Page 9 of Fastball Fever
"It will come back," Phil assures me, his tone calm with a confident ring to it, like he's said these words a hundred times and they've always come true."You'll be the fastball king again, trust me."
"Does Amy ever quit?"I ask, more to myself than to Phil.
He chuckles."Not likely."
My gaze flicks to Amy, who's talking to another coach, and they both laugh at something one or the other said.Whenever Amy smiles…damn, it's hot.Makes me want to drag her into the nearest secluded spot and kiss her until she melts into me.
Phil turns toward me."Ya know, I've watched you two out there.You and Amy."
I stiffen, confused about where he's going with this."And?"
"Reminds me of when I was still playing."
I look at him, really look at him, and it's easy to forget sometimes that Phil was in my shoes once.His beard is starting to gray, and there's wisdom in his eyes that feels earned.
But I haven't earned anything yet."What about me and Amy reminds you of your glory days?"
"Pushing too hard, getting frustrated, feeling like it's all slipping away.And someone standing there, making sure it didn't."
I follow his gaze back to Amy.She's ambling toward us both, though I'm sure she's aiming for me.I haven't been fully whipped yet today, after all.Not that I mind those whippings all that much these days.
Phil shifts on the bench, and I hear the soft rustle of paper."You know how I ended up here?"
I shake my head, curious despite myself.
"I was the next big thing.Power hitter, tons of speed."He smiles as if he doesn't quite believe it anymore himself."Then one game, I take a pitch right to the wrist.Bone shatters.Just like that, I'm off the roster.Not much to do when you're sitting on the sidelines and everyone's moving on without you."
His words hit me harder than any fastball.I don't interrupt, letting him continue.
"The manager told me I was washed up.Offered me a coaching job in Single-A.Might as well have been the bottom of the ocean.But I took it.Couldn't imagine not being in the game at all."He pauses, his gaze catching mine."I spent years building myself back, little by little.Worked my way up to manager.I learned the hard way that it takes more than muscle to get back in the game."
I exhale a slow, shaky breath.His story hangs in the air between us, heavy and real."And your wrist?"
"Doing just fine.But not major league fine.Doesn't matter anymore, though, because I love being team manager."
I lean back, feeling the cool wood press against my back, and wonder if he's gently prepping me for the possibility that I won't get my game back.But I shouldn't think that way.I won't think that way.
Phil picks up the papers, stacking them with practiced ease.I watch him, absorbing the steady, comforting presence that he brings to this team."Don't lose heart, Charlie.It's a process, and you're not alone."
Maybe I do have something left, and I just need to believe it.
Phil stands up, tucking the papers under his arm."I'll see you tomorrow, Charlie."
I manage only a tight smile.
While Phil walks away, the clinking of his pen fades, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Amy finally reaches the dugout, though she lingers on the top step, her hands grasping the roof."Time to go home, Charlie.You need rest before our next session."
"Yes, ma'am."
I uncoil my body, wincing at the protest in my muscles, and stretch out the stiffness.As I grab my gear, I turn away from Amy in the process.When I shuffle around to face her, I'm stunned to realize she's moved directly in front of me.I stare at her blankly, unable to move even one millimeter.Her hot breaths tickle my face.
"Everything okay, Amy?"
She nods slowly, biting her lip, releasing it little by little until it springs free.Her gaze wanders over my entire body.Why she wants to smell the stench of my sweat is beyond me.
"Amy?"I ask, feeling weird about this encounter.
