Page 120 of The Strike Zone

Ace turned and trudged back to where he’d been standing, but I could tell from the force of his throw how pissed he was. That made two of us, and at least being pissed at the guys behind was distracting me from who I was really pissed at.

Myself.

Everything about this entire day from start to finish had been a shit show and I only had myself to blame.

I should never have been so cocky this morning. I should have checked like I always did when I walked down the corridor, making sure no one else was around before I ducked into the supply closet. But I was riding on the high from my sleepover with Scout, it was like she’d burrowed deep into my chest and was radiating out like a beam of sunshine.

I was deep in thought about the last time I’d felt this happy, when the door had been yanked open and instead of the girl I was desperate to kiss, Coach had been standing there, nostrils flaring.

What the fuck are you doing? Out. Now.He’d snarled, taking in the two cups of coffee I was holding.You have got to be fucking kidding me.

What d’you mean? I’m just looking for cleaning spray. Ace spilled…I’d started, confident I could bullshit my way out of the situation, but then Scout decided that was the moment to walk around the corner, and the shit really hit the fan.

Do you have any concept of how badly Shepherd wants to win the World Series, King?

Yeah,I’d answered, before I realized the question had been rhetorical. Although the empty plinth in the entrance atrium said enough.

No, I don’t think you do.He stepped forward, he was close enough that his glasses could probably steam up from my breath.The trade deadline is in less than two months. Every week we have a discussion on who’s playing the best in the league and who we can swap out. Penn Shepherd will not let anyone stand in his way of winning the trophy this year. Not me, not you, and not your girlfriend standing behind the giant plant over there.

Coach—

Does it look like I’m done talking? You will get traded if he thinks you’re not up to the task, if it looks like your head’s not in the game.His eyes flicked to the closet door, still open, and down to the coffee cups.Do you think it looks like your head’s in the game?

I had said nothing. I’d been with the Lions my entire career. A punch in the nuts was an easier blow to take than the thought of being traded because of something I’d done off the field.

This is your final warning, Parker. You have until the end of the day to decide whether you want to stay as starting catcher, or if you want to watch the Lions win the World Series while you’re over in Colorado, or holding your umbrella in fucking Seattle. And I don’t know if you’re aware, but long-distance relationships don’t work.

I’d been so preoccupied with getting Scout’s attention that I never stopped to think about what would actually happen if we were caught. Coach was right, Ihadbeen distracted. I’d been too arrogant in our position teetering at the top of our league to care.

Coach’s words were still ringing in my ears when Scout ran over, and it took one look at her face for utter panic to kick in. Panic about being traded, about leaving the Lions, and more importantlyher, and I lost it.

The Mets fans had nailed it, I did fucking suck.

And to top the entire situation off, from the way she stormed off, I think I might have lost Scout too.

“Parker, heads up…”

I swiveled in time for Ace’s bullet throw to miss me by an inch, bounce on the ground, and roll all the way to the boards under the crowd, still trying to drill into me how much I sucked.

“CAN’T EVEN CATCH A COLD, YOU LOSER.”

Running after the ball, I glanced around for security but couldn’t spot them anywhere. We needed to have stricter rules about who we let in early to watch the warm-ups, especially when beer was being served. Or where the rival fans sat. I didn’t fail to notice that none of the social team were out here, either, particularly the one member I wanted to see.

The guilt of shouting at Scout flared up again. As I bent to pick up the ball, my eye caught one of the guys in the group. I thought my blood had already reached boiling point today, but I’d been wrong.

From the way I was storming back to him, Ace could tell something was up, and he jogged toward me, his frown deepening with each step.

“Are we going in now?”

“Yeah, I need to find Pablo.”

“Pabs? Why?”

“Because that guy telling me how much I suck is Scout’s ex. And I want him removed.”

Ace was still glancing over his shoulder as he caught up with me, jogging toward the dugout. “Rangers Douche?”

“Yup,” I replied as another heckle was sent my way.

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