If she wasn’t such a hothead, determined to piss me off, prissy and annoying, I’d think she was cute. No, more than cute. But when there were MILFs out there, my thoughts shouldn’t be with my co-coach.Nope.
I drove home without any hope for the rest of my evening. Cheryl and Quinn were already in for the night and I could’ve crashed there, but I was in a shit mood. My leg was killing me. I didn’t want to show weakness to the kids, or to Fiona, but even the small number of grounders had hurt.
I sent a quick email to my physical therapist for an appointment the next morning—and replied to my agent. Did I want to do another endorsement for some watch? No. But did it pay? Yes.
And my nightly routine began. I answered emails from people who really didn’t like me. I was a product that made them money. It didn’t bother me on most days, but today it felt cheap. What did I have in my life besides baseball?
Cheryl and Quinn.
But that was it. I’d had a handful of friends throughout the years but no one that had stuck. I had no pets. No relationships that had lasted longer than a night together. And it pissed me off. I needed to get back into shape. I craved to get healthy, and I said fuck it. I went into my personal gym and did the reps the therapist suggested. The hardest part was getting my knee to straighten—I had to try to get it entirely straight and compare it to my other leg. I groaned in pain and frustration when I set up two even chairs and got my leg stretched out. I had to put weights over my knee for a half an hour, the gravity of them pushing down to straighten it. Pain shot up my entire body and a brief wave of nausea hit me. But I powered through minute by minute. I survived and went to stage two—icing.
And by the time I was done, I passed out from exhaustion.
I had no dreams of gabby blondes.
But by the next afternoon, the annoying nuisance named Fiona had me anxious to head to practice. Was it interest?No.Was it for the pure entertainment of bantering with someone?Maybe.Either way, I had a semi-smile on my face when I pulled into the parking lot. Fiona’s piece-of-shit car was already there and I wondered how long she’d driven it. It had to be at least fifteen years old. Maybe more.
I got out of the car with a hiss. God, my leg didn’t feel better even after stretching and icing it yet again after physical therapy that morning. We did TENS therapy—transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation—which could’ve been a synonym for hell. I not only felt jumpy and unstable, I chose not to wear the brace because I didn’t want Fiona to see any weakness. God, I was messed up.
Today had to be a situation day for practice. I couldn’t hit or throw—but I refused to tell Fiona that. She would gloat and I couldn’t deal with her if she had any upper hand. Despite being injured, I preferred winning in all areas of my life.
Her last words to me had beenfuck youand while I didn’t expect a nice greeting, I also didn’t expect her to completely ignore me. I couldn’t think of the last time someone had ignored me.Years?
“Fiona?”
Nothing. She stared at something in her notebook and I wanted to rip it out of her hands. And I did just that. I snatched it—unleashing the beast.
“Asshole! Give that back!” Her eyes fumed at me.
“No. I want to see what had you so focused you couldn’t even reply to my greeting.”
“Give it back. Now,” she seethed. And I swore her eyes glistened. I snuck a glance at the page and saw lines of writing. I held it high over her head and she jumped to get it, but I stood a foot taller. I smiled.
“Why did you ignore me? Not very friendly or cooperative coming from the person spouting the importance of teamwork.”
“I was wearing headphones, you douche nozzle.” She picked up the white wire and made a face at me. “Give me back my stuff.”
“Are you writing about me? Dirty thoughts, I hope.”
“No.” She reached up for it again and started blinking too fast. She sniffed and I swore I saw an entire shift in her expression. “Please? I… That… Don’t read it.”
And I felt like a tool. What was I doing? She looked desperate but I was at a loss. Feisty Fiona, the obnoxious ballbuster, looked like she was going to cry.Oh fuck. Tears.
“Fine. You win. Okay? Please. Just, give that back. I’ll quit.” She collapsed into a defeated heap on the bench and I deflated. I handed her the book and took two steps back.
She’ll quit?What the hell was in that book to provoke that reaction? An irrational thought took over—the sight of tears shocked me. I wanted to prevent her from crying ever again, and the numbing realization that I’d caused it hurt me.
“Thank you.” She clutched it to her chest and her entire face turned pink. “I’ll head out.”
“You aren’t quitting.”What did I just say? What am I doing?This is what I want, right?But I kept talking. “Stay.”
Her lips parted. Her eyes widened and she didn’t say a word for a brutal thirty seconds. “I don’t… What?”
“I don’t know what was in that book, but I shouldn’t have done that. I was pissed you didn’t acknowledge my greeting. Pissed you were assigned to coach with me. Pissed at the world for a lot of things, but taking your item was childish and unnecessary.”
Her bottom lip trembled and her arms tightened around the weathered book.
And, once again, I felt smaller than dirt. My stomach hurt, and it was a new feeling.Regret.It sucked. I had no way to save myself in the situation.None.“It won’t happen again.”
