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In hindsight, it may not have been Bryson’s greatest idea to drink while he was feeling like this. But hindsight was 20/20, whatever the fuck that meant.
Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t drunk. He just wished he was. Instead, he was just buzzed enough to feel things a little bit more , which was really not helping his current situation.
At some point in the party, Bryson had wandered off to the other room. He wasn’t necessarily looking for a place to escape, really. He just- he needed to get away from the loud, joyous chaos of the main celebration. And preferably, he wanted to do it before he lost it in front of everybody. So when he got a chance, he ducked out before the cracks started bubbling up.
He left the door cracked behind him, exhaling. He felt a bit like he’d somehow left the planet behind him when he walked out of the room, like he was on a completely different world than the one everyone else was on. Bryson wasn’t really sure how to feel about that.
He took a sip of his beer, sadly noting that he’d finished it. He debated going to grab another, but he didn’t want to leave the blissful, still silence he’d found in this space. Sighing, he resigned himself to experiencing this moment sober.
He closed his eyes, taking in the quiet.
After what felt like only a moment, Bryson heard familiar footsteps walk into the room. He should’ve known he’d be followed.
Bracing himself, he tried to prepare for whatever conversation he was about to have to sit through. He heard the door close.
Bryce sat down next to him, taking a sip of his beer. They stared out the window, sitting in slightly uncomfortable quiet as if each was waiting for the other to speak first. For once, it was Bryce who broke the silence.
“Alright, kid. What’s going on up there, huh? ‘s the first time all season I’ve seen you so quiet.”
Bryson knew it was meant as a joke, the same type of lighthearted banter they’d always shared, but today it made his throat tighten all the same.
Bryce tried again. “Come on, man, you know I’m here for you. I’m just curious because it’s your birthday and yet you’re in here all quiet and introspective. ‘s not like you.”
Bryson didn’t know what to say. He swallowed, wishing he could disappear. Wishing for a moment that he was a good enough actor to pretend he was fine, so that they didn’t have to have this talk.
Bryce sighed, putting his beer down and turning to Bryson. “Bud. Talk to me.”
Bryson licked his lips. “I don’t know what to say.” His voice cracked, throat feeling tight. God, I’m pathetic, Bryson thought. No wonder he still felt like a child. He probably looked like one.
“Well, that’s a first.” Bryce said with a teasing smile, oblivious to how his words made Bryson flinch. “What prompted this development?”
Bryson found himself unable to answer, feeling like he’d just been stabbed in the chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, turning away so Bryce couldn’t see him trying to pull himself together. It didn’t work.
He heard the man move closer towards him, voice lowering.
“Bryson, buddy, what’s going on? What’s got you stuck in that head of yours, eh?”
Bryson couldn’t force himself to speak, throat dry. Bryce sighed, finishing up his beer.
“Look, either you tell me or you don’t, but I’m not gonna leave you here to be upset about it on your own. I will go get your boys if I have to, and God knows they’re more annoying than I am. So what’s it gonna be?”
Bryson groaned. “Please don’t go get them.”
Bryce sat back, the hints of a smile on his lips. “That’s what I thought. Now, talk to me.”
Bryson sighed, resigning himself to spilling his guts. “I just,” he swallowed. “I just feel like.” He couldn’t put his thoughts into words. He sat for a minute, untangling his thoughts. Bryce sat patiently, sensing him trying to answer.
“Do you ever feel like you’re running out of time?” Bryson croaked out, voice small.
Bryce inhaled, clearly not expecting that kind of question. He chose his words carefully. “Running out of time for what, exactly?”
“Just,” Bryson frowned, struggling again to put his thoughts into words. “Just in general, I guess.”
God, he probably looked stupid. Worrying about something like this on his fucking birthday, when they were supposed to be celebrating advancing to the next round. But he couldn’t stop the words from coming out.
“I feel like I’m wasting time. All this could go away at any moment, in a second, and I won’t have anything to show for it. Like I’ve already wasted my time and now I’ll spend the rest of my career chasing a high that I still haven’t reached.”
Bryce kept looking at him, face hard to read, just like it always was.
God, Bryson envied him for that.
“I know,” Bryson said, standing up, walking toward the window. “It’s stupid. I told you.”
