- R
I leave the notepad right by the phone, then toss the pen into the open drawer, spitting the cap toward the bed. This time, I have zero trouble making it all the way out the door.
Chapter 17
Hunter
My performance today is shit. My head’s not in the game. Roddy knows it, too.
“Time out,” he barks to the ump before jogging out to the mound. I pull my hat from my head and again run my forearm across my sweat-soaked brow. It’s humid today. Either that, or I’m sweating bullets because I’m blowing it.
“You’re all over the place. What the fuck?” Roddy slaps the ball in my mitt. I pick it out and cover my face with my glove.
“I know. Fuck! I’m just off. I keep missing low.”
“And high. And outside. And inside. And in the fucking dirt. Get it together, kid!” He taps my arm with his glove, then punches the pocket with his fist before lifting his chin.
“Yeah, you’re right. I got this.” I sniff, then glance to my right, to the empty seat that has remained so for the first three innings.
“Hey,” Roddy says, pounding his mitt again to get my attention back where it belongs. His glare says it all.
Forget the girl. Get my head in the game.
I kick at the dirt as he jogs back behind the plate, and force myself to keep my eyes locked on the dirt path from the rubber to the plate. I lock eyes with Roddy as he sends the pitch through the PitchCom, and smirk when he calls for a high fast ball. I’meither going to nail this pitch or send it into the seats. I nod and step into my windup, breathing in through my nose and holding the air hostage in my lungs until I sling the ball to my catcher.
“Steee-rike!” I haven’t heard the ump say that word much today. This one is good to hear.
Roddy zings the ball back to me and calls for another fast ball, this one right down the pipe. I’m one strike away from getting out of this inning, and the last thing my ego needs is to see another ball sail over the right field wall. But I trust Roddy. It’s the first lesson I learned in Sweetwater, and it might just be my last if I don’t get us out of this inning.
I feel the ball in my glove, then wind up and throw the heat, holding my breath as the ball cuts through the air and just past the heavy-handed swing of Pablo Cabrera, a guy whose rookie card I have in a box back in my childhood closet in California.
“Strike three!” The ump pulls his fist into his chest with extra flair, and my shoulders drop with relief.
I keep my expression stoic as I walk back to the dugout, and Coach slaps my ass as I take the steps and head straight to the iPad to see all the places I went wrong so far today. It’s a three-zero ballgame, which, in Triple-A ball, is a good thing. For anyone else in our rotation, it’s a great start. Three innings with two hits and a walk. It’s just that those two hits happen to have been dingers, one with an RBI. But even with that, it’s a solid showing. For some other guy. For me, it’s a failure, and I know it’s not my mechanics. They’re solid. Which means . . .
“Get out of your head,” Roddy says, basically reading my mind as he rips the iPad from my hands and sets it on the shelf behind the bench. He plops down next to me as he tears at the tape wrapped around his wrist with his teeth. It’s unraveling.
“You’re right,” I respond.
“Yeah, I know I am. And quit looking for Renleigh. She probably just slept in. Or maybe she got wise and went home.” He chuckles, and the corners of my mouth fall.
“You think so?” I ask.
His attention zooms back to my face as his laughter cuts off.
“Dude, I’m kidding. But maybe, I don’t know. Like I said, this world? It’s not good on relationships, and Renleigh knows that. Why do you think she turned you down so many times?”
“Notthatmany,” I sigh, not laughing at my own joke.
“She’s got a lot on her plate. Maybe her dad needed something. Her mom’s a lot to handle when she’s in town. Don’t worry about it for now. Just focus on the game. Do your job, then sort that shit out later.” Roddy slaps his palm on my thigh and uses my body for leverage as he stands.
“Maybe go get one of those runs back, huh?” I jest as he spits in his palms and slaps them together.
“I’ll try. If you promise that was the last run you give up today,” he says over his shoulder.
“Yeah, I do.” I nod and catch Brooks’s gaze as he glances my way over his shoulder. I step up next to him along the rail. He’s saved my ass today, making some amazing plays at short.
“Hey, I’ll try to give you a break this next inning. I’m sorry I’m giving up the middle so much.” I hold out my fist, and he pounds his on top of mine before turning his attention back to the field. Something’s going on with him today, too. I can tell. I’m pretty sure our expressions match.
