Page 24 of The Way We Swing Back

I kept my face flat, trying to stop my emotions from showing. “I did. I do. I just hoped things were going well enough I’d be able to start playing again.”

“Things are going well, Easton. But you’d be risking permanent damage if you started throwing now. I can’t clear you. But you’re making great progress.”

“Okay,” I said. My fingers dug into my thighs, holding back every argument I wanted to shout.

“You’ll still have your senior year,” Gavin said. “We’ll get to play together for one season at least.”

I gnawed on the inside of my cheeks. He didn’t get it. I needed this. Not a single school had contacted Coach Berrios about me yet; my offer box still sat empty. If I couldn’t play this year, I might as well kiss college goodbye.

And college was the whole plan. The only door out. Without it, gravity would keep pulling me in the same direction as every Chase before me. The same zip code, the same bars, the same factories. My dad hadn’t needed a reason to end up where he was. He’d just stopped having anywhere else to go.

Baseball was the only thing that could take me off that path.

“Can you do a favor for me, though?” Nate asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Here’s the list of exercises for Gavin. Could you show him how to do them?”

I looked down at the list and realized I’d done them all one hundred times over. Easy stuff now.

“Grab this band, dude,” I said, pointing at the yellow plastic attached to the wall.

He moved immediately, and my hands met his wrists. “Extend like this,” I said lightly.

He followed everything I told him to do, even as I kept thinking about what Nate said. Nothing I did right now mattered—I was out for the season. The best I could do was hope Gavin could play and I could get back by summer.

Nate hovered behind me as we got the last half of the list. I figured he had other work to do, which was why he’d asked me to do this, but he stood ten feet away, looking on as I worked with Gavin and corrected him in the same way Nate had corrected me.

Gavin knelt on the floor, wristband in his hand. He’d gotten a little taller recently, and his legs looked lankier as he spread out.

“That’s perfect, Gav,” I said.

“Thanks, man,” he said, his eyes focused on his wrist, like his brain didn’t trust his wrist yet. But he listened.

Nate jumped in when we finished. “Alright, Gavin, good job. Think you can do these at home with Easton helping you out?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling at himself.

“Awesome. Why don’t you grab a seat while I work with Easton?”

Gavin waddled across the floor, his blond hair flowing down the back of his head.

Nate and I started our normal routine, with Nate carefully eyeing me for any issues. “You ever think you’d want to do this someday?” he asked casually when we were halfway through.

“What, like what you do?”

He nodded. “You’re excellent with people. And you understand how an athlete thinks.”

Was I good with people? Or just with Gavin, who didn’t count? He’d run into a burning building if I told him to.

I snorted in response, dismissing the compliment. “I can barely get my own arm working.”

“Exactly,” he said. “You know what it means to fight your way back. That makes a good therapist. In fact, I decided I wanted to pursue this career while I was rehabbing.”

I blinked, mind racing, trying to comprehend. Nobody’d ever suggested a future to me that wasn’t baseball. Or failure.

“Maybe. I guess,” I said, not sure what other response he expected.