Page 1 of The Yips

CHAPTER 1

Kelsey

It had been a long night, and I should have turned the app off and never taken the last ride. Of course, the last ride of the night had been a drunk dickhead, but at least I was getting surge pay for it. Rent was due next week, and the next Uber deposit would thankfully land in my bank account in time to make the payment.

I had the night off from bartending, and while I usually only drove Uber for early morning airport runs, I was short on my bills this week. Dad could only help with Crew late at night and early in the morning, and because none of my jobs provided enough income for daycare, I had to work around his schedule. Tonight, this put me directly in the path of a rider named Sam, who smelled like he’d been marinating in bourbon and might be flammable.

“What took you so long,” he slurred, attempting to get into the front seat of my car, stumbling as his hip jammed the door to my Honda Accord.

“I’m sorry, I don’t allow riders in the front.” That wasn’t entirely true; if I felt safe and the riders didn’t seem likebelligerent asswipes, I would allow front passengers. This guy didn’t deserve that courtesy.

He sighed, and I heard him swear under his breath as he slammed the front door and nearly tore the back door off the hinges to enter the back seat. How the hell did this guy have a perfect five-star rating?

He thankfully stayed quiet for the next few minutes until he shouted at his phone, “There’s no pleasing you, you miserable fuck.”

“Are you okay?” I asked nervously, I’d had a few close calls while driving, and so far this guy had done nothing to make me comfortable.

“I’m fine; it’s none of your fucking business.”

This ride couldn’t end soon enough, and as soon as I dropped him off, I was done for the night. My last act of the night would be to one-star this prick’s ass so no one else ended up picking him up late at night.

When I finally pulled up in front of a quaint townhouse in Beacon Hill, I was praying that he wouldn’t vomit before he got out of the vehicle. If I were someone who bets, I’d wager a month’s rent that he was going to spend the night relieving himself of the booze he drank.

He slammed the car door without saying goodbye or thank you, and I drove away as soon as I completed his rating. My car-play chimed with a text message from my father.

Dad: Crew woke up crying. Should I give him a bottle or wait for you?

Me: I’ll be home in fifteen minutes. I’d rather nurse him when I get home.

Dad: Okay. I’ll distract him until you get here.

Me: Thanks..

I had never planned to be a twenty-one-year-old single mother or a college dropout, but here I was. I was living my best life and wondering ifOnlyFanswas a better option. Uber helped supplement my bartending salary, but it wasn’t a living.

When I got home, Crew was all smiles. He had just started belly laughing within the last week, and I honestly had never heard a more beautiful sound. About a year ago, I found out I was pregnant with him six weeks after returning from Cancun for a quick end-of-semester vacation. What I thought would be a no-strings night of fun to get over my recent break-up with a long-term boyfriend ended with two lines on a pregnancy test and no idea who the father was or how to contact him. His name was Tom, he was from California, and I couldn’t pick him out of a line-up if I tried. I knew I would need to make a more serious attempt to find him as Crew got older, if for no other reason than to get his medical history. Would child support relieve the financial strain? Absolutely, but finding this man would be next to impossible.

Once Crew had fallen back to sleep, I checked my Uber app and noticed that the asshole had left me a $500 tip. I sighed in frustration. This had to be a drunken mistake, and I was certain it was only a matter of time before the tip was deducted from my pay. But then I read the note that accompanied it:

Sorry, I was a jerk. I took my bad day out on you. Sam

CHAPTER 2

Sam

Iwoke the following day with a raging hangover and a few thousand dollars lighter in my bank account. The $500 apology tip to the Uber driver would be the only money well spent. The three bars I had stopped at were a blur of memories, whiskey, and more whiskey. I’d been a dick to the driver, and she’d noticed when she left me a one-star rating.

My outing yesterday was strong, not perfect, but I left the game in the lead. I don’t know why I picked up his call, but after I talked to him, he had me questioning every move I made on the mound. Nothing was ever good enough, and his criticism always got in my head.

My father wouldn’t be satisfied unless my career ended with an induction into the Hall of Fame alongside him. He could no longer play, but it was like he’d channeled every ounce of energy he had once used in his game into micro-managing every move I made on the mound. My success or failure was a direct reflection of him.

Sam Drummond Sr. started for New York during their last dynasty, and he had been critical to their fourWorld Series wins. I chose to sign with his former team’s biggest rival not because they were willing to pay me more but because I wanted to make my name. There was added weight because I was a junior. Instead, I’d become one of the most hated men in New York City. You would have thought that I’d personally pissed on my father’s legacy.

I made myself a cup of coffee and reflexively reached for my medallion necklace, only to find it missing. Panic immediately set in as I rummaged through the clothing I had dumped on the side of the bed before crashing for the night. It wasn’t in the pile of clothing, but maybe I’d left it in the locker room. I took a few deep, calming breaths. It had to be there. Once I got to the stadium, I’d go through my locker and find it there. I hoped that it hadn’t gotten lost in the uniform laundry.

My post-game recovery today consisted of a long run and arm conditioning with the trainer later that afternoon. I usually loved running, but the bourbon I drank last night would make it painful, not to mention how it threw off my recovery.

I hated that one phone call with my father could drive me to drink and question everything that I’d accomplished.

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