Page 6 of Fastball Fever
The training room's a wreck—bats, helmets, and gear flung everywhere.My foot connects with a baseball and sends it skittering across the floor.It's like walking through a damn minefield.I hate this place, the low drone of the lights, the smell of sweat and desperation.It's the smell of failure, I guess, and it's wafting off me in waves.My shoulder feels stiff, and I rotate it, hoping nobody's around to see me wince.
To escape the stale smells, I head outside.
That's when I noticeher, standing by the pitching mound like she's the new fastball queen who'll take over my slot on the team.Amy holds a clipboard in one hand, and her ponytail bobs as she shakes her head slightly.Amy wears an Admirals cap, and she's waiting for me.Her confident stance and expression make me uneasy.
"What took you so long, Braddock?"she asks."Must've been playing with your ball for too long this morning."
Maybe I am holding a shiny new ball in my hand, but I don't appreciate her innuendo.Wouldn't mind feeling up those luscious tits, though.Or her lips, which she's currently licking over and over like she wants to devour me.
Amy glances down at the bulge in my pants, her lips curling up at one corner in an appreciative way.Then she makes a come-hither gesture.It doesn't seem sexual at all, unfortunately.That's just the way a coach might summon a player.I halt an arm's length from her.
My coach shakes her head and frowns slightly."Did you go on a bender last night?You look like hell, Braddock."
"Why are you riding my ass so hard?This is how I am first thing in the morning, buttercup.Impressed yet?"
She ignores the dig and checks something off her clipboard, completely unfazed."You need rehab, not a babysitter.You'll hate me most of the time, but I'm the only one who can turn you around and keep you out of the minors."
I snort."You talk tough, but let's see your credentials, sweetheart.I bet you're fresh off the T-ball circuit."
"Let's see your World Series ring,sweetheart," she fires back, and damn if it doesn't sting more than I want to admit.
I drop the ball and fold my arms over my chest."Guess you're also the new team shrink, huh?"
"Coach, Braddock, not shrink."Her steely gaze locks onto mine.Those eyes are fierce, daring me to keep making excuses."Are you ready to get to work yet?Or would you rather whine and moan some more?"
Wouldn't mind makinghermoan…but that would get me into way more trouble."I'm here, aren't I?That's proof I want to do the work."
Amy puckers her lips and squints at me for long enough that I start to get seriously annoyed.But I take a deep breath and release all the tension.Well, as much as I reasonably can, considering the circumstances.I glance around at the weights and resistance bands scattered at her feet like some medieval torture setup.
My coach sets down the clipboard and steps up to me with confidence in her stance and her eyes."Let's start with some basics.Show me those stretches we talked about."
"Here?On the field?"
She rolls her eyes."No, Braddock.You'll train in the workout room until I decide you're ready for more.Let's go."
Amy walks away without another word, and I follow like a scolded puppy.Everything inside me screams to fight back, but there's something about her that makes resistance feel futile.Nothing special about the workout room either, with its cold floors and mirrors that force you to face reality.I was hoping for a miracle, but it's the same as always—a place where players go to work off their frustrations or work through their loser phases.
Amy picks up a resistance band, tossing it at me."Let's see what you've got, hotshot."
I catch the band just in time, fumbling only a little."You mean I have to do all the work myself?"
She laughs, which throws me off guard because it sounds melodic, like she really finds me funny instead of just pathetic."Afraid of a little exercise?I thought you'd be happy I wasn't hovering over you."
Her words needle at me until all my thoughts blur into one persistent hum:Prove her wrong.I loop the band around the bar and give it a test pull.My shoulder complains, but I grit my teeth and keep going.
"That the best you can muster?"Amy isn't even writing anything down.She simply stands there, hands on her hips, like she's waiting for me to collapse into a puddle and burst into tears."This is me taking it easy.Can't risk showing off too much at the start."
"Uh-huh.Try lowering your shoulder a bit."
I do it her way, fighting the urge to tell her where she can stick that pointer finger of hers."Like this?"
"Exactly like that."She smiles, and I wonder if she's surprised that I listened—and did what she wanted me to do.
I push through a couple more reps, each one loosening the stiffness in my shoulder and winding it tighter in my chest."What's next, boss?"
"Weights.But with the way you're huffing and puffing already…"
A quick glance over my shoulder tells me she's serious, and I don't know whether to be impressed or frustrated.I drop the band and move to the weights."You trying to kill me, Coach?"
