The Sweet Spot - Strike Zone Series Book 1

Chapter 1

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Chapter 1

     "My trainer is setting the appointment, Mom. I'm okay." I knew this call was going to be a pain. "I promise, Mom. Yes. Yes, I love you too. I'll call you when I hear something. Okay, Mom. Okay, bye."
     Rubbing my eyes, exhaustion is coming on fast. Carson gave me a pain reliever before I left the stadium. He said I'd get tired pretty quick. Fortunately, Dillon and Molly are here for me.
     The three of us have stuck together like glue. Even growing up, we were always together. And Reese. We've been peas in a pod for longer than I can remember. We take care of each other. That's what family does. It was drilled into us as kids and holds true today.
     I'm glad it's them with me tonight. They understand I'm not a good patient, I'm a temperamental toddler when I don't feel well. A behavior that I know is terrible but I've never outgrown.
     "Carla just called you again. I let it go to voicemail." Molly announces bringing me a plate of grilled chicken and rice. You don't pay me enough to tolerate that witch."
     "That's fine, I don't want to talk to her anyway." Taking the plate, I settle back in front of the TV and watch the recap of the game.
     My face, the play, has been on constant replay since we walked in the door. Like I want to see how bad I was injured over and over. Every announcer has their opinion on what the outcome is going to be. Surgery has been the most popular, career ending is close behind that. Neither of those opinions are mine.
     I'm injured, I can't deny that. And yeah, it was a hard ugly hit. But they don't think I have what it takes to recover from this. They don't know me very well. I've worked my whole life to be the best third baseman in the league. I live, eat, and sleep baseball.
     "Turn that off would you, Molly. I'm tired of hearing how my career is over." I poke at the food on my plate, not having much of an appetite after seeing the replay for the umpteenth time.
     "You're going to need to make a statement about it." Molly reminds me. "You got away from the media tonight, but Nate, they aren't going to let up until they hear from you."
     I know she's right. I just don't have any answers for them yet. "I'll comment after my appointment tomorrow. Not tonight. I just want to chill."
     "Maybe we should get a press conference together for that. You're big news." Dillon points out, shoveling some Pad Thai into his mouth.
     "No! I'm not making this bigger than it is." I argue, I don't need that headache.
      A press conference would only create more attention over it, and Carla will want to be right there next to me, getting her face in front of the camera. No, that's the last thing I need.
      Switching channels, I can't seem to escape from this. Every local news channel, every sports channel, even the entertainment channel has my face on it. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back against the couch.
      "Drugs kicking in?" Dillon wonders, watching me as he continues to eat.
     "A little. What happens if this is what they say, D? What happens if this just ended my career?" It's my fear talking. It is what every athlete is afraid of facing. That dreaded day when you're too hurt to play again.
     I've seen plenty of guys, great athletes, from football to hockey that have played their hearts out and in one single moment, one bad decision, and their careers are toast. They never recover or play again. I don't want that.
     "You can't think that way, Nate. You know you can't. Just get to the doc tomorrow, see what he says. It might just be a sprain and you're out for a few games. You know how that goes." Dillon assures me of what I do know. Sometimes it looks worse than it is.
     But this doesn't feel like a sprain. I've been through plenty of injuries, you can't be an athlete as long as I have and not have gotten hurt. It doesn't matter how careful you are, it happens. I've played through tons of aches and pains, sprains and pulled muscles. I know what a sprain feels like, this isn't it.
     Waiting is all I can do.
      "Do you want me to stick around or can you manage him, Dillon?" Molly wipes her hands on a dish towel as she comes back from the kitchen.
      "I got him. We're just gonna finish the highlight reel and hit the sack, Mol. I'll get him to his appointment in the morning." Dillon knows Molly has her hands full with the media for me. She'll be online, emailing and calling the press back for hours before she's going to get to bed.
     "Don't let Carla come over!" She orders Dillon and points at me. "You need rest and quiet, not her bitching at you about her next red carpet event."
     Molly has a very good point. Nodding my head, I give my little sister a thumbs up as she walks over to kiss the top of my head.
     "I'm sorry you got hurt. Call me tomorrow after your appointment. I'll come over and relieve Dillon from babysitting you. Sleep well. Night, D!" Molly blew Dillon a kiss and left us on our own.
      Watching my little brother through glazed eyes, I don't think I can even get upstairs to fall into bed, much less get off the couch. I'm tired and worn out. Maybe a few games off to recover is what I need. I've been on the road and back for weeks now and it's taken its toll on me physically and mentally.
      Under normal circumstances, I can swing with it and take the time I need to rest before my next game. That hasn't been the case lately. Would slowing down have made the difference in getting hurt? I don't know.
     "Stop over analyzing it. It happened, Nate. You gotta move forward from it." Dillon knows me too well.
     "There might not be a move forward for me. We have to prepare for any outcome to this." I remind him.
     "Who are you? My brother doesn't talk this way! You're one of the best players on the field, Nate. You know that. We just make sure you come back." He's always been sure of my abilities. As sure as I am. Hearing this is what I need. I need to remember that I can do anything I put my mind to. We were all taught that. I can't lose my career.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~

