Page 109 of Hiding in the Outfield

“I’m a man who knows and admits his flaws. And talents. One of which is being dirty as fuck at this game.”

The game loads, and our randomly selected opponent pops up on the screen. We’re The Great Hambinos, and we’ll be playing The Umpire Strikes Back.

O’Neil curses. “Shit, these guys are good. I’ve played them before.”

“No sweat,” Slate says. “With me on the mound, they stand no chance. Let’s send these guys back to a galaxy far, far away.”

I chuckle. “Annihilate them, we will.”

Slater catches my eye and grins.

We settle into the game, the three of us laughing, shouting instructions to each other, and trash-talking the other team. It’s not the first time we’ve played, but this time feels different. I’ve kept myself hidden away for so long, fearing the backlash. And like Frankie brought up, there will be backlash. But I always expected it. It’s all I expected, given how I grew up.

Something I never accounted for was that there might be people who would still be on my side when the dust settles.

FORTY-ONE

JACKSON

I stare at the glass door of the diner. My insides twist and writhe over themselves like I’m housing a family of snakes. The diner we’ve eaten at for two seasons. My father is a creature of habit.

My hand lands on the door handle.

I have a feeling this is the last meal I’ll have here.

My fingers tighten on the metal, but I can’t bring my arm to pull.

The feeling inside me swells, crawls up my throat, and squeezes.

After all the pain my family has caused me, this shouldn’t be so hard. I’m setting myself free. Protecting myself. There is no room for toxic people in my life anymore. I deserve better. I know that now. My parents’ affection shouldn’t depend on my baseball stats. It has always been about what I bring to the Olander name. And if I don’t bring anything? I lose my worth.

What if I bring something that tarnishes it?

I guess we find out today.

I pull open the door.

There they are, same booth we always sit in, Dad’s loud laughter mixing with Jake’s. My mom smiles on. Any onlooker would see a happy family. A friendly family.

A fake family.

The guys have become more like family to me in the last couple of months than the people in that booth ever have.

Maybe you deserve it more than any of us.

I finally believe it.

I blow out a breath and paste a smile on my face. Time to step up to the plate.

My dad’s gaze falls on me, and he stands. “Jackson, my boy!”

We shake hands. Firm. No weak-wristed handshakes for Olanders.

“Dad.” I turn to my brother and nod. “Jake.”

He smiles around the bite of his Reuben. There is no waiting to eat with Olander men. We’re too hungry for that. Takes a lot to fuel men our size, and my brother might not be an athlete any longer, but he trains alongside his players.

I slide into the spot next to him as my mom pushes the turkey club my way. My usual. It’s funny, I don’t even really like turkey clubs, but every time, there’s one waiting for me when I get here, and I eat it.