The next batter hit a double. The batter after that another double. Brayden smacked his hand against his leg. “Come on! Get it together!” he yelled.
He heard a sharp intake of breath, and his eyes connected with Tilly’s. She must have heard him yell and turned to find him standing there in plain sight. He was usually so careful. Although how he heard her gasp from this far away was something of a mystery. Then again, he’d always been in tune with her. Always.
She twisted her lips, and he knew she was worried about Gunner, about the game. He lifted both his hands, telling her there was nothing he could do about it—if he was full-time pitching staff, then yeah, he’d be in uniform on the field and could make something happen, but he couldn’t get to his guy.
Brayden’s frustration mounted as the game trudged on. A knife twisted in his gut with each run Colorado scored. And when he caught Tilly watching him, he fought against the tidal wave of need for her.
They lost by six. Gunner blew a four-run lead. Blake wasn’t going to be happy. Heck, if it had been Brayden that started the game, he’d ignore the guy for two days, because you just didn’t do that to your starter.
The second the game was over, he made a mad dash for the private staircase that would drop him just outside the locker room. His feetthump-thump-thumpeddown the stairs. He barely registered that his neck didn’t hurt with the jarring.
Juan intercepted him as he barreled through the doors and physically forced him down a side hall using his forearm as a battering ram. “Hey, hey, hey. You need to get it together, man. You can’t lose your stuff on him right now. He’s down. He’s, like, way, way down, and you can’t pile on. You know? But I know you know, because you’ve been there. Remember the game against San Antonio?”
Brayden glared.
“Okay, I shouldn’t have brought that up. That’s on me. That’s my bad. But you gotta know what your guy’s going through. You know?”
Brayden relaxed enough that Juan took his forearm off his chest.
“Give him a half an hour. Just a half hour to get through, and then you can have at him.”
Brayden nodded. “I’m going into the dinner.”
“Yeah, man, that’s a good idea. Get some food in your stomach and you won’t be so hangry. You know, like grrr.” He made his hands into claws.
Brayden shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Juan, I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”
Juan gave him a thousand-watt smile. “That’s okay. You can thank me later. I got your back.”
Brayden stalked into the dinner laid out by the clubhouse manager. Tonight was taco night. Great. He sat at a table alone and chewed every bite thoughtfully, biding his time. The half hour came and went. The room filled and emptied again. No one sat by him. Anger radiated off his shoulders, and they didn’t want to get singed. Blake didn’t eat with the team. It was a slight not aimed at anyone but Gunner, and they all knew it.
He hadn’t seen Gunner come through the line, so he set out to find him. His need to chew the little punk out had calmed considerably, and he’d even come up with a bullet list of things they could work on. The first one being that he should LISTEN. TO. THE CATCHER!
Okay, so maybe he still wanted to yell.
He found Gunner sitting alone in the locker room. He had a bat over his knees and was rolling it with flat palms, his eyes unfocused. That was not what he needed to be doing. He needed to get his head into the right space. He should have done that on the mound. If he couldn’t do it there, he should have done it in the dugout. And if he couldn’t do it there … well, then there was no point in having a conversation.
“’Sup.” Brayden sat next to him.
“I already heard it from Coach Wolfe, all right?” He set the bat on the floor and grabbed a shirt off the hook in his locker.
“Did he tell you to listen to the catcher?” Brayden started through his list.
“Yeah, a couple dozen times.”
“Shoot. That’s what I wanted to yell at you about.”
“Ha. Ha.” Gunner put his arms in the sleeves and pulled the shirt over his head. He glanced at the door and then narrowed his eyes at Brayden. “You know, I was doing just fine until you decided you had tofix me.” He put air quotes around the last two words.
Brayden shook his head. He was not going to argue Gunner’s abilities or lack thereof. “We should be focusing on what you can fix for next time.”
“That’s what I’m telling you.” He picked up the bat and threw it into his locker, creating a noise that could be heard at the back of right field. “You’re always trying to fix me. Why can’t you just let me throw?” he screamed.
Brayden got to his feet and went toe to toe with Gunner, yelling in his face. “Because you’re just barely enough to get here, but I want you to stay!”
“No, you don’t!”
“Then why am I here? If I didn’t care, I would have walked out after that first day.” He filled with the knowledge. He actually cared if Gunner made it. “You’re a pain in my butt. I can hardly stand to talk to you, and yet all I think about is how to get you to throw better. It’s like I’m obsessed—”
