“Since you’re asking a fifteen-year-old to risk his shoulder to settle your pride.”
The words landed like a slap.
Brent’s face darkened.
“Watch yourself, Earl.”
Earl didn’t move.
Isaiah stared at the old man.
He had never heard Earl speak to Brent that way.
Brent pointed toward the equipment shed.
“You work here because I allow it.”
Earl nodded once.
“I know.”
“And you can lose that job.”
“I know that, too.”
Isaiah stepped forward.
“Please, Earl. Don’t.”
The old man looked at him.
Something painful passed across his face.
Brent noticed.
His smile returned.
“Ah,” he said quietly. “Now I understand.”
He looked from Earl to Isaiah.
“You’ve been teaching him.”
Neither answered.
Brent laughed.
“That’s why he’s always hanging around the bullpen.”
He turned toward the spectators.
“Apparently my groundskeeper has been running his own little baseball academy on company property.”
Several people exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Brent stepped closer to Earl.
“Did you use my equipment without permission?”
Earl remained silent.
“Did you let an unregistered employee practice on my field?”
Isaiah opened his mouth.
Earl raised a hand.
“Yes,” the old man said.
Brent’s eyes narrowed.
“Then you’re finished.”
Isaiah felt the ground disappear beneath him.
“No!”
Brent looked at the teenager.
“You can join him.”
Earl’s shoulders sagged.
For months, he had protected their secret.
Now it had cost them both their jobs.
Isaiah thought of Rochelle at work.
Naomi waiting for groceries.
The electricity bill.
The rent.
All because he had wanted someone to see what he could do.
Rebecca Sloan stepped between them.
“Coach Harlan, I think everyone needs to calm down.”
“This is a private event.”
“I’m aware.”
“And that boy isn’t registered.”
Rebecca studied him.
“Why not?”
Brent spread his hands.
“Because he didn’t pay the fee.”
“Twelve hundred dollars?”
“That’s correct.”
Rebecca looked toward Isaiah.
Then she turned back to Brent.
“That’s interesting.”
Her voice had changed.
It was quieter now.
More deliberate.
Brent seemed to notice.
“What is?”
Rebecca opened her tablet.
“I received a video of that boy pitching several weeks ago.”
Isaiah’s head lifted.
Earl went still.
Rebecca continued.
“The video was recorded before sunrise at this stadium. No crowd. No sponsors. Just him and an older catcher.”
Isaiah looked at Earl.
The old man stared at the ground.
“I asked your office for his information,” Rebecca said. “My staff wanted him evaluated.”
Brent’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t remember that.”
“I have the correspondence.”
“Must’ve been some misunderstanding.”
Rebecca scrolled through her files.
“It gets stranger.”
The spectators had fallen nearly silent.
Mason stood at the dugout entrance, listening.
Rebecca looked directly at Brent.
“Our program made an exception. We arranged for the boy to be evaluated without the twelve-hundred-dollar registration fee.”
Isaiah felt his chest tighten.
A free evaluation?
For him?
He looked at Earl again.
The groundskeeper’s face had drained of color.
Rebecca turned the tablet so Brent could see it.
“The invitation was accepted.”
Brent said nothing.
“Then, three weeks ago, we received a withdrawal.”
Isaiah’s breath caught.
“What withdrawal?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“The paperwork said you were no longer interested.”
Isaiah shook his head.
“No. I never said that.”
Rebecca frowned.
“You didn’t know?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Neither did your mother?”
Isaiah shook his head harder.
“No.”
Brent stepped forward.
“This is ridiculous. Administrative mistakes happen.”
Rebecca ignored him.
She enlarged the document.
A signature appeared at the bottom.
Isaiah leaned closer.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
He had seen it hundreds of times on practice schedules, supply lists, and the small notes Earl left beside the bullpen.
EARL MOSES.
Isaiah looked at the old groundskeeper.
“Earl?”
The old man closed his eyes.
Isaiah’s voice broke.
“Why is your name on that paper?”
Earl didn’t answer.
Brent stood perfectly still.
And Rebecca asked the question that changed everything.
“Mr. Moses, did you personally withdraw Isaiah Reed from his free scouting evaluation?”
Earl opened his eyes.
He looked at Isaiah.
The boy who had trusted him.
The boy who had practiced with him in the darkness, believing every morning was bringing him closer to his dream.
Tears gathered along the old man’s lower eyelids.
Then Earl whispered the words Isaiah never expected to hear.
“Yes, son. I signed it.”
