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harmlessly to the grass at the far end of the cage. Johnny “Hammer” Randal had been the star shortstop on this exact field when he was a seventeen year old senior. Today, he looked as though he could still effortlessly slide into a game with children thirty years his junior, having not lost a single step.
    “You saw me pull up?” Dominic asked.
    “I heard you coming a mile away. Actually, I heard those idiot shoes you insist on wearing,” John Randal hated the slap-slap sound of his son’s flip-flops. “Real men don’t wear beachwear outside of the sand. Thong sandals are bad for your feet anyway.”
    “I know, dad.” They rehashed this same argument every time they were together.
    “You wanna hit a few?” John asked, his wooden bat whistling through the air before a loud crack resounded and another baseball tore into the netting. This batting cage was his place of peace and solitude the last few years, a sanctuary to relieve the stress of a career near the top of federal law enforcement. His job was high-powered and clandestine. When days got too long, cases too tough, or the strain of secrets too great, he always returned to this exact spot, pound his frustrations into rawhide spheres, and relax.
    “Dad, I have some news,” Dominic declared as he fought to hide his smile. He hoped acceptance to his father’s alma mater would make him proud.
    John Randal didn’t answer right away. He stood still and posed for a couple seconds, studying another pitch as it spun toward the plate, before uncorking his body in a sudden, swift, smooth rotation.
    Crack!
    “You got in. That’s great.”
    “How did you know?” Dominic’s lips turned down in a confused frown, but no answer came. Another pitch careened in toward the plate before connecting with the sweet spot on the wooden bat.
    Crack!
    “Did mom tell you?” Dominic asked.
    “You know your mom and I haven’t spoken in months,” he grunted. The divorce had been hard and not particularly amicable. Dominic understood the clutter of problems between his parents was not one-sided, but his father—and his overly demanding career—took the brunt of the split. Custody went to the mother and Dominic spent most of his time with her.
    “Oh no, Dad…” Dominic closed his eyes and groaned in exasperation, “You did something, didn’t you?” He took his thumb and forefinger and kneaded his forehead.
    “Of course I did something.” His father knit his brow. The pitching machine ran out of baseballs to hurl his way, so John lay down the bat and turned to face his son. “I am your father.”
    “Dad, we’ve talked about this.” Dominic scowled, his irritation getting the better of him. His words became sharper and more biting. “I don’t want you going behind my back…”
    “I’m a respected and esteemed alumnus of the university,” his father said. “And my position in government lends itself to influence in many high places. Why not use my pull with the board of trustees to help my son? I knew you wanted to go there, so I stepped in.”
    “You shouldn’t have done that,” Dominic spat.
    “I wanted to help you and it’s my duty to do so,” John countered. “I really don’t know why you’re so upset…”
    “Of course you do! We’ve gone through this before. I don’t want your help!”
    “Son, one of these days, you need to rein in control of that stubborn streak. Along with your strange aversion to accepting help,” John spoke slowly, enunciating every word. “No one ever got to the top—to where I am—solely on their own.”
    “I just wanted to be accepted to college on my own merits,” he muttered in frustration.
    “And if that wasn’t going to happen?” John Randal’s voice dropped in volume.
    “What do you mean?” Dominic asked after a pause. He frowned. His transcript and standardized test scores weren’t quite at the top of his class—he understood that—but they were still high. His application should have been very