Let Blake think his dig hadn’t bothered me. I was doing enough self-flagellation as it was.

Wally stood up at the front of the bus, and Raine took out his phone to begin filming. If it was a first-time call-up, whoever it was would appreciate having the video to send to his family.

“As Cook noticed, we’re making a quick stop at the airport. The club needs another player. Witt, grab your stuff, you’re getting on a plane. They want you in San Diego by game time.”

Witt froze; then a huge smile split his face and he jumped up from his seat. The young players he sat with pounded him on the back and celebrated his lucky break. He threw his stuff into his bag.

I stopped him as he passed my row, pulling him into a hug. “You deserve this. It’s going to be harder than you think, but don’t let that rattle your confidence. You belong in the bigs.”

As much as I was jealous as hell, I meant every word. Witt had terrific raw talent. He could have used another year in the minors to polish it, but when the call came, you had to make the most of it.

He touched the brim of his cap, then stopped long enough to listen to Wally’s instructions to pick up his ticket. After waiting a few minutes for the driver to retrieve his suitcase from the storage area under the bus, we hit the road again.

My own call-up from the minors had been a decade ago, but seeing one of the young guys get their call always made me think of it. When I got my next call, it would be more like when Bennie was called up. So much gratitude at getting another chance. The only downside to being called up would be leaving Jane. I didn’t want to leave her behind when I left. Maybe there was some way to make it work.

Raine was sending the video he’d taken to Witt, so I pulled out my phone and searched the baseball news for any information on why he was being called up. The Vanquish were playing better, although they still had a terrible record. I hadn’t seen anything in the highlights from yesterday’s game that made me think there had been an injury, but it was always possible. A shadow blocked the sun, and I looked up to find Wally leaning over the seat.

“You can quit trying to find out what’s happening. It hasn’t been made public yet. The club DFA’d Molino. Witt’s going to replace him.”

I felt my eyebrows shoot up at this news. Molino had been one of the biggest signings during the expansion, and his defence at shortstop was legendary. His offence had been weaker than normal this year, but I hadn’t seen anything that would lead to him being let go. “No shit?”