Bernie and Oliver [singing]:Oh, Paolo Nebiolo, such a dandy fellow! When he swings his bat, his hits are never shallow!
Oliver:These Clippers have really gotten off to a hot start this season, Bern. It seems they are really coming together, especially Stone Junior and Henderson.
Bernie:Speaking of Henderson. He steps up to the plate. Stone and Henderson really do have great chemistry. You need that with your short and second. Pitcher deals…ball.
Oliver:Let’s hope they can keep that up.
Bernie:Another pitch comes in. Henderson reaches for it. And he’s got it! A line drive to the left-center gap. This could be a double, but it will be close! They’re sending him! He peels around first. He lays out for the slide and…safe!
Oliver:Wait. What’s happening out there, Bern? Henderson is writhing on the ground.
Bernie:This is not good, Ollz. I can’t see with the ump and players surrounding him. Here comes the Clippers’ training staff.
Oliver:A slide gone wrong can be disastrous. Let’s hope it’s nothing serious.
Bernie:Unfortunately, I don’t think Henderson is getting that lucky. They’re rolling out the cart.
THIRTEEN
JED
I hitthe cool-down on my treadmill, my lungs straining to get in air. I pick up my towel and wipe the sweat dripping down my face. A night game to an afternoon game is always a bit rough. Heads don’t usually hit pillows until midnight at the earliest. And that’s if your adrenaline calms down enough that you can actually fall asleep. Then it’s back at the park somewhere between eight and nine a.m.
I already hit the field for some light stretching and drill-work with the guys, then warmed up in the batting cages. Now I’m trying to shock my system into waking up. Some interval sprints to get the blood pumping and rid me of any sluggishness.
I check the time and see it’s 9:45. We’ll have a tactical team meeting at 10 and then hit the field for a more official team throw, some defense work, and more BP. Which means we’ll be finding out who’s starting second shortly. No one’s officially heard how serious Henderson’s injury was, so I have no idea if this is going to be a backup standing-in situation, or if we’re looking at a full-on call-up.
I hop off the treadmill and take a long swig from my water bottle. This game definitely keeps you on your toes. Henderson and I were just starting to get into a groove too. Second and shortstop have to work fluidly together. Sanders wasn’t joking when he said how important chemistry is in this game. We’re a living, breathing organism out there. Playing with someone new is nothing I won’t be able to handle, but there’s always an adjustment period. We’ve been playing really well as a team, and it doesn’t take much to interrupt that rhythm.
I walk into the locker room and make quick work of stripping down and grabbing my towel. I want to get in a quick rinse before the meeting because there’s nothing more uncomfortable than drying sweat. I sniff the air. And I fucking stink. I turn the corner toward the showers, my focus on securing my towel around my waist—and I slam into someone.
“Shit—Fuck. Sorry.” I reach out and grab the arm of the guy I almost sent flat on his ass with my accidental body check. In the next breath, I’m swallowed by blue. Drowning in a pair of cobalt eyes. I freeze.
A nervous laugh comes from the owner of those eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing. Curls that are usually the color of sunshine are slicked back and dark from his shower, highlighting a bone-structure I want to trace with my teeth. A bead of water drips down his neck to his clavicle.
My fingers tighten.
His eyes widen.
I drop his arm like I’ve been electrocuted. What the fuck is wrong with me?
He opens his mouth, but I’m already brushing past him, and I don’t stop until I get into a shower stall with the doorsafely shut behind me. I rest my forehead against the cool tile and wait for my racing pulse to settle. Well, I have my answer. I know who Henderson’s replacement is now.
Shane Michaels is back in my life.
Normally I’d chalk my strange reaction to being taken aback by having a threat reintroduced to my game. But Shane Michaels isn’t my competition any longer, not if he’s playing second base. I try to wash away the weird feeling with an ice-cold shower. Probably just need some time to get used to seeing Michaels and not immediately thinking of him as in my way as Jetties’ shortstop.
I keep my gaze trained on my locker as I get into fresh workout clothes. I’m tying up my laces when the room quiets. Dominguez walks in for our team meeting, followed by our bench, pitching, and hitting coaches. The team gathers around, a few pulling up chairs. I stand and lean against the wall, attention on the skipper.
“All right, listen up,” Dominguez says. He tucks his clipboard under his arm. “As you all know, last night we lost Henderson to an ankle injury. He’s got a high-ankle sprain, so we’re looking at four-to-six weeks minimum. Michaels, here, made the drive up early this morning and will cover second. Shirk, I want you ready to relieve him as we ease him in today.”
He turns to me, dark brows lifted expectantly. “Stone. You two had quite a bit of playing time together during Spring Training. I’d like for you to work with him on the transition from short to second.”
I give him a nod.
“Good man.” He turns back to the rest of the team. “Now, for the rest of the lineup…”
My gaze automatically finds Michaels’s, and mystomach tightens. Any awkwardness from before is gone, though. He shoots me a smile that has more confidence than any one guy ought to have. Most guys would be doing their best not to throw up at playing their first Triple-A game, but not this kid. His shoulders are loose, his smirk easy. He’s fucking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
