Page 6 of The Catcher

I felt silly complaining about him sometimes. He had never been physically abusive. He just made me feel like shit, wore me down until I felt scraped and whittled down so thin that I wondered I didn’t blow away on the breeze.

I washed myself off in the shower, relieved when my hair finally felt soft and clean, and I felt much better.

I could do this. All I had to do was minimize my contact with Tanner Courtenay and keep our interactions perfectly professional. It was only for a few months.

I was disgruntled to realize that I was also expected to go to all the games. I hadn’t realized this would be part of the deal, and I settled into one of the team’s reserved seats behind home plate, the sweat already trickling down between my breasts and pooling in the small of my back. Luckily, a couple in their 70s had taken pity on me sweating profusely in my pantsuit and handed me a fan and told me a little bit about the players.

I had already met the rest of the team a few days before, but their names had blurred together. Tre was the Phoenixes’ star pitcher, a tall, lean man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a wholesome grin.Hewas a PR dream. Handsome, open, friendly, charitable, a team player, and engaged to a veterinarian.

Steak was a great refrigerator of a man with chestnut brown hair and a dark beard. He was a journeyman who had been transferred mid-season. He played first base and had a wife and kids that were spending the rest of the year in Indianapolis, where he had previously played.

There were various similar-looking brown-haired, clean-shaven relief pitchers I had a hard time distinguishing between because multiple of them were named Matt.

DeShaun was the best relief pitcher in baseball, a tall Black man with a gentle smile. He was nearing retirement and hoping to coach when he was done.

Alex was a big jovial ginger outfielder and Kenji was an extremely appealing beefcake himbo from Japan. The quick, clever Miguel rounded out the outfield. According to my new friends in the stands, on paper the Phoenixes were one of the strongest teams in baseball, just Not Living Up To Their Potential.

“What do you think about Tanner Courtenay, the catcher?” I asked as he walked up to the plate. In a team of tall men, he still stood out, impossibly broad-shouldered, with the black jersey stretched across those wide shoulders, the eye black smeared across his strong cheekbones.

“He’s pulling,” the man beside me said as Tanner swung at a pitch. 0-1. “He’s swinging at everything. I’ve never seen him swing at such shit as he does this year.”

Tanner connected, sending a foul ball arcing into the stands. 0-2.

“He’ll come out of it,” my other seatmate said, her face pink as she fanned herself. “He always does.”

Tanner swung at another pitch deep in the dirt.Strikeout.He turned and headed back to the dugout, slamming his bat over his knee so it broke with a sickening crunch, sending a gasp of thrilled horror through the crowd.

“Oh, he’s bad news,” she said with the delighted relish of someone who didn’t have to interact with Tanner every damn day.

“I think so too,” I said in a low voice, and I saw his eyes flick up suddenly, even though he couldn’t possibly have heard me. I thought his dark eyes might have met mine, but I wasn’t sure.

Lou had requested a one-on-one meeting before the first week was barely done. They were now 10 games out of the second wildcard spot, and Tanner had gone 1-for-10 in that time.

I sat across from Lou and began to run over the charities I had already gotten Tanner to donate to. The problem was that these charities, although worthy, were expected, and, since Tanner had refused to go present his checks in person, had notmoved the needle to improving his PR. I hated that I was already beginning to think like a PR person again, but I knew we needed a new approach.

As I laid out the data in front of Lou, I saw a few of the players shuffle inconspicuously in behind us. Lou looked around irritably.

“What are you boys doing here?” he asked, pointing his ever-present spit can at them.

“It’s an off-day, Coach Hernandez,” Miguel said cheekily and Lou turned back around with a humph.

I had just begun to lay out our most pressing problems when Tanner himself walked into the room.

“What areyoudoing here?” I cried, before I could help myself.

“Isn’t this whole goddamn meeting about me?” Tanner said, and I saw his eyes flick up and down my gray silk top, in a way that looked aggressively bored. My top suddenly felt too-tight, the buttons digging into my skin.

“It is about you, but it is notforyou,” I said.

But Tanner only leaned against the window, putting his big arms across his chest and looking at me.

I took a deep breath and began, trying to focus on Lou.

“My idea is that we are going to have to lean into the asshole thing. He will acknowledge he was an asshole, but he is working to not be an asshole. There is no point in trying to convince the public that he hasn’t been an asshole. We will focus on charitable works, discreetly recorded acts of meritorious goodness, and anti-steroid use PSAs and so forth. And,” I said, “The public will forgive a lot more if can be better at baseball.”

There was a sudden, unpleasant silence, and I didn’t to look up.

“And what if I don’t want to do all this shit?” Tanner said.

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