Page 76 of The Way We Swing Back

I looked up at her. “Is that what being part of a family is? Not quitting on them?”

She smiled, but it was tired. “Sometimes. Other times it’s getting grounded because you broke curfew.”

I let myself smile. “I didn’t think I’d get handed another one,” I said. “Another family.”

Mrs. Quinn stood up slowly. “You didn’t get handed one. You showed up every day and treated the boys like they were your brothers. That’s how it works.”

I stared at the stone for a while longer. There wasn’t anything else to say. No words would undo it or make her more alive or less dead.

But I finally whispered, “I’m okay, Mom.” It was half a lie. Maybe even more. Still. Saying it felt like a step.

I stood, brushing the dirt off my hands. We walked back to the car in silence. Somehow, the good kind—where you knew the person next to you wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter 33

We played a great game in the state quarterfinals; Zach, Gavin, and I combined for seven hits, six of them for extra bases. Gavin even hit another home run, his tenth of the year.

Everybody else had left the dugout; I stayed back to pick up the empty Gatorade bottles and bag of seeds from the ground and walked them to the garbage can. The stadium lights dimmed overhead, turning off one by one as the grounds crew finished dragging the field.

I didn’t want to forget this feeling. I didn’t want to forget this run we were on. Two more games, and we’d be able to accomplish what we hadn’t in my sophomore season.

Tanner approached me after I tossed another bottle into the garbage can. Standing next to him was a man I recognized but couldn’t place, although he carried himself like someone who belonged in baseball.

“Easton,” Tanner said, gesturing at me, “can you come over here?”

I speed-walked over, my metal cleats clanking off the pavement.

“This is Coach Anderson,” Tanner said. “He’s the head coach at Missouri.”

I wiped my palm on my baseball pants before reaching out. The calluses on his hands matched mine as we stiffly shook in the middle. “Nice to meet you, Coach.”

“You as well, Easton. Tanner stormed into my office last week and made me watch your tape and come to the game today.”

My face blushed hot as I glanced at Tanner, who seemed to find the empty field fascinating and wasn’t making eye contact.

“I’m glad you showed up.”

“So am I. You were impressive today. You pitched very well. How does the shoulder feel?”

“Best it’s felt in a year.”

“Tanner explained the issues. Said it’s the only reason you haven’t gotten a DI offer yet.”

“Well, Tanner tends to be right when it comes to baseball.”

“Certainly starting to seem like that,” Coach Anderson said, with a quick turn of the head toward Tanner. “I have half a thought to ask him to join my staff as an undergrad assistant next year.”

I grinned at Tanner, whose face had perked up at the words.

Coach Anderson turned back to me. “I bet we can get him on the staff if I can convince you to come play for the Tigers.”

My mouth dropped open, my mind running the fastest mile it ever had. Play Division I baseball? Was there still a real shot at that? I’d given up on the idea after getting accepted to Central Missouri.

“Thank you, Coach. I’d have to talk to my family, but I’m absolutely interested. I’m just not sure I’d be able to afford it.”

“Here’s the number of the person in charge of helping our athletes figure out the logistics,” he said, handing me a business card.

My hands trembled as I grabbed it, eyes locked on Coach, hearing every syllable he said. My mind, though, rocketed back a year, to ice dripping from my body and all the workouts with Nate, when I hadn’t even thought I’d play again, let alone get a Division I offer.