Page 55 of The Way We Swing Back

“He saw you at the showcase before your injury last summer. It scared him off, thinking you were done, but when I sent him a video of you hitting this summer, he reengaged.”

My entire body lit up, adrenaline pulsing through me as my palms went slick.

“Now, it’s not only positive news. Your grades are average at best right now. He thinks you can get in, but he wants to talk to you. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but if things check out, he’d offer you a half ride. He doesn’t have a full ride available without knowing if you can pitch or not.”

My body drooped. “I’m not sure how I’d even afford to pay for half of college, Coach.”

He studied me for a moment, his mind whirling. “I’m fairly certain you’d get financial aid, Easton. If not,” he paused, his finger tapping on the desk before continuing, “have you tried asking Scott and Morgan if they can help you out? At least with room and board?”

“No way I’m asking that,” I said, smacking back into the seat. “They’re already doing way too much for me. Plus, they have to pay for Tanner, Zach, and Gavin to go to school. That’s too much.”

“Easton, they’d do just about anything for you. I hope you realize that.”

“Yes, yes. I do. But that’s too far, Coach,” I said, my eyes focused on the floor.

“Okay. But what I’d like you to do is talk to the Central Missouri coach and see what he says. I know you had your sights on Division I, but they’re one of the best Division II teams in the country. I gave him your number, and he’s planning on calling you early next week. Have you thought of a major yet?”

I nodded without meaning to. “Kind of. But let me get back to you.”

“That’ll work. You’ve battled hard to get this offer, Easton. You’ve earned it.”

“Thanks, Coach.” I stood and walked toward the door, unable to shake the excitement vibrating through every pore of my body.

I spun, a new question in my head, the atmosphere giving me a sense of invincibility and the ability to ask the one question Coach had never answered. “Hey, one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you Puerto Rican or Mexican?” I shot quickly, hoping to catch him off guard.

He didn’t bite. Instead, he studied me for a second. Not the dodge he gave everyone else where he’d call them an idiot for asking. “Puerto Rican. My dad’s from Bayamón.” He paused for a second. “You’re the only player I’ve told in twenty years. Don’t go spreading it around.”

I’d never tell a soul. I thought I’d set a trap for him to finally get the answer. Instead, he’d given it freely, trusting me with the info.

I wondered why.

I walked into the PT building thirty minutes later, the fall air at my back. “Hi, Emily,” I said as I approached reception.

“Easton?” she said, a questioning look on her face. “I don’t have you on the schedule today. Is your shoulder good?”

“Perfectly fine,” I replied. “I wanted to talk to Nate. Does he have a couple of minutes?”

“He’s with a patient for the next fifteen minutes. I can let him know you’re here if you have time to wait.”

“That’ll work,” I said, grabbing a chair and pulling out my phone. I scrolled through social media, imagining myself playing college ball. But I needed to buckle down this year and figure out what the hell to do with my life.

“You can head back,” Emily eventually yelled across the room.

I stood, shoving my phone into my hoodie pocket, my sneakers squeaking as I found my way to Nate’s office.

“Hi, Easton. Shoulder good?” he asked. The walls of his office were covered with sports memorabilia. The most prominent were a framed Torry Holt jersey from when the Rams were still in St. Louis and a Missouri basketball plaque next to his framed college degree. If it weren’t for the drawers filled with paperwork, I’d think I’d walked into somebody’s man cave.

“Sup, Nate,” I said, grabbing a chair. “Best I’ve felt in years.”

“Good to hear. Why’d you stop by then?”

I tapped my fingers to the beat of the song playing softly over the loudspeaker. “You talked about playing baseball before. Did you play in college?”

“Sure did.”