Always Been You

Chapter Thirteen

Wesley

I stood outside the door to Coach's office, dreading the idea of going in. It was like a big sign flashing saying 'Abandon all hope ye' who enter here' was plastered to the door.

Do you remember when you were a kid, and you thought you could get away with anything because 'you knew' what was best? So you came up with the great idea to steal candy from your local grocery store, but your mom found out, and she was so disappointed in you? So disappointed she waited to reprimand you, lulling you into a fake sense of security.

Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything.

That's what standing outside Coach's door felt like. I've always been on my A-game, okay, I'm usually always on my A-game, and nothing rattles me. Nothing except memories of the accident. Brakes squealing, me screaming, the realization after I woke up.

Knowing I was about to get the second biggest chastisement from Coach in my entire College baseball career was anything but my idea of how I'd like to spend my Saturday afternoon. I was really starting to miss the couch I'd called my sanctuary for the past two days.

"Are you going to stand out there all day, or are you going to come in?"

I took a deep breath in through my nose before pushing the door the rest of the way open.

"You said you wanted to see me," I hastily added coach to the end of the sentence.

"Don't look so uptight. Sit down, Fitzgerald."

I sat down, avoiding Coach's eyes, and stared at his bald head glinting in the yellow overhead fluorescent lights. A painstakingly awkward silence filed through the room.

"So, lunch with your in-laws... exciting stuff," his apathy was palpable.

"Yes, lunch should be interesting, if her mother manages to not nitpick every aspect of our lives. I mean, who cares if we don't want to have another kid? We're grown adults and can make our own decisions. But I didn't ask you to come down here to talk about my lunch adventures."

I could play this one of two ways: Stupid or really stupid.

"Oh?"

Nice job, doofus. Coach was looking at me with an unimpressed expression, reclining back in his seat.

The awkward silence returned with a vengeance.

"I played college ball. Thought I was a real hotshot," he smiled wide, laughing as if he remembered a funny joke. "I went on to play in the minors, and then the way luck would have it, I blew out my arm. Couldn't play the same after that."

I stayed silent.

"I never made it to the majors, but I met my wife, and she's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Even if her mother is a stick in the mud. I started a family and became a coach for many talented players."

"I'm not sure what this has to do with me."

"Son, I've coached a lot of players, played with more, but I've never met a player as dedicated as you. You have the ability to be great, but I don't think you know what you want. I'm not going to talk about your performance last practice. I just want to make sure you've got your head in the game."

A bomb detonated in my stomach, "Coach, I want to play baseball. I always have."

"Prove it to me, son, because if you don't focus on what's important, you are going to miss out on your future. If you take that easy out, that shortcut. It will only lead to long delays down the line. Some things only come around once, and we'd be stupid to let them pass us by."