Page 43 of Praising the Pitcher

Will pulls the same NEU softball hat he always wears off his head and drags a hand down his aged face. He may not be the coach here anymore now that he’s retired from the position, but before our current coach took the job over, it was this guy. And I’m pretty bummed I never got to play for him during his time here.

William Richards is a legend in the New England area. Parents have spent decades driving their kids to work with him on pitching because he’s that good. So much of my success is thanks to him.

“Kid, I’m sure you’re aware of this, but your dad is a bit off his rocker.” He sighs. “And as much as I love you—and trust me, I’ve spent a big part of your life working with you, so you know I think of you as a daughter—I can’t sink my reputation.” He cringes. “Or should I say, let your dad sink it for me.”

My face scrunches up in confusion. “What are you saying? My dad threatened you?” I swallow back the sick feeling growing in my stomach. “Is that what you’re really telling me?”

“First he told me he wasn’t paying for your lessons until you come to your senses, and I told him I didn’t give two shits about that check. I’d work with you for free because you’re like family.” He stops, shrugging. “And you’re free advertisement anyway. So many girls come to work with me after watching you on the mound. They want to taste that excellence for themselves, and they think I can help them get there.” He flashes me a grin. “I don’t have the heart to tell them you’re special. That not everyone is destined for that kind of greatness. But anyway, I’m getting off track.” He shakes his head. “My point is, once he knew it wasn’t about the money, he said if I kept working with you, he’d put a nationwide warning out not to work with me. He didn’t tell me what he’d say, but I know your dad enough to know it wouldn’t be good.”

“That asshole,” I utter. “He shut my phone off this morning too.” I drag my hands through my hair, letting out a frustrated breath. “I can’t go through winter without your lessons, Will. I’ll fall apart.”

“No, you won’t,” he says without hesitation. “But I agree it will kill me not to be part of your training journey.” He puts his hands on his hips, looking up at the gymnasium ceiling and swallowing roughly. “Give me a few days to figure something out, okay?” He cringes. “But if I know your old man, he’s outside, making sure you leave. So get on out of here and I’ll find a way to reach you. Even if I have to go through Coach Brawn.”

Holding his arms out, he offers a hug. I’m not a big hugger, but I step in, letting him envelope my body and give me a squeeze before I step back.

“We’ll figure it out, kid. Just keep pushing on, okay?”

“I will.” I nod before slowly backing up. “Talk to you soon.”

He holds his hand up and waves, and I head outside. I don’t walk slowly enough to spot my dad’s car in the parking lot, but I feel him watching me, judging me, and I pick up my pace before he has a chance to catch me.

What he doesn’t realize is the more he does to hurt me, he’s not bringing me closer to coming back to him. Instead, he’s pushing me away. And at this point, I’m not sure anything could be repaired between us.

And I’m kind of okay with that …

NOAH

I’m so caught up in the fact that all my messages today have gone undelivered to Gigi, I barely notice our newest starter strutting into the locker room until D elbows my side.

“Dude, phone,” he grumbles. “Your dad is going to lose his shit if he sees you.”

Frowning at the three undelivered messages, I slide my phone into my pocket and groan. “Whatever. He’s preoccupied with his newest player.”

“Not that preoccupied,” he mutters, and when I lift my eyes to my dad, he’s watching me carefully.

My dad is a damn good man, but when he’s talking to the team or it’s an important matter, like us all meeting our newest teammate, he expects our phones to be put away. I’m aware of this, but what can I say? Gigi Jacobs has this weird ability to make me not care about shit I usually care about.

Like rules. And being a good teammate.

I mouth, “Sorry,” and even though he rolls his eyes, he finally looks away from me and turns his attention back to a player who joined halfway through the season, only to get injured in a car wreck before the team even met him—Benny Baker.

“Good job pissing off the coach first thing in the morning, dipshit,” Dallas jabs, but I can hear the smirk in his tone. “Maybe I’ll get your Christmas presents this year.”

“Mom already buys you as many if she buys me anyway,” I retort. Dallas is family, and my parents have always felt that way long before he and my sister got together.

Not only does Benny’s name not fit a defensive back, but he looks too pretty to be one too. His hair is perfectly messy, parted in the middle and so light brown it could be called blond. He’s a brute though, standing at least two or three inches taller than me and weighing at least twenty more pounds. I’ve heard of him a bit but looked him up online last night now that he’s not only fully healed and back on the active roster but also going to be taking over Tabor’s position. He’s the real deal and should fill the hole we’ve had since Tabor went crazy and got himself locked up.

Even though he’s from Georgia, I’m a little surprised he didn’t come here for his first year of college because not only is our program one of the best in the country right now, his family apparently has ties to the area and a summer house on the beach not too far from campus, but I guess he tried a year at Brooks University in Georgia before transferring when our roster opened up. Too bad he missed most of the season between transfers and his accident, but I guess better late than never.

Benny finishes introducing himself before my dad steps back in front of everyone.

“All right, guys. I know it seems like Benny is just becoming an Eagle today, but the truth is, he’s been one for months, and shitty circumstances kept him off the field. I expect you all to treat him as part of this team, because that’s exactly what he is.” He does his usual one clap of his hands. “Great game last night. Get some rest today, and we’ll hit it hard tomorrow.”

That’s his way of excusing us, and soon, we’re all filing out of the locker room. I try to sneak by my old man, but of course, no such luck.

“Was that your phone I saw while Benny was introducing himself?” he accuses, looking down at his clipboard.

“Uh … no?” I mumble, my voice low. “I was very invested in what he had to say.”