     I can't sleep. I have always had trouble getting comfortable in a new place. Getting used to new sounds, creaking in the house, neighborhood noise, even the dead silence keeps me up.
      The sound of the surf rolling in and out, crashing against the pier outside my window should be peaceful. It should lull me right off but my mind is all over the place. How is it when I'm up and doing I'm beat tired, yet when I go to bed I suddenly remember everything I need to do?
     I start my new job tomorrow. My new life has begun and I'm scared to death of failure. I don't have anything to fall back on, I have no support system, no family I can lean on, no friends to ask for advice. It's just me.
     Laying in the middle of my living room on my air mattress, I stare up at the ceiling and watch the moon through the window. This is what I wanted. I wanted to prove to everyone who said I'd never amount to anything that they were wrong about me.
     I've never been good at standing up for myself. I keep my opinions to myself, I don't like to fight. I've gotten beaten down too many times to find my spine. When you're called a loser, useless, stupid so many times, by so many people you tend to start believing it.
It's hard not to believe it.
     A new job, a fresh start. Somewhere where no one knows me. I can be anything, I can be the person I want to be. But that change, that first step is about as scary as it gets.
     I was a good student when I got to go to school. I tried to pay attention to everything. Watching others was the best way I could learn who I wanted to be. I remember a counselor once telling me to dress for the job you want, not the job you have. No one ever asked me if I had what I needed to get there.
     No one asked me much of anything. I was a monthly check for my foster family, another mouth to feed. I was told to do as I was told and not complain about it. I was told my opinion didn't matter, that my existence didn't matter. It sticks.
     But I didn't believe them. Not really. I did what I was told, I followed the rules, went to school and got a job. I kept my head down and stayed out of the way. And I made it through the worst. I escaped that life and ran away from voices who put me down, the hard hands that would grab and hit. I took the first step and I should be proud of myself for it.
     That's new for me. I've never done anything to be proud of. I'm average. Average looks, average grades, average size. There's nothing special about me. I blend into my surroundings and remain unnoticed for years. That's how I've survived. But I don't want to just survive anymore. I want to live.
      Rolling over to my stomach, I lean up on my elbows and watch the moonlight dance on the water. The freedom of the surf that rolls in and out of the sand. The power and strength of the tide that pushes and pulls against the pier. It's beautiful.
     I want that. That strength and power, as demanding as a heartbeat and as fragile as a butterfly. I took that first step in getting a new life, now I have to put the next foot forward to hold onto what I have begun.
     A sleepless night isn't going to help me. Rolling over, I punch the pillow and try again. Checking my phone to be sure it's plugged in and charging. I look at the clothes I've laid out and hope it's appropriate for the front desk.
     Closing my eyes, I try once again, listening to the crashing tide, breathing in and out with the sound. I try to use the relaxing technique the case manager taught me to control my anxiety. In and out, focusing on relaxing my feet, my legs, my arms. My shoulders go lax, my hands curl when I roll into a ball. My back to the wall, I face the door, and the window so no one can take me off guard if they sneak in.
    I try and try, counting to a hundred forward and back. I might have to break down and buy a coffee in the morning. Sleep just isn't going to come.

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