Carson: I’ll second that. When you’re around, you always have a creased brow, as if you’re trying to figure out the world’s hardest equation.
Knox: You know we’re here if you need to talk to us.
Holt: Yeah, I know. But I’m good.
Carson: Are you sure?
Holt: Yes, Mom.
Knox: At least come hang out with us on Friday. The guys want to have a party before finals. Celebrate before we all leave for winter break.
Carson: Yeah. Have a beer with us before we come back to school in the new year to be tortured by Disik.
Holt: This Friday?
Carson: Yeah.
Holt: Harmony has a study group so I’ll probably be at the loft anyway.
Knox: Well, don’t sound too excited about hanging out with us.
Carson: We might not have an ass like your girl, but we aren’t too shabby to look at.
Holt: Eh, you’re all right.
Knox: Friday night it is.
Carson: And hey, good luck on your test tomorrow. Feeling good?
Holt: Yup, feeling good. See you in the weight room.
* * *
Knock. Knock.
“Come in,” Coach Disik says, his voice gruff, agitated.
I push through his office door and say, “Hey, Coach.”
“Take a seat,” he says, as he pushes some papers to the side.
I had my ECG test this morning. My breath felt more labored than normal, but I kept up with the speed. Afterwards, Disik told me to join the team in the weight room, where we finished our strength training. Before I left, Disik told me to meet him in his office after I took my shower. I’ve never been called into his office after a test before, so my palms are sweating, to say the least.
Disik’s weathered eyes bore through me as he says, “What’s going on?”
“Uh . . . what do you mean?” I ask, shifting in my chair to get comfortable. No position is going to work. I can feel it already. Shots are being fired, and I’m going to need to defend myself.
Disik picks up a piece of paper and pushes it closer to me. It’s my test results.
“The chart on the bottom is from last month. The chart above is from this morning. Care to explain why they’re vastly different?”
I quickly compare the charts, although there is no real need. I knew going through the stress test that I wasn’t feeling great this morning. Clearing my throat, I say, “Bad night of sleep. Test me tomorrow. I’ll do better.”
Disik rocks slowly back and forth in his desk chair. “Do you really think I’m stupid, Green?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Then don’t insult me with goddamn lies.” He jabs his finger on the desk and says, “You have one chance to tell me the truth, or your ass will be riding the bench for the entire season, and don’t think I won’t do it.”
Shit.
I can’t afford to ride the bench, not with the draft coming up. But what the hell is Disik going to say when I tell him what’s been keeping me up at night? I guess there’s only one way to find out.
I chew on the side of my lip and quickly say, “My girlfriend is pregnant.”
“Jesus . . . Christ,” he mutters while lifting his baseball hat and rubbing his hand over his forehead. “How long have you been dating?”
“Since the beginning of the school year.”
He tosses his hat on the desk. It’s no secret Disik doesn’t take kindly to his players dating, but them getting a girl pregnant? Pretty sure he might have a coronary.
“What have I told you dickheads from the very beginning? Wrap it up. Twice, three times. Don’t get anyone pregnant.” Continuing to rub his forehead, he says, “Between you and Gentry, I’m going to have a goddamn heart attack this season.”
“I love her,” I say, wanting him to know where I stand. “She’s it for me, Coach.”
He lifts an eyebrow in question. “You love her?”
“Yes. I would do anything for her, even give up baseball.”
“Mother of God.” He looks up toward the ceiling, as if he’s praying to the baseball gods for guidance. “You don’t give up baseball for women, especially not for a relationship that just started this summer. Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
“I didn’t say I was giving it up. I was saying I would. That’s where I stand with this girl.” Disik’s glare sends a wave of fear up my spine. “We plan on keeping the baby, and she’s going to come with me when I’m drafted.”
He nods slowly. “What’s her name?”
“Harmony Styles,” I answer.
“What’s she majoring in?”
“Journalism.”
“I’m going to assume she’s a junior.”
I nod.
“And what does she plan on doing about finishing her degree?”
I push up the long sleeves of my shirt. “I spoke with my advisor and found that she can complete her degree online. She’s going to finish out the year in person, and then move to virtual.”
“And you’ve spoken to her about this? How she feels about raising a baseball player’s baby? She’s aware that you will have to travel? That there will be many times where you’re on the road, and she’s stuck at home by herself, trying to get her degree done while nursing a baby?”
I nod as another wave of anxiety hits me.
“And she knows that even though you’re drafted by a team, there’s no guarantee you will stay with that team? That you can be traded multiple times, uprooting your family constantly?”
I swallow hard. “Yes, Coach.”
“And she’s okay with giving up her dreams, her goals—if she has any—to help you achieve yours?”
“We had that conversation this past weekend. She’s fully aware of what it means to be with me.”
“And she loves you?”
“She does, Coach.”
He looks off to the side and picks up a pen. He twirls it between his fingers. “So then what are you worried about?”
“Huh?” I ask, confused by the change in his tone.
He taps my test results. “Why the fuck are you stressing if everything seems to be fine between you and your girl?”
