Page 56 of Knox
The swellingin Crew’s hand had gone down a little by the next morning, but the smallest movements made him wince. He barely touched his coffee, and when he only ate a few bites of the eggs and bacon I made for him, I knew his worry about how this would affect his game was weighing on him.
We hung out at the condo watching TV until it was time for us to leave for his MRI.
“You sure you’re okay with ordering a rideshare back to the stadium?” I asked as he climbed out of the truck in front of the doctor’s office.
He nodded. “Yeah. Not really feeling up to driving right now.”
“Okay, but call me if you need anything. I’m just going to hit up the batting cages since we aren’t doing BP today.”
“Don’t worry. I’m a big boy and capable of taking care of myself.”
I grinned. “Oh, I know how big you are. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you.”
He groaned. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
I laughed. “Nope.”
With a roll of his eyes, he said, “I’ll see you at the field.”
“Later,” I replied.
I waited until he was inside before pulling away from the curb. I wanted to be there, but I knew hovering would only make him feel worse.
When I turned into the staff parking lot, I recognized a few of the cars there already. Those teammates were likely in the weight room, but I wasn’t planning on doing a full workout. I just wanted to take a moment to get my focus back on the game where it needed to be.
I dropped my bag off in my cubby and changed into my practice jersey. As I headed toward the cages, I heard someone call my name. Turning, I did a double-take. With everything going on with Crew, I’d almost forgotten that Beck Pearson, my former roommate from my minor league days in Albuquerque, had been traded to the Seawolves’ Triple-A team during spring training.
“Pearson?” He looked exactly like he had two years ago. Same cocky grin, same swagger, and the same backwards hat he wore whenever we weren’t on the field.
He spread his arms wide. “Surprise, bitch.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Glad to see you’re still an asshole.”
“Yeah, but now I’m an asshole with a locker in a big-league clubhouse.” He smirked. “Only took Stratton jacking up his fingers for me to get a big break.”
I shot him a look, and he held up both hands in surrender. “Kidding. Mostly. It definitely sucks, and I don’t like to see things like that happen, especially to a player as important as he is to this team.”
“Appreciate that. He’s getting an MRI today, so we’ll know more soon.”
“Hope it’s just a sprain,” Pearson mused. “Seriously, I’m not trying to step on any toes or anything. Just here to do my job and try not to fuck it up.”
“Relax,” I said. “It’s not like it’s your fault he got hurt.”
Pearson followed me down the hall, casually tossing a ball in the air and catching it.
I tore open a protein bar and choked it down as we entered the batting cages.
“You still like those nasty ass things?”
I glared at him. “You’re one to talk. You used to microwave tuna.”
“That was one time, and I was desperate for a hot meal.”
“It was disgusting, and we had to evacuate the apartment,” I reminded him.
“It was still a decent tuna melt.”
I got the pitching machine set up and stepped into the batter’s box, taking a few practice swings before the machine spat out the first ball.
