Page 16 of The Way We Swing Back

Not with an audience, I almost said. But I was intruding and didn’t want to be ruder than I already had been.

Still, Calvin must’ve read my face because he butted in. “I can give you two a minute,” he offered, but the way he said it made it obvious he didn’t trust us alone.

Tanner’s head snapped toward him, then to me, then back again.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head, ready to leave, “I’m the one who interrupted your night. I shouldn’t have shown up without texting you. I’ll leave, dude, it’s not a big deal.”

“You came here for a reason,” Tanner said stiffly.

“Yeah, to tell you about my shoulder. How my season is over before it started. I did that. I can text you the rest.” I started toward the door.

Tanner followed for half a step then held off.

I got to the door, ready to open it.

“Easton?”

“Yeah, Tanner,” I said, refusing to turn back to him.

“Text me whenever. Make sure you’re going to PT.”

I nodded, a tear forming in my eye, mad at myself. For all of this.

I closed the door between Tanner and me and nearly ran for the exit to the building. Don’t give him a chance to catch you, I thought, as I flew down the steps two at a time.

By the time I got outside, the sun had fully set. I walked two blocks away before calling another Uber. I’d forgotten about the drive back—another twenty dollars wasted.

How dumb could I be? Of course, Tanner was spending a Saturday night with his boyfriend. Why wouldn’t he be?

Tanner sent me a text when I was in the car. Six months sucks. But you’ll be healthy by next summer and ready to kick some ass!

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. I sat in the car, facing the blurring building as we drove. I gripped the seat then the seat belt then threw my hands in my pockets, trying to ground myself in... something. Anything.

My feelings for Tanner had always been... complicated. I’d spent most of last year denying they even existed, with Dad’s voice never leaving me; I’d never been able to fully kick him from my mind. But every time I looked at Tanner, my feelings jumped, my heart trying to overcome my brain.

I’d been so close, so many times, to saying what he used to want. What I thought I wanted. Maybe it would have happened by now if it weren’t for Calvin.

Soft music played from the radio, but I barely registered it. I didn’t want to be at my grandparents’. I didn’t want to be at the Quinns’. I didn’t want to be in this car. And I couldn’t be at Tanner’s apartment.

I guess the only answer I had left was my old friend stashed in my bag under my bed.

Chapter 8

The December snow had started to fall more often; a thin layer spread on the ground as I walked toward the PT clinic. Wet slush soaked through the mesh of my tennis shoes, and my breath puffed out in quick clouds. The clinic’s sliding doors dragged open—even the building was exhausted by how often I came here.

The inside still smelled of disinfectant, rubber bands, and the faint musk of old sweat. I wasn’t sure that’d ever change. A sense of routine and progress had started to replace the old feelings of being broken, but only a tad.

“How are we feeling today, Easton?” Nate called out the second he saw me, a smile plastered under his beard.

“Like someone replaced my shoulder with a soggy paper towel,” I said, dropping my backpack by the wall.

He chuckled. “Perfect. Let’s make it a soggy paper towel with slightly more structural integrity.”

Today was band work and isometrics—the boring stuff that reminded me of being a little kid pretending to work out. I used to long-toss three hundred feet and throw eighty-eight miles an hour without blinking. Now I was being congratulated for rotating my arm like a malfunctioning robot.

Nate knelt beside me as I tried the external rotation reps again. He adjusted my elbow, steadying it with two fingers. “You’re stronger than last week,” he said.

“That’s pathetic,” I muttered. “Last week I could barely lift a water bottle without feeling like my shoulder was stabbed.”