Page 25 of Praising the Pitcher

Her gaze looks toward my dad, and her steps slow.

“Do you want me to wait?” She looks back at me, her brows dipping slightly. “Because I can.”

I haven’t gone into depth with my friends about how hard my father is on me—they know because it’s obvious. As nervous as my own dad makes me, I’d be humiliated by how weak I am when it comes to standing up to him.

“No, I’m good, thanks.” I flash her a smile, trying to really sell that I’m okay. Inside, I’m erupting with nervousness because I know there will be consequences since I ignored him last night.

Looking around me and at my dad’s SUV one last time, she sighs and nods. “All right, see you at home.”

I’m not physically scared of him. My father has never laid a hand on me—though he did lock me upstairs in my bedroom for a weekend once because I skipped class and went to the mall with some girls in my class. It was the first time I’d ever done anything like that, and even though it should have been exhilarating, I hated it.

Walking over toward our cars, I put my softball bag in the trunk of mine before I go to his window. Slowly, it rolls down, and my heart rate quickens when I see the disappointment in his eyes.

“Get in,” he mutters, and even though I’d rather not, I know I have to. So, reluctantly, I walk around to the passenger side and get in a car where I’m no doubt going to be told how much of a letdown I am.

“How was practice?” he says, pulling out of the parking spot. I wondered if we’d just sit here and talk. Guess now I have my answer.

“Good,” I say truthfully because since I got some sleep last night for the first time in weeks, practice was actually bearable.

“And strength training this morning?” he asks coldy. “How was that?”

I freeze, knowing he probably already knows the truth. My trainer may have told Noah she wouldn’t tell my dad about the missed session, but the thing with my dad is, he usually finds out anyway. So the question inside my head is, do I lie? Or do I tell the truth?

“It was good.” I force the words out, hating that I’m lying, but I’m too scared to say anything else.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his head turn to look at me, but I don’t dare meet his gaze. I feel my chest tightening before finally, he looks back at the road.

This is all I’ve ever known, but maybe it really isn’t supposed to be like this …

We drive in silence for a few minutes when he turns into the parking lot of a diner. Pulling up in front of it, I read the Closed sign and see a woman, probably in her late twenties, mopping the floor.

“Looks like they aren’t open,” I say, my voice small.

“Yeah, well, she can’t go home yet because she has to clean this shithole now that her day is done,” he answers, his voice cold and sharp. “Does that look like fun?” he asks, pausing. “Does what she’s doing look fun to you, Gigi?”

I look at the woman again, her hair pulled up into a ponytail. I can’t make out her facial features perfectly, but she looks pretty from where I am. But she’s mopping, so how much fun could she be having?

“Um … I mean, not particularly?” I reply, swallowing because I know we’re here for a reason right now. The reason being so my dad can make me feel like I’m a failure.

“That’s Sasha Daigle, one of NEU’s best pitchers, eight years ago,” he finally says, watching as she continues to work. “She was almost guaranteed to go pro after she graduated. She didn’t throw as fast as you, but she threw in the high sixties and had a mean drop ball.”

Recognizing her name, I stare at her, trying to read her face like a book, pitcher to pitcher, trying to figure out what’s going on inside her mind.

“What happened?” I ask, knowing he’s going to tell me anyway. That’s why we’re here after all.

“She lost sight of what she was working for,” he mutters. “Friends who were bad influences happened. Laziness happened. Boys happened. The need to be a kid happened.” He stops talking, and when I glance at him from the corner of my eye, I know he’s not finished. “You can either be the best softball player this country has seen, or you can be a normal college kid, Gigi. You can’t have both; that’s not how life works.”

“Dad—I, I don’t act like a normal college kid,” I say, stammering through my words. “I don’t go out. I don’t drink and party. All I do is train and do my schoolwork.”

“Where the fuck were you last night then, kid?” He roars so loudly I think the windows in his car vibrate. “Because to me, it looked like you were out being careless and then what happened? Oh yeah, you turned your location off.” He stops, shaking his head. “No doubt because you were acting stupid and didn’t want me to come drag your pathetic ass out of there.”

I want to stand up for myself. I want to scream at him and tell him I’m a good kid. A hardworking athlete, despite how much pressure he continues to put on me. But instead, I freeze up, just like I always do.

Noah wants me to stick up for myself, but the truth is, I can’t. I’m too pathetic.

Everyone who watches college softball thinks I’m strong, comfortable in my own skin. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Do you want to throw away all the hard work you’ve put in?” he snarls, smacking his palm against his steering wheel loudly. “The hard work I have put in?” he yells, waving his hand toward the window of the diner. “You want to end up like that? Serving people food and scrubbing fucking floors?”