Page 14 of The Way We Swing Back

I nod, even though I don’t feel brave or tough or anything he wants me to be. My chest tightens, and I swallow hard so my voice won’t shake.

“Now get your glove up,” he says, standing back up. “You can’t play scared. If you want to be good, you learn this lesson now.”

I raise my glove even though my arm trembles. Even though I don’t want to play anymore. Even though the whole world feels too big and too loud and too important.

Dad smiles. “That’s better,” he says. “That’s being a man.”

I tell myself not to cry again. If I can do what he wants, maybe he’ll be proud. Maybe he’ll stop sounding disappointed all the time.

He throws the next one just soft enough that it doesn’t hurt, and I think maybe that means I’ve done something right.

Chapter 7

The building smelled of disinfectant and rubber mats—the smell of a place where you admitted something was wrong with you. The white walls and floors made it feel like a jail, one I'd never truly leave. I hated it instantly.

We had gone to the doctor, and he’d recommended this office for physical therapy. Mrs. Quinn signed me in at the desk even after I told her three times I could do it myself. She didn’t argue. She just smiled at the receptionist as if she was checking in Zach for a dentist appointment.

I rotated my shoulder, the fabric of Zach’s old Missouri hoodie bunching around it. He always yelled at me for wearing it but never asked for it back. Half my closet came from the Quinn boys now, a mishmash of outfits they’d outgrown or forgotten or quietly let me keep.

We made it to the back office, and the physical therapist—Dr. Hartman, though he told me to call him Nate—was younger than I expected, maybe mid-thirties, with a beard trimmed like someone who had their life together. His handshake was annoyingly warm.

“So, you’re Easton,” he said. “Baseball player?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. I was sick of everyone acting like I was broken.

“Ah,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You aren’t the first baseball guy to walk through my doors, and you certainly won’t be the last. The human body isn’t made to throw a ball as hard and as often as I’m sure you do.”

I blushed, and he asked more questions—how long had the pain been there, what movements made it worse, how often I threw, if I’d done any work to treat it. I answered most of them. Mrs. Quinn filled in the blanks without making me feel like an idiot.

Then he started the exam. It wasn’t even the pain that bothered me. It was how he noticed every tiny thing. Every guard. Every flinch. He’d seen it all and knew my lies before I tried them.

“You’re compensating through your trap,” he said. “Trying to hide it. Bet you’ve been doing that for months.”

I looked away. Mrs. Quinn sat and watched, as patient as always, her eyes never leaving the two of us.

Nate didn’t scold me. He didn’t say I should’ve come sooner. He nodded as if he understood the words I hadn’t said out loud.

“The good news, Easton,” he said when we’d finished, “is I don’t think there’s any long-term damage done to your shoulder. The bad news is you’re going to be out of commission until spring, if not longer.”

“I can at least hit, though, right? That’s not going to cause any issues.”

Nate shook his head. “A good swing needs too much torque. You’d be exerting too much effort.”

My head sank. No high school ball. That meant no playing in college. Which meant no college.

“Easton,” Nate said gently, his voice slow but demanding my attention. He waited until I looked up again, meeting his eyes. “I understand this feeling. I went through it my sophomore year, and it was not fun. You can come back from this and possibly even stronger. I’ve treated dozens of kids your age. We’re going to figure this out.”

I nodded at him and acted as if I believed him, but my entire body knew he was wrong.

When the appointment ended, Mrs. Quinn walked beside me to the car without forcing me to talk. The cold air hit us when the doors opened.

“You did well,” she said.

I shrugged. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“It will,” she said. “Give it time.”

I didn’t believe her, either. But I guessed I had to try.