“Kid, look, you’re barely 26 years old. You’re stressing about a career that’s only just starting.”
Bryson shifted, sighing. That wasn’t anything he didn’t already know, Bryce, he thought. He didn’t dare say that out loud.
“Look, I know how it feels to be worried about not achieving your potential, or wondering if you’re wasting your time, alright? I get it, but-“
Bryson sighed, betraying his annoyance. “Do you? Do you get it? You’re Bryce fucking Harper, okay, everyone loves you. They either love you or they hate you for how good you are, but still, everybody knows you. Everyone’s gonna remember your name when you’re done, fuck, even if you never played another game ever again, they’d still remember you. You’re gonna go down in history as one of the greats, the savior of Philadelphia, a World Series winner. Rookie of the Year, All-Star, Silver Slugger, MVP - those are words they’ll associate with you. There’s no one arguing whether you deserve a spot on the team, there’s no one saying you should be traded or shipped off to fucking New York, and there never will be. You’ve accomplished enough to prove your worth, to prove to all the shitheads of the world that they were wrong to doubt you.”
He hadn’t meant to say all that. Hell, he hadn’t meant to say anything at all, but apparently his mouth had other ideas. The words kept coming.
“You’re already one of the greats, and you’ve got so much time ahead of you where you’re only going to get better. You’re only gonna get better because you’re Bryce Harper. I might not ever get even a taste of what it’s like to be on your level. No one will ever even put our names in the same sentence when they’re talking about former Phillies greats, Bryce, because of how good you are.”
He turned toward Bryce, avoiding eye contact.
“I feel like I’ve wasted the prime of my life. I’m already worrying about what the fuck I’m gonna do with my life after baseball because I’m not good at anything. I don’t know how to do anything, Bryce. This,” Bryson waved his arms. “is all I’ve got. And it kinda sucks knowing that after this, I might not-.” He stopped, looking down at the ground as he struggled to put his thoughts into words.
He swallowed, hoping Bryce couldn’t hear his voice wobbling. “I might not even do anything worth remembering. I won’t be memorable. I’m gonna end up wasting my life away because the only thing I really know how to do is play a game for children, and I can’t even do it well enough for it to matter.” Bryson flopped his arms hopelessly, seemingly having run out of steam.
“This might be the best Bryson Stott is ever gonna get, and it’s still not good enough. I am still not good enough.”
Bryce stared at him for a moment, silent. Thinking. Probably about what an awful, spoiled waste of a roster spot Bryson was, he thought. Bryce seemed to reach a conclusion, nodding and walking out of the room.
Bryson felt the tears escape, crumpling down onto his chair like a puppet with its strings cut.
Fuck. He wished he could take the words back, that he could turn back time and stop himself for ever saying them. Why did he have to ruin things? Why couldn’t he just shut the hell up for once?
Bryce had taken him in like family, treated him like a brother, been the best mentor Bryson could’ve asked for. He’d been there for Bryson every single day, even when he was dealing with his own shit, and Bryson had just ruined it.
God, he was selfish, he thought. What a stupid waste of money he was. He should just do everyone a favor and leave. Tell Topper to give his roster spot to someone more worthwhile, someone who wasn’t such a spoiled child and could pull their own weight.
He lost track of time, spacing out as he stared through the window, thinking. In that moment, he hated himself a little bit, just furiously wishing he could pull himself together.
There was a knock from the door. Oh god. Bryson closed his eyes. He debated not answering, not wanting anyone else to see him like this, all pathetic and angry.
“Bryson, man, can I come in?” Trea asked from behind the door. “Bryce asked me if I could come talk to you. Said he didn’t think he was the right guy to help with this.”
Well. Bryson didn’t exactly have much choice now did he? Fantastic, he thought.
Then Trea’s words caught up with him, and Bryson couldn’t believe his ears. It must’ve been a trick. There was no way Bryce wasn’t pissed off at him. Why the hell would he send Trea? Bryson’s head was starting to hurt.
He was so ready for this day to just be over.
He sighed, resigning himself to answer. He’d dug his grave and now he had to lie in it. Stupid mouth.
“Yeah.” His voice sounded wrecked, like a crying child. I am a crying child, he thought. Pathetic.
