“Yeah, but Fish—I don’t know if I want to do any of that.”

The line goes quiet.

I’ve never verbalized this to him. I’ve never verbalized it to anyone. In fact, I’ve always held tight to the idea that baseball is my life. But as I think about Palmer’s infectious smile, her honesty, Ethan, my mom’s cooking and her ever-present comfort, Dad’s solid, sturdy presence . . .

I used to believe that I’d have nothing if I didn’t have baseball in some form every day.

But I don’t think that’s true anymore.

The idea, the acceptance of the idea, makes me shiver.

I walk to the backyard and sit on top of the picnic table. A breeze kicks up and drifts over my bare arms.

Fish stays silent. I can imagine that he’s trying to figure out if I’ve lost my mind or if I need a second to get my bearings. He’d be right—maybe on both things.

“Scott keeps pushing shit because of the money. That’s his job, and I’ve basically asked him to field offers, so I get it. But none of it appeals to me, and I just keep considering it because . . .” I throw my one free hand up in the air. “Isn’t that who I am? Who am I without baseball?”

Fish takes a breath. “You’re Cole Beck, the guy that was a hell of a baseball player and now is something else.”

“But what? What am I without it? Am I a guy that lives in a small town in Ohio and coaches little kids and eats at a diner with bottomless coffee for a dollar?”

I stop myself when I realize what I’ve said. Is that what I’m thinking?

“You could be if you want to. I think it sounds like a great way to start the next season of life,” he says. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you wanting someone to tell you that it’s a good choice? Because I will. I think it’s a great one, actually.”

Why?

I bow my head and sigh. “I don’t need you to tell me it’s a good idea. I just . . . I don’t know. This is stupid.”

“No, it’s not. It’s fucking normal, Beck. You’re a guy at the top of his game that decided practically overnight to retire, and now you’re having to walk on the other side without much of a thought. It’s a lot, going from the rigidity of a baseball schedule to no schedule at all.”

Even though he can’t see me, I nod. Although, technically, I didn’t decide to retire. And even though it doesn’t help to think about the email sitting in my inbox—the one I’ve been avoiding for days now—I do.