“Um, I don’t know. She’s having pretty rough morning sickness. I usually have to leave her for strength and conditioning while she’s bent over the toilet in the morning. It’s not easy seeing the girl you love really sick.”
Disik nods slowly. “Baseball is ninety percent mental, Green. You should know how to block out any outside factors before you step inside this stadium, and as an upperclassman and a leader on this team, I expect you to uphold the standards of mental toughness on this team. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Coach,” I answer as my leg starts to bounce beneath my hand.
“I’m sorry your girlfriend is sick, but being a man in his twenties, you should know the implications of having sex, the possibility of getting pregnant. The team shouldn’t suffer because of your decisions. We need you in the outfield, and we need you healthy. Figure out how to deal with this. Got it?”
“Yes, Coach.”
He sits up and reaches into his desk. He rifles through some cards and then tosses one toward me. “That’s the number to Dr. Cotton. Six years ago, when Gerald Banks was going through some mental blocks because his girlfriend was pregnant as well—none of you jackasses listen to me—Dr. Cotton helped him. He might be able to help you.”
I pick up the card and take a look at the name.
“This is your warning, Green. Don’t let me see this shit come in this stadium again, do you hear me?”
“Yes, Coach.” I stand from my chair and pocket the card. “Is that it?”
“Yes. Get your shit together, and when you’re back at Brentwood after the holidays, I expect a better test. Do you understand?”
I nod and duck out of his office. I shut the door behind me.
I lean against the painted cinderblock wall and take a deep breath.
Fuck.
; I need to get it together.
Too much is at stake.
There’s too much to lose. In some ways, I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. I’m stressed, so my heart suffers and Coach sees it. I’m stressed that if my game suffers, I won’t get the future I need to support Harmony and our baby. I take a deep breath, and another, when I still feel jittery.
“Why the fuck are you stressing if everything seems to be fine between you and your girl?”
Is it that simple? If Harmony’s okay with this, with a future no longer mapped out how she’d wanted it, why am I slowly losing it?
Because I need to step up into a role I haven’t prepared for. Trained for. One I don’t know inside out.
You should know how to block out any outside factors before you step in this stadium, as an upperclassman and a leader on this team.
But what if I can’t?
* * *
“Hey, Holt, wake up.” Harmony shakes my shoulders and I’m pulled out of my sleep, my heart racing, my mind whirling.
I grasp the sheets, looking around, trying to gain my bearings.
“Hey.” She smooths her hand over my bare chest. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
I press my hand against hers and take a few deep breaths.
Shit.
“So-sorry,” I say, tripping over my words.
“Holt, your heart is going a mile a minute.” She shifts, getting closer. The blanket slides from her chest, exposing her bare breasts.
“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” I say, mad at myself for putting that worried expression in her eyes.
She pushes me back on the bed so I’m lying down, staring up at her beautiful face. “What’s going on?”
“Just a bad dream, is all.” I can feel my heart beating, the thud, thud of it taking over, crawling up to my throat.
“Holt, this is the third time this week. Usually people don’t wake up in the middle of the night like this.”
“Yeah.” I sweep my hand over my head. “Just a lot on my mind, is all.”
“Talk to me about it.”
I tug on her arm, bringing her closer to my chest. “Nah, nothing you need to worry about.”
“Holt, remember what I said? Don’t hold it in.”
“It’s baseball stuff, babe. You don’t need to worry about my stupid baseball shit.”
“When has it ever been stupid baseball shit?” She tries to sit up but I hold her in place. “Holt, I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I smooth my hand over her backside, loving that she has no qualms about sleeping naked with me. Not a single one. “It’s nothing, okay? Just relax and get some sleep. I’m sorry I woke you up. You need your rest.”
I kiss the top of her head and continue to stroke her back, hoping that will soothe her.
Thankfully, she doesn’t put up a fight. Instead she kisses my jaw and then snuggles in close, wrapping one of her legs around mine.
Any other night, I would have easily gotten hard with her pussy so close to my cock. But my head isn’t on straight. My mind isn’t where it should be, and all I can think about is what I just woke up from.
Harmony, walking in the middle of traffic, and me screaming at her to stop, to get out of the road, but her not listening. I’ve no fucking clue why she’s walking in traffic, but it’s the third dream this week where I feel as though I’m losing her and there’s nothing I can do about it. Not a single damn thing.
Control is slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to stop it.
My head goes to the card that Coach Disik gave me.
Do I really need to talk to a doctor?
I’ve never been one to lean on a therapist for help, not that there’s anything wrong with doing that, but I also like to solve problems myself.
And that’s what this is about—figuring out how I can be there for my girl and also play baseball.
I just need a routine. A schedule.
I vow to work on something this weekend, when my head is clear.
* * *
Carson: Have you checked on Jason?
Knox: He’s still really upset. Holt, dude, what happened?
Holt: Shit, I don’t know.
Carson: Granted, Jason is more sensitive than the rest of us, but I caught the tail end of you blowing up on him. He said you slammed him against the wall.
