Page 16 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Do you like him, Scout?”

The question catches me off guard, and I’m uncertain what exactly he means by it. “I’ve only just met him.” It’s a safe answer.

“But do you like him? Is he going to work hard? Does he want to return? Or is he a prima donna riding his dad’s coattails with no respect for the sport?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” I stutter. “The man plays with more heart than anyone I’ve seen in a long time. He’s a throwback. A real gamer. The guy you want at bat when you’re bottom of the ninth, full count, with the World Series on the line.”

“You’re too close, Scout.” It’s all he says, but it’s enough to make me realize how ardently I just defended a man who, seconds before, I said I barely knew. Did I just prove my dad’s point that maybe I’m already too close, because Easton’s just another player and it’s my job to get him ready.

But he isn’t just another player.

He’s the player who can give me what I need to fulfill my dad’s wishes.

And he’s the man who has invaded my thoughts and taken residence there.

“That’s the player you’re talking about. What about the man?”

It’s the oddest of questions for my dad to ask, and yet I feel like there is more to this conversation that I’m not quite getting the gist of. I take my time to respond. “Like I said, I’ve only assessed him twice, so I don’t know him that well. First impression is that he’s a good guy. I mean, he stood up for me when the guys were doing their usual bullshit about me being in the clubhouse.”

“Really?” It’s a leading question, but I don’t buy into it. If he wants to ask me something, then he needs to ask it.

“Dad, what are you—”

“What’s your plan of action with him moving forward?” he asks, as if I never even spoke. And while I hate being disregarded, this razor-sharp focus of his on a player has been gone more days than not, and so I acquiesce.

I sort through my thoughts, explain them point by point, and then outline what I plan to do with the player. My dad makes suggestions, and I take notes, heeding his advice on possible drills.

But I catch myself holding the phone to my ear with two hands and just listening. Memorizing the sound of his voice. The timbre of it. The little inflections only he has. I lose myself in the presence of the only person who has ever been a constant in my life.

“Sounds like a good plan, Scouty. You’ll need to adjust as he does, though. Nothing good ever comes from setting your plans in stone.”

“I know,” I whisper, thinking of all the plans we’d made over the years for when he retired. And now that he unofficially has, we’ll never get to fulfill them.

“Scout.” It’s a warning. A reprimand. A plea for me to toughen up.

I clear my throat. “He seems eager to return,” I say to save face, in the hope that he’ll see I’m unaffected by Easton. But before I can finish my thought, he erupts into a fit of coughing.

It sounds worse than last week. That’s all I can think as that rattle makes chills race across my skin and dread sink in my stomach. The questions I want to pepper him with, but know he won’t allow, are getting harder to bite back. The need to jump in the car and drop my foot like a lead weight on the gas until I’m beside him is getting tougher to resist.

“Daddy?” The word slips out in a whisper just like the lone tear that escapes and slides down my cheek.

“I’m fine, Scouty. Just fine. It’s just the damn cough,” he finally says when he catches his breath.

But it’s so much more than that.

“What did the doctor say yesterday?” I ask, prepared for the rebuke.

“Did Sally tell you I had an appointment?” he barks.

“Someone has to.” Please. Talk to me.

“Everything’s the same. Nothing’s going to change, so it’s ridiculous to be worrying about me when you need to be worried about getting the player back up and behind the plate. It’s a rarity to have a cuff tear when it’s not a pitcher, so make sure you heed caution. And make sure to learn from it.”

“Okay,” I agree, but my mind is lost searching his voice for what he’s not telling me. Did the doctor tell him he has less time left than he thought? Is that why he won’t talk about it?

The notion stuns me when I’ve already been stunned enough over the past few months. And I’m so lost in my fear that I almost miss his soft words when he speaks them.

“I’m counting on you. I know it’s a lot to ask . . . and I’d do it if I could . . .”