There were two options in Ryan’s mind: Throw the phone or turn it off. He turned it off. Since he’d gotten back from LA, it had been ringing or buzzing non-stop. Daniel, his brother, his mom, Shay. Wesley Smyth. Several of the calls were from him. Ryan rushed through his shower, refusing to be late for practice. He’d touched base with Coach Marsh before he’d left and since he’d returned. He hadn’t expected to like coaching so much. Even Stuart was growing on him, though Ryan still had no idea what he did for the team. Jumping out of the shower, he towel-dried his hair and body, dressed, and was out the door within forty minutes of getting home from LA. He refused to look at Frankie’s house.
“She’s fine.” And he didn’t doubt it. It was him who wasn’t fine. Driving through town, he saw Mr. Mason, who owned a small video and candy store, sweeping snow from the porch. The old man waved, a toque pulled down his head so far, Ryan was surprised he could see. The first time Ryan had realized the guy actually rented videos, he wondered if he’d been transported back in time. Apparently, no one had told West Lake about Netflix. But he’d soon learned that, like the other tiny, likely unnecessary shops that made up Main Street, the store was more about continuity and community than anything else. Rolling his shoulders, stiff from daily batting practice while he was out of town, he settled in for the ten-minute ride, not minding that Blake Shelton songs were played back to back. Something was happening at the school when he pulled into the parking lot. Unease settled in his gut when he saw the news camera van. He parked far enough away that he couldn’t see any commotion. Keeping his head tucked to avoid the wind, he pulled open the gym doors and saw the guys already doing sprints from one wall to the other. Stuart was timing them. Coach Marsh was nowhere to be seen so Ryan ditched his bag and jumped right in.
“How long you guys been at it, Stuart?”
“Only five minutes. Coach said to get them warmed up. He had something to do at the office.”
Ryan’s eyes found Carter quickly. His hand faltered mid-wave when he saw the ice in Carter’s gaze. What the hell? He blew the whistle to call them all in. Stuart followed him to the center of the gym, clipboard in hand.
“Hey guys. You’re looking good, even with Stuart going easy on you,” Ryan said, smiling warmly, taken aback by how glad he was to be standing there. He’d missed them.
“Might as well let them hate you instead of me,” Stuart said, making a few of the kids laugh. Ryan looked at him and crossed his arms over his chest. Stuart met his stare but his eyes darted away after a few seconds.
“Did you just make a joke, Stuart?” More of the boys laughed. Carter was not one of them.
“Where were you, Coach?”
“I was in LA dealing with some paperwork. Let’s split into groups,” Ryan said.
“Maybe you should have stayed in LA,” Carter said, backing away from the group.
“I’ll take the pitchers for the first twenty minutes. The rest of you go with Stuart. Run drills with them and record their times. Carter, come here,” Ryan said. The boys spaced out, the pitchers heading over to wait, obviously reading the tension.
“What?”
“What is your problem? You okay?”
Carter’s lips pushed together and he shook his head. “Like you care, man. Like you care.”
“Is Frankie okay?” Even asking made Ryan’s heart beat fast. Of course, she was okay. There was no other option. Still, the time between question and answer was too much.
“Sure. I think. But again, like you care.”
Ryan looked over to where the pitchers had started tossing the ball to each other, warming up their shoulders. Stuart was doing burpees with the others. More accurately, watching them do burpees. Ryan put his hands on his hips, praying to whatever God controlled teenage moods for patience.
“I do care. And what do you mean ‘you think?’ How can you not know? Have you guys moved back in yet?” Ryan tried to keep his voice low. He wanted to yank Carter into the change room and get him to talk to him. Carter’s eyes widened and the shock in them confused Ryan. They didn’t have time for this.
“You dumped her because of us and you don’t even know?” Carter’s shock turned to a look of disgust. Ryan was quickly losing his patience. What the hell was going on?