Knox: What? Holt, you know as captain I can’t allow that shit.
Holt: I know. Fuck, I know. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Carson: Remember when I said we’re here to listen to you if you need to talk?
Holt: I’m good.
Knox: You don’t seem good, man.
Carson: You seem like you’re ready to snap at any moment. The guys are starting to notice.
Holt: I just need a second to breathe. Tonight will be good. Tonight will be the break that I need.
Knox: Are you sure? Because we can cancel and go hang out, just us.
Carson: ^^^ Might be a good idea.
Holt: No. The party will be what I need. I have to get to class. I’ll be sure to apologize to Jason later. Won’t happen again.
* * *
“Okay, well, if you get done early, let me know and I’ll meet you at your place. Okay?” I say into the phone as the music pumps just outside my door.
“Stop worrying about me.”
“You threw up all day and missed class. I’m worried, Harmony.” My foot bounces up and down rapidly as I consider throwing on a sweatshirt and going to the library to find her.
“I’m feeling much better and I’ve had some food. I think the nausea medicine the doctor prescribed is working now. No hint of nausea.”
“Then let’s just skip the party and study group and hang out. I can bring over some food, we can watch something on Netflix—”
“No, Holt. You’re going to the party and I’m going to my study session. You need this.”
“I need you,” I reply, agitated. I had no idea she was sick all day until a few moments ago. Nor did I know she went to urgent care for medicine to help with the nausea. To say I’m irritated is an understatement.
“You need to let loose, have some fun, forget about the responsibilities for a second.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I need. Okay?” I snap at her, instantly regretting it. “Shit, I’m sorry.” I drag my hand over my face. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just—”
“Hell bent on trying to solve everything,” she answers for me. “Well, this is a partnership, Holt, which means we both have a say in what happens, and tonight, I’m the one making the decisions. I’m going to my study group because I need to catch up and you’re going to hang out with your friends because you need to take a breather. Do you understand?”
My teeth grind together as I push off my bed and pace my room. “Why didn’t you tell me about being sick earlier?”
“We aren’t getting into this right now. I’m cold and standing outside of the library talking to you.”
“Well, fuck, Harmony. Just let me come get you. I won’t bother you—”
“No. I swear, Holt, if you come here, you won’t see me at all. Got it? Stay at your place, have fun, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“I’m not going to see you at all tonight?”
“No. I’m going. I love you. Bye.”
Before I can say bye, she hangs up. I chuck my phone at my bed and push both of my hands through my hair.
Fuck.
“Fuck,” I shout just as there’s a knock on my door.
“Dude, you coming out?” It’s Carson.
Done with the night, I throw open my door to a surprised Carson and say, “I need a beer, now.”
“Uh . . . You look like you need a pint of ice cream and a long talk more. I have ears and ice cream; care to try that?”
I shoot him a look and he holds up his hands.
“Beer it is.”
Together we walk over to the kitchen, where a few freshmen are pouring the drinks. T
hey hand me and Carson one, and then we step over to the back of the loft, away from the crowd and the beer pong tables.
“So, you seem to be in a good mood,” Carson says, nudging my shoulder.
“Don’t poke the bear, man.”
“Will you just talk to me?” Carson says, exasperated.
I bring my cup to my mouth and take a few giant gulps before lowering it and saying, “Harmony is pregnant.”
“Uh . . . what?” Carson asks.
“And don’t fucking tell anyone.” I look him in the eyes. “I’m not kidding. This stays between us. Don’t even tell Knox.”
“Yeah, sure.” He blinks a few times. “Dude, she’s pregnant?”
“Due July twenty-fourth.”
“Whoa, you’re going to be drafted by then and in the minors. What the hell are you going to do?”
“That’s the million-dollar question that’s been on my mind,” I say, taking another drink from my cup. “I love her. She’s going to come with me, but I’m worried about how it’s all going to work. I’m worried I’m going to take her to some Podunk town where she’s going to have to raise our baby, alone. I’m worried she’s going to resent me even though she said she’s not. I’m worried that she’s sick all the fucking time. That her skin is pale and the life that’s usually in her eyes is gone. I’m fucking worried,” I gasp and Carson puts his hand on my back. “Shit . . . sorry.”
“Hey.” He takes my cup from me and sets it to the side. “Why don’t we go sit down?”
I shake my head, leaning my hands on my knees. “I just need to catch my breath.”
“Holt, seriously. Come on. I can cover for you. We can go up to the rooftop, just hang, talk it through. Forget the beer. Let’s grab some water and—”
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I say as my eyes catch a familiar face in the crowd.
“Who?” Carson asks.
I stand, my breath coming in shallow gasps, barely filling my lungs. “He shouldn’t be here. He has no right in being here.”
“Dude, you’re breaking out in a sweat. Can you just sit down for a goddamn second?”
I start to move forward and Carson grabs my arm. “Let me go,” I say through clenched teeth.
The Strike Out Page 25