Trea stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He handed Bryson a water, which made him almost start crying again. “Thanks.” he croaked.
Trea leaned against the wall in front of him, clearly wanting to give him space. Bryson opened the bottle, taking a sip before speaking.
“How much did I piss Bryce off?” he asked, dreading the answer.
Trea raised his eyebrows, a little confused. “He seemed fine to me. Just a little worried about you, I think. Why would he be pissed off?”
Bryson stared at Trea, doubt clear on his face. Trea stared back, clueless.
“What? Bud, I’m pretty sure he’s not mad at you, okay?”
Bryson didn’t say anything, prompting Trea to sigh and change tactics.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
Bryson very much did not want to do that, actually. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’m fine. Just, stress of the season catching up to me I guess.”
Trea gave him a look, one that meant ‘quite frankly Bryson, I think you’re full of shit. Try again!’
“Bryson.”
He sighed. What did he have to lose?
He took another sip of water before leaning his head back against the wall. “I just feel like I’m running out of time.”
Trea stared at him silently, willing him to continue.
“You were 26 when you won the World Series, man. I’ve been thinking about it all day. And I just. I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine what that would be like at this age. And so then I start to ask myself: when am I gonna start feeling like a man instead of some kid among adults? What if that never happens?”
He couldn’t stop himself. “What if I feel like a child until the day I can’t play anymore, and then I retire feeling like I’ve wasted everything? What if I’ve already peaked and everything just goes downhill from here. What if this is the best I have to offer? I mean fuck, yeah a couple postseason berths that I didn’t even deserve. Big whoop. Is this the best I have to offer?”
Trea burst in before Bryson could continue rambling. “Why do you think you didn’t deserve to be in the postseason?” Trea asked, shifting against the wall. “Why wouldn’t you deserve to be here?”
“I don’t know,” he said, feeling self-conscious again. “I’ve been in the majors 2 years and we’ve made the postseason in each of them. I guess I just feel spoiled, a little bit. Like we’re only here because everybody else has been working so hard for it for so long, and I’m just here riding the success I didn’t contribute to.”
Trea nodded silently. He walked over to Bryson, gesturing to the chair across from him. “You mind if I sit?”
Bryson shook his head, still fiddling with the water bottle in his hands.
Trea sat down.
“Did I ever tell you just how many times I get told you look like a younger version of me on the field?”
“Oh, people tell me all the time. My family, my former teammates, other guys in the league. They all see it.” He paused, taking a drink of water. “I don’t think they’re right, Bryson.” Bryson’s heart dropped through the floor. “I think you’re gonna be better than I ever was.”
Bryson’s eyes shot up to meet his, stunned. It took him a minute to remember how to speak.
“Come, on dude, you don’t mean that.”
Trea laughed. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Bryson. Ask Bryce. We used to argue about it.”
“But you’re.” He swallowed. “You’re Trea Turner, dude. I'm just a kid.” His voice shook.
Trea shook his head. “And when I won the World Series, I felt like a kid, too.”
Bryson blinked. That… that thought hadn’t occurred to him. Trea, seeing Bryson’s expression, continued on. “I felt like a kid for a long, long time, Bryson. I still do, in some ways. I think that’s just what happens when you make a job of a child’s sport. There’s this pedestal that everyone else has you placed on, and it’s hard to come to terms with the fact that sometimes they’ve done it for a reason. Just because you’re in the big leagues doesn’t mean you suddenly feel like a man.”
Bryson blinked. “So how did you fix it? Like, what changed?”
“I just kept waking up every day with the intention of playing my best game. Rinse and repeat. Somewhere along the line, you find what feels right. You find the perfect mix. Things have a way of falling into place after that. And what you gotta remember is that there’s people in your corner, Bry. You’re not alone in this struggle.”
Bryson thought for a moment. “What if I’m running out of time though? What if the best I ever get is what I am right now? What if I already should have found that mix?”
Trea seemed to think for a minute, crossing his arms against the wall. “Bryson. Kid, you haven’t even been here two full seasons. This stuff sometimes takes years. And it’s not a fixed thing. What works now might not work in a few years. Baseball is a game of minor adjustments, kid. That’s just how it is.”
