“Great.” William’s heart is in his throat. Sure, Goodyear has said a few things to him in passing, stuck up for him when Monterrey was giving him grief. But the idea that they’d sit together and share a drink—he can’t believe it. “It’s such a dream to be here.”

“You can be honest.” Jason takes a draw of his beer, and sets down the glass carefully on his coaster. He’s in no rush.

“I really suck.”

The older man laughs. “Everyone who makes it—and most of the guys who don’t—were the best somewhere. A lot of places. The best on his Little League team, the best in his youth league, the best in his high school division. The first time you realize you’re not the best anymore … it’s no bed of roses.”

William knows he means the petals, but he thinks of the thorns. Has Jason ever faced that day, faced any sort of failure?

They watch the TV, Ferguson silently talking with some forgettable celebrity. When a commercial rolls, William tries to get the conversation flowing again. “How, uh, is your spring going?”

“Shitty.” Of course. The divorce, the trespassing kerfuffle. William is so wrapped up in his own crap spring, he completely forgot about Jason’s troubles.

“Sorry, stupid question.”

“It’s okay.” Jason takes another sip of beer, side-eyes the rookie.

What was that look? William wonders. Was it I need to talk to someone, or Fuck you, rook? William can’t tell, but Jason did sit down and start a conversation … “Do you want to talk about it?” William thinks he sounds like a therapist—or a girl—asking that.

Jason drops forty dollars on the bar and rises. “Not here.” And then, to William’s amazement: “Come with me.”

They walk out of the casino and into the parking lot. Jason continues through the rows of cars, weaving between shiny Bimmers and rusted-out Mercurys and past William’s own Porsche. “Where did you park?” William asks as the cars start to thin.

“I didn’t,” Jason says. Ahead, there’s a footbridge between the casino and the stadium complex, one William has never taken—he always drives the short distance. They cross it, walk across another lot, and start down a path between dark practice fields. Everything’s clean, in its place, ready for the morning sessions that will begin—William looks at his watch—in six hours. How did it get so late?