Page 16 of The Battery
“It was,” I said with a leveled tone. I tried not to use mypiss-offlook but it was hard not to when I wanted someone to learn something. “Keep an eye on that four-seamer, though. The spin wasn’t feeling right toward the end. Am I calling too many?”
“No, sir,” he said. Then wobbled his head. “Maybe.”
“That’s on me. All right. Get to the bullpen.”
He turned, still grinning like an idiot. I almost—almost—gave one in return.
Wrap that shit up, Leo, I scolded myself. Acid burned up my gullet at those implications. I had a singular mission and letting my head get all swimmy served only failure.
Romo and I exchanged a brief conversation before he went up to bat. He complimented me on my handling of Cody the last two innings. He went up before me and made it to second on a pop fly to left field. I was up next and smashed a line drive down the center. Romo scored and I made it to third and almost caught myself in a pickle. Unfortunately, we struck out before I could make for home and we drained off the field, now three to one.
Cody appeared like a specter as I finished strapping on my gear. I side-eyed him to say hello, then did a double take. His posture had changed. He carried tension in his shoulders. The easy smile, gone. The brim of his cap was pulled low. He walked right past me and onto the field as if I hadn’t been standing there.
Ah, shit.Something happened.
I watched him as though any minor movement would highlight the primary issue, even though I already knew. The teasing back in the bullpen. Some of the relievers probably became jealous of the past two innings and knew what to say topiss him off. He let it get to him and now it would impact this inning.
I called the pitch and Cody gave me nothing as he pushed his cleat against the rubber. Whereas the last two innings he bounced with energy, now he skulked like he had three hundred pounds sitting on his shoulders. I fought off a wave of disappointment and sympathy. I’d yell at him later. We just needed to get through this inning.
Come on, Cody, I willed to him.You got this.
He threw the first pitch.
*
The Libertines scored two runs on our watch. Cody was pulled before the inning was over.
I don’t want to say that my heart broke as I watched him leave the field with his head dropped, shoulders deflated. I piece of me felt for the guy. Another piece was enraged at the idea that someone as talented as him could let silly words affect his game. I wanted to shake him. Slap him. Show him a future where he could make the hall of fame, if only he set aside pettiness.
Against my better judgment, propelled by an unknown force, I sought Cody during the seventh inning stretch. He sat inside the exercise area in the bullpen, hidden from fans and the other players. He sat at the handbike, arms pumping diligently while he stared at a blank wall like it was reading him the riot act. His eyes slid sideways when I appeared in the doorway. He squeezed them shut, shook his head, and looked away.
That same unknown force suggested I say something. Break him from whatever malaise had bewitched him. But I was a stubborn man whose kindness only extended as far as my arm. If you floated outside that circle, that was on you.
Lost cause.Two words that echoed in my mind as I turned away from him.You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves.
I couldn’t keep putting energy into it. I had to focus on the pitchers who mattered. On the ones who could help get us to the pennant. That was all that mattered. If Cody couldn’t assist, then he was dead weight.
CHAPTER NINE
Cody
Two weeks hadpassed since my last game. Two friggin weeks. Almost nobody goes that long on the pitching staff without playing. I heard the vapid excuses, that I needed to rest my arm longer, that I mentally wasn’t up to the task. It was only a matter of time before they dropped me into the minors and I lost everything I had worked so hard for.
Leo stopped speaking to me entirely. Gone were the side-eyes, thepiss offlooks that I had come to find reliable. He just simply stopped everything and only performed the perfunctory needs. On occasion he would join practice and take his turn with me. Standard comments. Halfhearted reactions. It crushed more than I cared to admit.
After it became obvious they weren’t putting me back on the field, I started arriving early at the stadium. I took a cab to not bother Freddie. I had to find a balance between practicing and not overusing my arm. The pitching coaches were helpful enough, neutral party that they were. I managed to avoid the Assholes as much as I could. Part of me felt like a coward. Maybe because I was? I didn’t want to admit that out loud, but the quiet part of my brain made the fact known.
I had dealt with plenty of bullying and teasing in the minors. I could wipe it from my shoulders as easily as dirt. I couldn’t understand why I took it to heart now that I played full time for the Riders. There were psychologists available for me to see—and the only reason I knew that was because Romo suggested I see one. That felt like a capitulation of sorts. Giving in to the fact that something snapped in my brain and I needed help.
My dream was slipping away, all because of the naysaying in my head that I couldn’t shake.
I arrived at the stadium an hour after daybreak. During the past week I had thrown myself into regular gym exercises in an effort to rest my arm. No one was around when I got there—just a peaceful quietude. With the silence in the morning, no noise but the kind that I made, I didn’t need the white noise from my headphones. In the gym proper I got the squat rack set up to my desired setting and pulled out gloves from my gym bag. As I strapped on the right glove, the Velcro strap snapped off.
Dammit.I tossed them in the bin and headed to the supply closet. Well, more like supplydepot. I pushed open the metal door to a room with a vaulted ceiling and overly bright halogen lights. The shelving ran perpendicular to the door, four deep, ten paces wide. The shelving directly in front of me contained the usual: bats, mitts, helmets. I stepped inside and the door shut behind me. Second row was bulkier equipment. Third row was…
Him.
Leo, with his straight-backed posture, looking down at a package held in his hand. He cocked his head to the left to look at me with that stare of his. The blue ball cap sat backward on his head. He wore exceptionally short training shorts, like a pair of MMA briefs, and a muscle tank that hung loosely around his body, exposing his obliques with a peek at his chest.
