Page 66 of Fastball Fever
As we make our way down the tunnel toward the locker room, I can't stop smiling.The energy in the room is electric, with guys whooping and hollering, spraying champagne like we just won the World Series.
Well, yeah, we did just that.What lucky jerks we are.
"Braddock!"Sanchez calls out, tossing me a bottle."You magnificent bastard!"
I catch the bottle one-handed, pop the cork with my thumb, and take a swig.The bubbles fizz in my throat, but it's the sweetness of victory that I'm really tasting.
In the corner, Phil is on his phone, his expression shifting from elation to something far less pleasant.He catches my eye and motions me over.
"What's up, boss?"I ask.Phil's never been one to dampen celebrations.That means something must be wrong.
"Just got a call from the league office."Phil keeps his voice hushed."They need you and Amy in the conference room.Now."
"What?Why?"I glance at Amy, who's laughing with some of the guys near the lockers."We're celebrating."
Phil rubs his jaw."It's about Morris and Rivera.And our tainted equipment."
"You mean the marijuana oil scheme."
"Yeah."Phil's gaze darts around as if he's making sure no one else will overhear."Turns out Morris wasn't just trying to knock you off balance with all that trash talk and secretly drugging you guys.The league's got evidence he was trying to sabotage the team in other ways too."
I feel like I've been hit with a fastball to the gut."Sabotage?How?"
Phil glances toward the door."I can't say much here.But remember how our equipment manager found those drilled-out spots in some of our old bats?Turns out it wasn't just wear and tear."
"Son of a—" I cut myself off, my thoughts racing."Morris did that?"
"The league has video evidence.The pea-size cameras we set up caught him in our equipment room three weeks ago, but nobody looked at the whole footage until now.But now we've alerted the league to Jared's marijuana scheme."Phil's voice drops even lower."There's more, but we need to keep this quiet until the official announcement.The commissioner wants your statement."
Amy approaches, her victory smile fading as she senses the tension."What's going on?"
I fill her in quickly, watching her expression shift from confusion to anger.Her hands ball into fists at her sides.
"That cheating bastard," she hisses."I knew he was desperate, but this?It goes way beyond any team rivalry."
I hold her close as I struggle to process everything we now know.My victory high is still going, but now it's tinged with something else—anger, yes, but also a strange sense of validation.After my injury, I'd wondered if my struggles against Jared were partly in my head, if I was making excuses for not measuring up.But no, he'd actually been sabotaging me, us, the whole team.
I clasp Amy's hand."Let's go.The sooner we deal with this, the sooner we can get back to celebrating."
We follow Phil down the corridor, away from the noise of the locker room.The concrete hallway feels cold after the warmth of victory, our footsteps echoing against the walls.
"You know," I say, breaking the tense silence, "part of me always suspected something wasn't right.The way our performance would tank against Aspen when we'd been unstoppable the week before against a different team."
"Jared's always been obsessed with beating you," Amy points out.
"Yeah, but drugging us?Sabotaging equipment?That's criminal."
"And it ends tonight," Phil asserts firmly as we approach the conference room."The league's taking this very seriously."
The door swings open to reveal Commissioner Davis as well as two league officials who are seated at a long table.Their faces are grim.Folders and tablets lay spread out before them.On a screen behind the duo, a video is paused, showing a figure that's unmistakably Jared.He's hunched over what looks like our equipment bags.The video is from the tiny camera Amy and I had installed.
"Mr.Braddock, Ms.Keller," Commissioner Davis says, standing to shake our hands."Thank you for joining us on such short notice.Please, have a seat."
I slide onto a chair, my body still humming with adrenaline from the game and our incredible win.The leather feels cool against my sweaty back.Amy takes the seat beside me, her posture rigid.
"First, congratulations on your performance tonight," Davis tells us.His tone is professional, but I detect genuine touch of admiration."That was some impressive pitching."
"Thank you, sir," I respond, my eyes drifting to the frozen image on the screen."But I'm guessing we're not here to discuss my batting average."
