Chapter 41

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Drake

"What a heart-wrenching conclusion to what began as a stellar season, Les. With the Royals' victory eliminating them from the wild card contention, this is a tough ending to swallow."

"Yes. The future of Bad Ball Hitter Drake will undoubtedly be a point of interest. His absence will be deeply felt if the circulating rumors hold any truth. Drake has delivered an outstanding performance this season, tallying an impressive 144 RBIs and maintaining a .327 batting average. Both he and Rick have been truly formidable this year."

"Will next year be the year we finally bring it home?"

"We can hope. It's a shame to see it come to an end. Well, folks, that's a wrap for the year. This is Les…"

"And Joe."

"Signing off from Fenway. We'll catch you in the spring."

To say the locker room is anything but gloomy would be a lie. The only noise is low grumbles. Today's loss was rough. We were tied one to one until the ninth when their first baseman hit a bloop single that found a hole between the infield and outfield. That's all it took for that speedy fucker to get on base and steal the next to plates. A suicide squeeze drove the runner home, ending our season with a huge disappointment.

For some players, like me, it's the end of the road. They won't be back.

I glance around at the other players, less giddy than I thought I'd be.

"Gunner, you best be calling if you land on the West Coast."

I toss my extra batting gloves and cleats into my gym bag. We have until the end of the week to clear it out, but I have little to grab. I never wanted to camp out here, so I brought nothing other than necessities. But there's something in his tone that grounds me.

Turning to face Rappel, I slap him on the back. "Yeah, you'll be the first one I call Rapp. You take care of yourself," I say, managing a tight smile. The unspoken promise hangs heavy in the locker room's shadows.

Rappel nods, clapping me on the shoulder in return. His features are stoic, but his eyes mirror my own disappointment. I wonder if he's reflecting on his future with the Bears or just caught up in the collective sorrow of our season's premature end.

I finish packing up my locker, feeling an odd sense of finality as I toss the last of my gear into my bag. The worn wooden paneling has been my home away from home for a season now, and it's strange to think this might be the last time I see it.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and start towards the door when a familiar figure steps into my path. Kaplan Dior. Something about him set my teeth on edge right from day one, not helped by our constant battles for dominance on the field. But he's been all right ever since his confession. He stands there now, blocking my exit with a smug smirk.

"Good luck finding a new team, Gunner," he drawls sarcastically but with an underlying tease. "Wherever you go, I hope it's far from Boston."

His words roll off me like water off a duck's back. Dior never missed a chance to belittle me, but it didn't faze me anymore. I give him a smirk. "Who knows? You may not be getting rid of me that easily."

He nods and stalks off, leaving me wearing a smile. He's still an asshole. But he's not my asshole anymore. I almost asked if he ever made up with Miranda, but I let it go. It's none of my business.

I head towards the exit when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and stare at the screen. It's an email notification. The results are in.

I hesitate, my finger hovering over the screen. I decide to slide my phone back into my pocket. When I discover if Jake is genetically mine, I want Lila by my side. From now on, we're a team. Every decision we make will benefit both of us.