“Anyone I know?”
The question is a trap, and we both know it. I hold his gaze. “Not your business, Coach.”
“It is if it affects your performance.”
“My performance is better than ever. Check the numbers.”
“I did. That’s why I’m worried.” He moves to his desk and pulls out a folder. “You’re burning too hot, Steele. This pace? You’ll injure yourself before the playoffs. Whatever you’re dealing with, handle it, because I need you sharp, not spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You threw a hundred and thirty pitches in the bullpen on Monday. Mack reported it.”
Traitor.
“I was practicing.”
“You were destroying your arm.” Coach tosses the folder down. “Take tomorrow off. Rest. Clear your head. Come back Monday ready to work smart, not hard.”
“Coach…”
“That’s an order.”
I clench my jaw but nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He opens the door, dismissing me. “And Steele? Whatever she’s worth, and I’m sure she is, don’t let it wreck you. Baseball’s a long game. Pace yourself.”
I walk out wondering if he suspects more than he’s saying.
Saturday morning, I’m at the gym by six. On Sunday, I run eight miles. By Monday, I’m crawling out of my skin, and the day off did exactly nothing to calm the chaos in my head.
Practice starts at nine.
I’m there at seven thirty.
The guys notice.
They don’t comment directly, but I catch the looks. Mack is worrying, Tommy is confused, and Rivera is amused. By thetime we’re running drills, everyone’s treating me differently. They are all being careful, waiting for me to crack.
I don’t crack.
I channel every ounce of frustration into my arm. Every pitch is a conversation I can’t have with Ava. Every strikeout is a boundary I can’t cross. By the end of practice, Coach looks both impressed and deeply concerned.
“Steele. Stay back.”
The team clears out. I grab my water bottle and wait.
“You listened,” he says. “Took the day, came back focused.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you’re still wound tight as hell.”
I don’t deny it.
He sighs, rubbing his face. “Look, kid. I’ve been coaching for thirty years. I’ve seen players in love, in lust, in crisis. You’re all three, and it’s a bad combination.”
My pulse kicks up. “I never said—”
