Adrian’s face twisted into a grimace when he turned, lifting a shoulder.
“Really?” I asked him, crossing my arms over my chest while he gave me a slow nod.
“Well, sort of. This is so fucking stupid. I should be able to pitch no matter who is watching me. I play in New York, for fuck’s sake.”
“I get it,” I said, reaching out to slap his arm, trying not to chuckle at his tortured wince. “A girl who is as important as I’m guessing this one is can mess with you more than fans or press. EvenNew Yorkfans and press.”
“Yeah,” he breathed out, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’m fine, Lee. I wanted to try to loosen up a little, but I’m not hurt or anything. Just, like I said, stupid,” he said, hopping off the table with an audible sigh.
“You’re not stupid, and you can always come to see me for any reason. My job is to make you guys feel better, right?”
He shrugged and dropped his gaze back to the floor. His shoulders seemed looser, but he hadn’t lost the deep dent between his brows.
“Can I give you a piece of advice?”
“Sure,” he said, lifting a shoulder.
“I’m not going to ask who she is because it’s none of my business, but if she’s here tomorrow, it’s because she wants to see you, not check out how you pitch. She’s not a scout or a reporter who’s going to critique your every throw. I get wanting to show her the best of you, but maybe she’s here to see you because you already did. Think of it that way.”
“Ha,” he said, his brow crinkling while he leaned against the doorjamb. “That actually does help a little. You’re a wise old man,” Adrian said and lifted his head, a smirk tipping up the side of his mouth. “As always.”
I breathed out a chuckle and nodded when he turned to leave, his neck straighter as he made his way out.
Thirty-five had been old to me when I’d been in my twenties too, and the players seemed younger every season.
I’d played baseball in high school and college on a partial scholarship but had never wanted to go pro. I’d enjoyed it, but a career in sports medicine had always been my goal. I wanted to be part of a team, but in a different way. My job was to help players prevent and overcome injury, and if I became their pseudo-therapist along the way, I didn’t mind. I was here to keep them healthy on and off the field, whatever that might entail.
Leaving a team that had become family would be awful, but seeing that I didn’t have any other options, it seemed more and more like the only choice.
“Everything good?” Silas, my longtime friend and the Bats’ manager, poked his head in. “Bennie told me you cracked all of Adrian’s bones because he has a neck hurt.”
“He’s fine.” I chuckled. “Worked up over a girl. It happens to all of us.”
What seemed like a million years ago, I’d had a girl in the stands too. She’d been at every game, every graduation, every milestone, big or small, because she’d loved me.
Until she wasn’t.
“I see.” He leaned against the wall. “Yes, it happens to all of us.”
Silas had spent most of his playing days in Washington, and when a bad knee injury had cut his career short, the Brooklyn Bats had made him a quick offer to be their new manager. He was a legend and, I was sure, a Hall of Fame contender, but it had been his heartthrob status that had made him such a hot commodity.
We all loved teasing the shit out of him over the Instagram reels that would pop up with montages of his ass in baseball pants.
But I guessed those reels had gotten me here too. Silas had brought me on with him when he’d accepted the offer. It had been a perfect arrangement that, in a few weeks, would become impossible.
“Any luck?” Silas asked.
“Debbie is offering to stay back for a few weeks, but I can’t let her do that. I’ll come up with a solution.”
That solution would mean I had to quit, but I couldn’t admit that yet.
“Rachel and Taylor can help too when school lets out. It’s an option. I don’t know where Bennie would sleep, but they’d figure something out.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, even though it would never work. Rachel, his wife, worked from home, but she also had a teenage sister with a full sports schedule. Even if I could take them up on their offer, I still had to sort out the next few months until summer.
We strode down the hall toward the dugout, but I didn’t see Nate or Bennie. I was about to jog over, when the shrill sound of what sounded like a broken whistle pierced the air.
My daughter strode across the field, a baseball jersey dwarfing her tiny frame, the sleeves reaching past her hands as she rolled them up to adjust the Bats cap on her head. I had to laugh when she stalked over to a cluster of players warming up along the first base line.
