“We’ll see. I wish I had a sibling or another family member to discuss shit with, but it’s only us three.” He frowned and kicked the dirt. “Let’s throw more. I need the distraction. Your arm good?”
“I can do another thirty or so. Let’s go.” With a new mission in mind, I went back to the mound and lost myself in the process.
* * * *
“You threw better the second time around. What did you change?” Jeff asked me, walking back to the training room to get me some ice. “Seriously, you threw like two different people.”
“I don’t know… I focused less on my own issues and threw. I left my head for a while and now that I’m back in there, I’m questioning everything.” He nodded in understanding. “People don’t realize the game is much more mental than physical. It takes a lot of strength.”
“That’s why you’re the pitcher. You have the ego and confidence for us all.” He patted my back. “Go get your ice. I’m hitting the showers.”
I waved at him as he headed farther into the locker room. I needed ice and to zone out with some hardcore music. Some guys preferred country or rap to pump them up. I always chose some Van Halen and Stones. I walked into the empty training room and anticipated the cooldown. I hooked my phone up to the aux cord and took a bag of ice. I’d done it enough times in the past to know how to use the wrap and keep it on my throwing arm. It looked sloppy, but at least I knew my muscles were relaxing.
My phone went off with some texts, but I ignored them and lay down on the stretching mat. Four songs went by and I heard some voices in the distance, but I didn’t care. They’d seen me do it before and coach was fucking great at having people leave me alone. We all had our odd little tricks and needs to prepare for the mental part of the game and mine happened to be pre- and post-workout reflection. I thought about what had gone well, what had gone poorly and how I envisioned myself throwing the next time. I was thinking about all the things I needed to do when I heard a familiar voice. I raised my head, shielding my eyes from the bright light, and saw Callie through the window talking animatedly with Nicole. Callie hadn’t seen me yet, but I gasped at Nicole’s smile. Sheneversmiled.
I pushed myself to sit and studied Callie. Perfect, beautiful, off-limits Callie.Damn that woman.She spied me through the window and her eyes widened for a split second. I winked at her and gave her a cheesy smile. She returned it and disappeared from view. Oh well. I’d see her the following day for our run. Coach might be proud as hell because I now craved running. He didn’t need to know it revolved around Callie. I stood and stretched my arms above my head when I flinched. “Fucking hell.” The pain in my left arm frightened me. It had come out of nowhere and bit unlike anything I’d experienced before.
“Hey, Zade. What’s with the face of pain?” Fucking Callie waltzed over wearing skin-tight yoga pants and a workout tank top. How she managed to look that fucking good after a full day of classes shocked me. I wanted to pout and have a beer.
“Beside the fact you always turn me down? Why are you here? Stalking me?” I meant it as a joke, but the tone of my voice made me sound like an asshole. I didn’t correct it, either.
“Ah, as much as you wish I was, I’m not. I have a clinical class and I wanted to explore the stadium. I planned to walk around with Nicole, maybe send some pictures to my dad, but then I saw you in here. Thought I’d say hi. But now you’re acting mental so maybe I’ll head back.” Her mouth turned down, making me feel like a dick. I needed to remedy that because Callie’s smile was one of the top things in the world.
“Don’t leave,” I demanded instead of asking. “I didn’t throw as well as I should have today and I’m not handling it well.”
“Is that why you’re acting like a kid whose daddy benched him?” She leaned against the counter near the door and I wanted to pick her up and lay her on the table. God, I wanted to spend hours exploring her. I’d taken too long to answer her question. I cleared my throat and went with the truth.
“I threw like shit. My catcher is going through shit. My arm feels like shit.” I sounded like a bitch, but my mouth continued, “I have too much fucking pressure on me to play well that I can’t have days like this. Word spreads. I don’t want people saying that I lost the momentum I got last year. People told me it wouldn’t last.” As soon as I said them, I realized the root of my problem. The pressure of the year before held a dark cloud over me, suffocating me and preventing me from succeeding before I’d even tried. I didn’t want to be the kid who was a star Freshman year and slowly slid into being a nobody.
“You don’t strike me as a guy who lets others affect him.” She walked toward me, eyes blazing with something. She stopped a foot in front of me. “Why do you pitch?”
“It’s what I’ve always done?”
“No, that isn’t what I asked. Why do you continue to do it?”
“I…like the control. I love the game. I love being able to strike the guy out in the bottom of the ninth. I love the sounds, the smells, the atmosphere and the mental toughness I need. It’s all I’ve ever known and I need it like I need air.” I sat down on the bench and put my head between my hands. “Does that make me sound like a sap?”
“Nah, you sound like someone who loves the sport. You’re letting the mental part of the game affect you physically. That is error number one. You are Zade fucking Willows. Your opponents fear you. Your teammates respect the hell out of you. People like my dad watch you and follow your stats every game. You could get any girl on campus with the flick of your throwing hand. Own that shit, man.” She joined me on the bench and knocked her shoulder into mine. “Why the doubt?”
“I wish I knew. You can continue telling me how awesome I am, though. That helps.”
“I’m sure you don’t need it.” She touched the skin around the bag of ice and frowned. “How long have you had it on?”
“Eh, five songs’ worth.” I shrugged. “I usually keep it on for about five or six.”
“Boys,” she scoffed and unwound the wrap. “Thirty minutes, max. Check out your skin. It’s all red.”
“I can handle it.” I sucked in a breath when her fingers grazed my bare chest. She pulled the ice off and clucked her little mouth at the redness there. When she dragged her finger over my body, I lost all feeling anywhere else. She stood over me, practically straddling me. “Uh, whatcha doing there?”
“I’m looking at your arm. You said it hurt. I’m finding out why.” She bent, her face inches from mine, and my body tightened. My dick twitched but I put my best game face on.
“Uh, okay.” I sounded barbaric, like a caveman trying to talk to someone in the present day. She did that to me though, made me lose all sense of confidence and swagger.Damn her, again.
“Do you mind?” she asked, placing her hands on my left shoulder. “I thought Nicole stretched you before you threw. You’re really inflamed right here and swollen.” She pressed her fingers on the part of my arm that pinched and hurt. I jumped up, causing her to lose her balance and fall into me.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” I caught her, her tiny waist in my hands, and she swallowed. Her eyes were on my mouth, her teeth pressing down on her bottom lip, and it took every ounce of self-restraint not to kiss her. “Here.” I picked her up without effort and helped her find her footing again. “If you couldn’t tell, that hurt.”
“I got that, yeah. You stretched before, though. Did you after?”