Trea swallowed, leaning forward before continuing. “Tell me, Bryson. In 20, 30 years when you look back on this, are you gonna be sad you chose baseball? Are you gonna regret playing instead of pursuing something else?”
Bryson didn’t even have to think. “No.” He couldn’t imagine doing anything else. This was all he knew, all he wanted to do. He didn’t know who Bryson Stott was without baseball.
“That’s what matters.” Trea sat back, looking Bryson steadily in the eye. “I’ll tell you what I see when I look at you. I see a young, talented, hardworking guy who just doesn’t see how good he is yet. You don’t know just how good you are Bryson. And even if you were the shittiest ballplayer in the world, we’d still be better with you around. Your support is what helped Bryce do what he did this year, okay? He woke up every morning and got to see your face and be in your presence, and that motivated him more than you’ll ever know. And it motivated me too. Just like it motivates Alec, and Rhys, and everybody else. You mean more to this team than how well you play. And you’re better than you give yourself credit for. “
“You’re gonna be great, Bryson. I have no doubt in my mind about that. You’re gonna be better than me and Bryce. Both of us agree on that. But here’s the important thing: you don’t have to be.”
Bryson never had been very good at taking compliments. He was fighting the urge to deny, deny, deny every single statement Trea was making. And yet, despite every urge to do so, Bryson soaked it all in. He soaked it all in, and let it give him new purpose. And if he cried a little (or a lot), than he was fine with that.
He smiled, eyes watering. “Thanks, Trea.” He swallowed, knowing he couldn’t put into words just how much this meant to him. “Thank you so much.”
Trea nodded nonchalantly, like this was no burden at all. “Of course. I love you, kid. You mean a lot to me, and Bryce, and the team. Just remember we’re here for you.”
Bryson couldn’t stop himself, throwing his body at Trea’s in a hug. He felt tired, suddenly, now that the emotions of the evening had worn off.
Bryson rested his head on Trea’s shoulder, his exhaustion catching up with him now that he’d calmed down. If Trea minded, he sure didn’t show it, throwing an arm around him. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to laughter from the other room. It sounded like Stubbs, Bryson thought. A thought occurred to him and he couldn’t help but ask.
“Trea?” He asked, not picking his head up.
“Yeah?”
“Are you and Bryce together?”
Trea stiffened a bit under him, breath catching. “What?”
Bryson picked his head up, turning to look at Trea. “Are you guys together?” Noticing the slightly guarded look on Trea’s face, he hurried to continue. “I’m not judging, I swear. That’s not why I’m asking. I just.” He swallowed. “You guys arrived together today and you’ve been driving together, and sometimes he looks at you like you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. And then sometimes you laugh at his stupid, godawful dad jokes like they’re the best things you’ve ever heard, and I figure it’s either because you love him or because you like, really hate yourself, so.”
Trea laughs a little bit, nodding.”Yeah. Yeah we are.”
“Cool.” Bryson is silent for a second. “How long?”
Trea shifts a little. “Well. We’ve known each other for a while. He annoyed me at first. Of course, Bryce knew that, and he loved it, so y’know. I’ll ask Bryce to tell you sometime.” Bryson nodded.
Bryson nodded. “I’m happy for you guys. He needs someone like you, I think. Someone to calm him down when he’s feeling hot-headed and pick him up when he’s too hard on himself. I’m glad you guys have each other.”
Trea nodded, speaking quietly. “Yeah, me too.”
He patted Bryson’s back. “Alright, kid. You ready to go back in there? I think they’re missing the birthday boy. Marshy might’ve even been nice enough to leave you some cake.”
Bryson laughed, nodding. “Yeah, yeah I am.”
They walked through the door together, and neither looked back.
_______
Bryce settled in behind the wheel, waiting for Trea to shut his door.
“You know, apparently we’re not as inconspicuous as we thought,” Trea said, turning to look at Bryce with a sparkle in his eye.
Bryce blinked. “What?
“The kid asked if we were together.”
Bryce sighed, failing to contain a fond smile. “That little shit. Always noticing things.”
Trea laughed. “I think he just takes after you.”
Bryce chuckled a little, knowing he couldn’t deny it. He turned to Trea. “Ready to go home?”
Trea smiled softly. “Always.”