Sweet Spot by Rae Lynn Blaise

You’re amazing with the bat. You need to help me fix that shit.”
    I smile under my hat. I love helping out other players, sharing my knowledge, playing the role of coach. “You do it, bro.”

Seven
    A fter the game , the temptation to go out and act up is strong. The only thing stopping me is my knee and the crippling knowledge I’m losing control of everything in my life. I broke promises, crossed lines never meant to be crossed, and now I’m in danger of getting benched because of this damn injury.
    Yeah, some Jameson would be pretty fucking stellar right about now. I didn’t swear sobriety, but I also know myself. I know this itchy feeling. Tonight, I wouldn’t stop at just one.
    Still, I meet the guys in the hotel bar for a few minutes to commiserate over the loss. Jamie keeps thanking me for the batting tips and it’s the only icing on the cake of this whole shitty day. Carlos asks about getting some tomorrow. The boy is a boss with the bat, but I’ve got the highest batting average on the team and everyone just wants to be better.
    “How’s the knee?” Coach asks, coming up from behind and slapping me on the shoulder.
    “Perfect, now that it’s been iced,” I lie. “I guess I just didn’t stretch well enough today.”
    “Gotta stay on top of that, Fife. Knees can be a career killer.”
    “I know.”
    “No one can kill Kemper Fife.” Octivio smirks. “Except maybe a redhead.”
    Everyone starts giving me shit, even Coach. He doesn’t think I was the one who marred his daughter. He thinks I’m innocent, living up to my oath to him and the city. He thinks I’m a changed man. It makes me feel like a dog.
    I almost wish he knew the truth.
    “How about a round of shots?” Coach digs for his wallet. “You guys deserve ‘em.”
    Jamie and Carlos whoop, Octivio does some stupid dance in his seat, and Edwards starts clapping. And then everyone looks at me. Again. This is becoming a routine.
    “I was actually about to go to my room,” I say, trying not to look too mournful. Going to my room is the last thing I want to do, even if it’s the right thing.
    “Bullshit.” Carlos calls.
    “It’s just one drink. You earned it.” Coach claps my shoulder. “We don’t need to get crazy, just relax.”
    “Nah, I need to keep icing my knee. Gotta start fresh tomorrow.” It pains me. A literal pain clenches in my gut, but I know this is the way it has to be. I have to atone. I have to get away from the man I betrayed.
    My dad was a piece of shit. It’s not news to anyone who knows me. But Coach? He’s a standup guy who genuinely cares about us. He’s invested in our lives and careers, he wants what’s best for us even when it’s hard or we don’t see the end in sight. He’s everything I ever wanted in a dad. Shit, we literally play catch together. It’s the dream.
    Except I’m ruining everything because I can’t keep my hands to myself. I can barely look at him, much less accept a drink from him.
    Despite everyone’s protests and dodging the wayward “pussy” comments, I manage to hobble up to my room without a drink in hand, even though it’s all I want. For starters, anyways. I would abstain from sex for eternity if I could just have one more drunken night to forget everything that’s happened in the past week.
    I find myself staring down the bible in my room. I don’t do religion, as a general rule. God gave me a shitty dad and stole my mom. He left me alone to deal with the aftermath and did nothing when I was falling to pieces.
    But here I am.
    It’s just starting to feel like I need more. More strength than I have alone if I’m going to turn it around, leave Ally alone. I feel stupid, hesitating like this. I’m not sure what I’d even read or if it would help. Hasn’t stopped the staring contest, though.
    What would my mom want me to do? She was the religious one. She took me to church as a child, prayed with me, constantly told me I was a miracle from God who could do