He shrugs.
We stare off into the night, both of us avoiding the elephant in the room. Something’s going on and I don’t know what, nor do I want to push. But if he wants someone to open up to, I’ll listen.
After a long while, he finally chuckles. “Life is funny, isn’t it?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Just when you think you have it figured out, it pitches you a curveball.”
“Are we talking baseball or life?”
“Baseball is one big analogy for life.” He shrugs again. “Look at you. You thought you had everything figured out and then Alison walks in. Next thing you know, you’re willing to walk away from everything if you have to. In one minute, everything changed.”
“What’s going on, Linc?” I turn to face him, eyeing him carefully. The usual playfulness in his features is gone and has been replaced with a look of dread. I’ve never seen my brother like this and it’s disconcerting.
Blowing out a breath like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, he turns to me. “I just checked my messages from today. I have to head out tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. The owner of the Arrows said I ne
ed to meet with them first thing Monday.”
“That’s normal, right? A business meeting or something?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Normally. But this has to do with my shoulder.”
Lincoln reaches up and grabs it, wincing as he rolls it around. “I have a feeling they’re going to either let me go or try to trade me. And if they trade me all jacked up like this, my contract will be shit, man.”
“Ah, Linc.”
“Yeah. If I can convince them I can get it rehabbed before spring training, I have a shot. But Barrett . . .” He looks into the night. “I don’t know if I can. This fucking hurts. I’ve downplayed it, taken a shit ton of pain meds, but it’s pretty mangled.”
“Have you had scans and stuff?”
He nods. “The test results I got said it should heal. But the main one wasn’t back when I left for here. I’m assuming the team got them and my copy is at my house.”
“It’ll work out,” I say, patting his thigh. “You’re the best centerfielder in baseball.”
He shakes his head as if he’s unsure and stands. “Watching you over the last couple of days has made me think. You just took everything in stride, just changed position and stepped to the plate.” When he looks at me, his face is somber. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself—”
“I’m not. I feel it in my gut. This isn’t just going to go away and I don’t know how I’m going to handle that. I’m not like you, Ford, or Graham. All I can do is play baseball.”
Watching his face fall unravels my happiness. I want to tell him it’s going to be okay. I want to assure him that everything will be okay like I did when he had tendonitis in high school. But the man I’m looking at isn’t my goofy little brother. He’s a grown man with a career and his concerns are as serious as mine were about my own problems.
“Maybe it won’t be okay,” I say as easily as I can. “But want to know what I’ve learned lately?”
“Sure.”
“Sometimes things look like they’re all fucked up. There are times life throws you curveballs, as you say, and you have to swing or take the pitch. You’re tempted just to swing so you won’t strike out looking. But in your gut, you know it’s going to be a ball. You just have to learn to trust your instincts.”
A flicker of animation rolls across his features. “Nice analogy.”
“Never mind that. Do you get what I’m saying, Linc?”
He starts to the house and I follow a step behind, giving him space. His head is bowed, his hands in his pockets, before he stops and faces me again.