Page 23 of Fastball Fever
I don't know whether she's talking about my shoulder or something else, but she's got me wondering all the same.I watch as she heads for the door, her strides as determined as ever.Once she's gone, the locker room is quiet except for the dull thud of my heart.This isn't only about the game anymore.
Maybe it never was.
As I exit the stadium, I hear the color commentator informing the crowd that I'm out for this game—and explaining why.
The fans can guess the rest.Amy's heading back to her apartment in Jacksonville and then probably on to…wherever she used to live.Christ, I never even thought to ask about that.I'm not exactly keen on watching Jared act like God's gift to baseball, so I run a hand through my hair and speed past the parking lot.
About a mile down the main road, I hit a sports bar called The Fly Ball Pub.The place feels just as shaken as I am after that last play—half the neon letters on the pub's sign are burned out.The remaining letters flicker with a headache-inducing red light.Inside, there's some talk about me mixed with clinking glasses and rowdy cheers for the Altitude.I suck it up and slide onto an empty stool.Jared might have won this round, but if Amy thinks I'm sitting out, she doesn't know me as well as she thinks.
"Scotch," I tell the bartender, a lanky guy who looks barely old enough to serve drinks.His name tag says he's Dave.
"Rough game out there, huh?"Dave smirks as he slides the glass over to me.
"You could say that."I take a long sip, letting the burn distract me from the mess inside my head.
"Guess you're getting an early start on your vacation," he adds with a grin.
"If you can call a couple days off a vacation."
I bet Jared put everyone up to this before even leaving the field, making sure the word would spread like wildfire—Braddock's out.Dave is probably friends with Morris.I struggle not to grit my teeth, feeling like I've got a bullseye on my back.
"Bet you could do with a break from the crowds," Dave says, leaning back and taking in the game as a roar goes up from the pub crawlers in here."Sounds good to me.Downtime in St.Barts would be sweet."
The Altitude scores again, and just like that, the place erupts.Baseball jerseys and foam fingers wave around, though I can't see who's holding them.I down my drink and signal for another.This is how it's gonna be until I prove them wrong: Jared soaking up the spotlight and Amy glowering at me.
Stop whining, Braddock.Suck it up and keep going.
I slap a few bills on the bar and ditch this joint.
That night, the pain wakes me up.In the morning, I roll out of bed, barely managing to dress myself before heading for an MRI that promises answers I don't want to hear.Only Phil could get a scan done that quickly.The results aren't what I hoped.Inflammation, weeks of recovery, maybe longer.
Phil paces like an angry bear in the manager's office, threatening to bench me for the season if I don't pull my head out of my ass.My arm's throbbing, and so is my pride.Amy is nowhere to be seen, but I knew she'd be gone by now.Her one-game reprieve has run out.
This morning's practice doesn't feel right—at least to me.I got used to Amy being here, giving me hell, propping me up, whatever it took to prepare me.My new coach, Andy, definitely knows his stuff, but…
I miss Amy.How pathetic is that?
After another long day of rehab and some gentle practice, I go home for the night.As I drop the bottle of painkillers on my nightstand, I flop onto the bed like a rag doll.My shoulder feels stiff even after the meds kick in.They say it'll take weeks to heal, but I don't have that kind of time if I want to stay in the game.If I want to stay relevant.
On day three without Amy, I receive an unwanted visitor.It's Alicia, and she seems determined to play nursemaid, problem-solver, and meddler of the year, all rolled into one.
"Charlie!"she cries out, bursting through the door with a bandwagon's worth of Admirals merch."I brought you a care package!"
"I'm good, really, so you can leave now."I wish I'd remembered to take away her key to my apartment after the divorce.But I didn't.So, all I can do now is drag myself into a sitting position on the sofa, blinking sleep out of my eyes.She's already stranded me in a sea of swag, and I screw up my face when I see a particular item."An Admirals onesie?If you're trying to seduce me, that's a terrible way to start."
"Don't be so mopey," she says, her voice sing-songy and bright."You need to keep yourself busy while you're sidelined."
I wince at the word."Who says I'm sidelined?"
Her smile wavers, and her brows wrinkle."Everyone?But that's not necessarily bad news.You're rehabbing, right?Taking it easy like you're supposed to."
"Alicia."I give her my best long-suffering look."I don't want company right now."
"You aren't planning to do something stupid, are you?"
"What's it matter if I am?"
She lays a hand on my forehead like she thinks I'm feverish.Then my ex-wife settles her ass on the sofa's arm right beside me."Forget about that Amy girl.I can take care of you better than anyone else."
