Walking out of the facility, I pull out my phone and see a text from Elena: "How was practice? Want to come over tonight?"
My thumbs hover over the screen for a moment. "Practice was good. Just had a talk with your dad."
Her response is immediate: "OMG WHAT?! What happened??"
I smile, sliding into my car. "I'll tell you tonight. But I think he might actually be starting to like me."
"That’s crazy talk," she texts back.
I laugh, starting the engine. She's right. I've got a long way to go with Coach. But it really feels possible—all of it. Ourrelationship. Earning her father's respect. Building something real and lasting.
I'm not the same man who walked into her office all those months ago, cocky and self-destructive. I'm still me—still competitive, still intense—but different in the ways that matter.
And for once in my life, I'm not running from that growth. I'm leaning into it, embracing the man I'm becoming.
Chapter 26
Elena
Iarrange the chairs in my office to face each other at a comfortable angle. Not directly across—too confrontational. Not side by side—too avoidant. The perfect forty-five degree angle that invites conversation without forcing eye contact. A small detail, but one I think really matters.
My door opens after a soft knock, and Marco peeks his head in. The Steel's promising young shortstop. Twenty-two, brilliant fielder, but his batting average has plummeted in the last month.
"Come in." I gesture to the carefully positioned chair. "How's the shoulder today?"
"Better." He rolls it as he sits. "Still tight but not like before." Marco takes his cap off and then fidgets with it, twisting it in his hands.
"Let's talk about yesterday's game." I keep my voice even, calm. "Seventh inning, bases loaded. Walk me through what happened."
His knee begins to bounce. "I choked. Again."
"Describe what you were feeling, not the result."
He looks out the window, squinting against the bright spring sunlight. "My heart was pounding. I couldn't breathe right. It felt like everyone was watching me, waiting for me to fail."
"They were watching you," I say. "But they weren't waiting for you to fail."
"Felt like it." He shrugs. "Every time I step up to the plate now, all I can think about is how I'm going to screw up."
I lean forward slightly. "The anxiety creates a self-fulfilling prophecy. You expect to fail, so your body tenses. Tensing disrupts your mechanics. Disrupted mechanics lead to failure."
"So how do I stop it?" His eyes meet mine directly for the first time this session.
"We break the cycle." I pull out a notebook. "First, we identify your physical anxiety responses. Then we create anchors to interrupt them."
We spend the next forty minutes developing a personalized anxiety management plan. Breathing techniques. Visualization exercises. A specific pre-batting routine to ground him in the present moment.
"I want you to practice these techniques daily," I tell him as our session wraps up. "Not just during games. The more practiced they become, the more automatically you'll use them when it matters."
Marco nods, looking more relaxed than when he arrived. "This helps. Talking it through."
"That's what I’m here for." I smile. "We'll check in again on Thursday before the road trip."
"Thanks, Elena." He stands, extending his hand.
I shake his hand and he leaves. He’s noticeably more relaxed.
I make notes on our session while it's fresh. Marco's anxiety has classic triggers, but his willingness to work through it gives me hope. This is why I love my job—those moments when I can actually see someone start to believe in themselves again.
