Page 18 of Fastball Fever
Her stubborn expression tells me she won't admit to the truth, not yet.The rest of the drive passes in silence as she contemplates the view out the window again, and I obsess over what the Altitudes' lineup might look this year.I heard a couple of guys defected to other teams, but I don't know if that's true.
We've just reached my apartment building, and I've pulled into a curbside parking slot.Amy jumps out before I can even stop completely.
"I'll email you the schedule, Braddock," she says over her shoulder.
I lean across the seat."Amy, wait, we need to—"
She waves her hand in the air without looking back and disappears into her car, where she'd left it along the curb.Her taillights are receding into the distance before I can even climb out of my vehicle.
Back inside my apartment, I head straight for the freezer and fish out a couple of Miller Lites, then crash on the couch and flip on the TV.Naturally, the news is all about yesterday's dust-up with Jared and my impending "comeback."The talking heads are already at it, rambling on about how I'll be lucky if I can keep up with the camera crew, let alone Morris.
I crack a beer open and choose to ignore all their BS predictions.
The news cuts to a clip of Amy during the final game against the Marlins, which had been last year.She wasn't my coach back then.In the clip, I can see her ponytail pulled tight and bouncing around.Then the video switches to her on the field yesterday, stepping between me and my nemesis like she's managing two wild dogs instead of players fighting for dominance.
I couldn't say it in front of all those reporters, but I know how much she's banking on me pulling off this comeback.That only makes me want it more—maybe more than anything in my life.
Forget about Morris.Focus on your game, Braddock.The jerk wants you off guard.
Tomorrow, I'm slated to face off against Jared again, for the first time in more than a year.Am I nervous?Nah, of course not.Well, maybe a tiny bit.But I have the best incentive of all to keep me grounded and focused.
Her name is Amy Keller.
The next morning, I wake up before the alarm and do a quick stretching routine to gauge how my shoulder feels.Nothing hurts—a good sign.Grabbing a protein bar and a banana, I head out the door, determined to get in some solo training before my early meeting with Amy.By the time she arrives, clipboard in hand, I've already run through half of my usual warm-ups.
She sweeps her gaze over me from head to toe."Someone's eager today."
"Just getting ready to smash the Assitudes."
I expect her to roll her eyes at the nickname, but she only sighs."Cut the wisecracks, Braddock.Today, you need to prove to the world that you're still the fastball king.Let's get started."
Chapter Ten
The Scouting Report
The cramped office is cluttered with stats and scores as well as a few moldy old baseballs that are long past their expiration date.When I'd first been injured, I'd felt like a relic of bygone days, of victories I might never achieve again.But I've realized lately that this isn't my final inning.Amy, on the other hand, remains anxious about my first game since my injury—and that anxiety rolls off her in unseen waves.I can feel those waves, though, and they're infecting me too.
I never would've guessed my tough coach would be biting her nails over me.
For the rest of the day, I steer clear of Phil's office, not ready to face him just yet.I've never been able to read the manager's mind or even his expression, but he's never been malicious.I shouldn't worry.Besides, he wouldn't fire me before my first post-injury game.So I hit the gym, throwing my energy into a brutal workout, pushing until my muscles scream like they're ready to mutiny.
Eventually, exhaustion wins out.I trudge back to the locker room to find it empty except for the hum of a vending machine and the smell of sweat that lingers in the air.
A crumpled scouting report lies on the desk, mocking me with stats and figures that suggest one of two things.Phil is measuring my mediocrity, or he's telling the team owner to ditch me right away.Ray is a nice guy, but this is business to him.Yeah, I've heard rumors that they want to trade me, and it's no joke.Amy was involved in those discussions, but I have no clue what she told the big guys—or what they told her.
I pick up the crumpled sheet and smooth it out.The words on the page make my jaw clench.Send Braddock back to the minors now, he's toxic.
Who wrote those words?No idea.It couldn't be Amy.
I crush the paper in my fist and hurl it across the room.As I storm into the hallway, a familiar voice shouts, "Stop, Charlie!"
I freeze, turning to face Amy.
She stands in the corridor like she knows I'm already a goner.My coach has the look of someone about to execute me in the most merciful way.She must think Jared will whup my ass, and I'll lead the Admirals to a devastating defeat.I remember the last time our team played against the Altitude, and how Jared grinned at me from third base like he was already three plays ahead, already knowing exactly how the game would end.
"See you next season, Braddock.Or maybe not!"he'd called out while grinning and blowing a kiss at me like a true shithead.
I glare at Amy."Did you know about this report?"