“I didn’t dump her. I made a decision based on what was best for her. What was best for all of you,” Ryan said. The other guys were starting to look their way, shooting glances and mumbling.
“Yeah. Of course. ‘Cause you’d know what’s best for us and for her. I’m sure her broken heart will do her a lot of good, man. Especially being alone,” Carter said, backing away slowly, his tone dripping with the disdain his face showed.
“She’s not alone. That was the whole goddamn point. She has you. And your brothers. That wasn’t going to happen if I stuck around,” Ryan’s said through clenched teeth.
He heard the commotion behind him but didn’t turn to see what it was. He didn’t care. He needed answers or a life raft or something. He was drowning in Carter’s words, in the way he was backing away from him like being near him was too much.
“Tell yourself whatever you have to, man. Whatever helps you sleep at night. We were all stupid to think you cared about us. The only person you care about is you.”
“Uh—Ryan?” Stuart’s voice came from behind him.
“Not now,” Ryan spat. “Carter, come back here.” A flash of light hit Ryan’s eyes as Carter kept walking. He spun around to face Stuart, looking embarrassed and uncertain, a reporter and cameraman behind him. Coach Marsh was standing at his side, his sloppy face beaming.
“Mr. Walker, I’m Natalie Walton from the Minnesota News. We’d love to ask you some questions,” a perky blonde with too much make-up said. The camera was pointed at him.
“There you go, spotlight is on you. Just like you want,” Carter said, derision making the words hard, cold.
“You have no idea what I want,” Ryan ground out.
“We’d like to ask you some questions. Coach Marsh tells us you’ve been helping this team and we recently heard that you were offered a professional coaching contract but chose this instead,” Natalie-too-happy-Walton rambled. Ryan ran his hands through his hair, but resisted yanking it out. Goddamn media. Blowing everything out of proportion.
“Carter.”
Carter started walking away and Ryan felt his control slipping like a loose knot that needed to be tied again and again. Natalie, undeterred, asked Coach Marsh a question. Stuart, who had more sense than Ryan had given him credit for, hustled the guys to the other side of the gym.
“We’re real happy to have him, that’s for sure. But he wanted to be here. Isn’t that right, Ryan? We’re going all the way to state this year,” Coach boasted. The cameraman was filming Marsh now. Ryan wanted nothing to do with this.
“What makes a professional baseball player, one of the best sluggers to play the game, choose an unknown small-town team over the chance to get back in the show, in whatever way possible?” Natalie’s eyes were narrowed. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew that her questions were putting him on the spot and she was loving it. This is what the media did. Sharks. They fed on blood and Ryan felt like he was dripping, just whetting their appetites.
“No comment.” He started walking through them, trying to get away.
“Do you also not want to comment about Wesley Smyth offering you a dream job? A job some people aren’t even sure you deserve, even if your name did get cleared? Are you done with professional baseball completely or just getting back at Smyth for not having your back when he should have?”
The woman could package her questions up like a fucking bouquet of passive aggression. He spun and faced her, looking at Marsh as well, who was loving the spotlight.
“What makes a guy choose a small-town team? The lack of vultures circling, waiting for someone to mess up, be human. Waiting for someone to fail. That’s what makes me choose this over Wes’s offer. Not having to be around bottom-feeding pariahs like you who just want to make the front page.” He knew he’d regret the words but the way they made her face blanch assured him he’d made his point. He was done with that life. Not baseball. He’d never be done with baseball. Wes had offered him a dream on a platter but all Ryan had seen was a noose. He couldn’t go back. Not to what he’d had. He hadn’t wanted to leave the way he did but if it hadn’t happened that way, he might never have left. And he wouldn’t have found Frankie. And the boys. He wouldn’t be so sure about what he wanted, from baseball and from life. And what he wanted didn’t include answering questions that no one had the right to ask.
“I’ll deal with you later,” Ryan said, pointing at Marsh, whose meaty face was now pale. Ryan turned his back and stomped all the way to his truck.