Page 26 of Fastball Fever
She swivels toward me, already tossing a baseball in my direction."Show me how you throw these days."
I catch the ball with my good hand and roll my shoulder back as if it doesn't ache like hell.There's no sympathy in her stare, only high expectations.Yeah, I've missed that too.
I wind up and pitch, feeling the muscles scream under the strain, but it feels far less painful today.The ball blasts past Amy before she's even ready for it.The ball makes a loud smack against the backstop and bounces back toward us.
She raises a brow, clearly impressed."Not bad for an old man."
"Hah-hah.Better not annoy me, Keller."I stride up to her and cup her ass with one hand."I'm not too old to spank you, kid."
"Are you sure you aren't too elderly to do that?"
"Next you'll be saying I'm washed up."
"If the shoe fits," she says with a teasing glint in her eyes.
"How about I show you another one, Coach?"
"Sounds good," Amy replies, catching the ball on one hop and throwing it back with a fluid motion that reminds me why she's so damn good at this.
I grind through another pitch, a hard fastball with some menace to it.This time she's ready, sidestepping out of the ball's path as it crashes into the backstop.
"Not bad."She winks at me."Maybe you've still got it after all.Maybe you deserve a mini vacation this weekend."
"Where are we going?"
Her smile could light up the universe."My hometown, the place where baseball truly lives and breathes—Cooperstown."
"Are you kidding?I've never been there, but I always wanted to go."I sound like a ten-year-old, and I might just start jumping up and down.But I don't care.
Amy laughs, and it's the sweetest sound on earth."Better start packing right after practice."
She's given me just enough encouragement to give me hope.That small sliver of belief is like sunlight warming me after weeks of clouds.Even though every nerve in my body burns, I brace for another throw.
Maybe I could do this with any one of a thousand other coaches, but none of them would make me feel like I'm ten feet high.Why is that?The answer smacks me like a curveball to my head.
I'm in love with Amy Keller.
Chapter Fourteen
The Trade Rumor
The day before Amy and I will be heading for Cooperstown, I see my worst fear splashed across newspaper headlines and sports radio stations across the country.Well, my second worst fear.My name is on the trade block, and I won't be surprised if that's my fate.It's better than going down to the minors.I'll probably wind up joining the White Sox.Last year, they had their worst season in the history of the team, so I'll fit right in.
Every reporter in the press area is either losing their mind or running in circles.Maybe both.I'm half an hour from showtime, headed into the stadium for our matchup against the Altitude.
Every camera is trained on me and not the field.
"They're talking Philadelphia," one reporter hollers."They want him bad."
Sure, I believe that.The pitcher with a bum shoulder is wanted by every team.Though I've got my game face on, I think about a dozen reporters see through it already and know I'm toast.Before I can shove through the horde, I hear the familiar voice of Seb Hudson, the only sports anchor who doesn't hate me for being injured.
"The Philadelphia Panthers are ready to trade for Charlie Braddock," Seb announces.
He's usually right about these things.But I pray he's wrong this time.I don't need a fucking sports anchor to tell me the trade makes sense for everyone involved.Every time I step up to the mound lately, I'm batting about .050 under my own weight.That is not good, to put it mildly.
I glance up at the breaking news feeds playing out on TVs near the concessions area.The banner under the anchor says, "The End for Braddock?"and another news ticker declares, "Breaking: Braddock on Trade Block."They're only saying out loud what I've been thinking for months.What I wish was all in my head.
When I finally get into the locker room, I feel like I've survived a pack of sharks that want to devour me alive.My teammates offer encouragement and slaps on the back, but it all feels hollow.Their whispers and side glances are like knives, cutting into me deeper than any physical injury.I know they mean well, but the tension is getting to me.
