Page 161 of Chasing Headlines
I turned and caught sight of Meyers. Baseball gripped in his left hand, he stretched his arm, then flexed. He glanced up, shot me a glare, then returned to his exercises.
That knotted up feeling returned. But . . . We needed him.
I sat a full person-length away from him. “How’s the arm?”
“I wasn't aware I'd won the consolation prize. Coop suddenly gives a shit how I’m doing?”
“Nope, just the arm.” I studied my hands.
He let out a huff with a small curve of his mouth. “More like it.”
A cheer rose from the crowd. Someone yelled: “Get out! Come on!”
Then a loud “awww.” As the ball went foul.
“I'm not used to this reliever shit.”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “What’s the difference?”
“Control of the game. Walking in with two runs already on the board. When you start, they’re your runs. You know the pitches that put them there. Now, I feel blind and behind.” He pulled off his hat and ran a hand over his hair. “Long reliever's a joke.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, you’re an asshole.”
I chuckled. “I’ve heard. Anyway, if you’re done whining like we’re back in little league and you didn’t get your favorite snow cone flavor after the game?—”
“Let me guess: suck it up, buttercup?” He sneered.
“Close. Either figure it out or tell coach you’re not capable of the mental control it takes to clean up messes.” It took everything I had not to grin. “You’re either a reliever or you’re not. Most of the time relievers are brought in to clean up messes. That's the job.” I stood and crossed my arms over my chest. “So decide what you’re gonna be, suck it up, and be that. No excuses. No apologies.”
“I’ll make you choke on those words.” He seethed.
Like taking candy from a baby.I had no doubt he’d be laser focused when he went back out there. Just to prove me wrong.
I stared at the front of the dugout and the slice of baseball field beyond.Looks like Jimenez made it to first, and Dereks is on second.I cast a glance back at Meyers, but he was fixated at some point over in the far corner. I followed his gaze to see a woman’s form.
Dark-colored fabric hugged her hips, a maroon jacket dripped from her left shoulder. She knelt on one knee, blond hair up in a ponytail, her camera covered her features. But I'd know her anywhere.
Milline.I shook my head.I should’ve asked for somethingbetterin exchange for that press pass.
I can ask my girlfriend later. Since I’m no longer on rest.I shook my head, shoving the non-baseball thoughts aside and took up my spot at the rail. We were still short a run. And it took every member of the team to win.
Chapter Forty-Five
Breslin POV
Jimenez turned his hat inside out and threw it on backwards. Yeah, eighth inning and we still needed a run. Meyers had kept the other team scoreless for six, despite all his prima donna whining.
I glanced around.That jerk needs to be over here supporting his team. So where is he?It'd been a little . . . awkward at first. Trying to lighten up, open my mouth, maybe even have a little fun.
It'd occurred to me, somewhere in the middle innings, that I'd been missing a sense of gratitude. Missing out on the opportunities in front of me. Missing . . . the player that I was. Had always been.
When have I ever been the guy sulking in the back of the room?In high school, I'd been team captain, leading by example. Picking up my teammates when they were down.
It sucked having all that taken away. Having to start over. Climbing up from a bottom rung I'd never had to start from before. I'd earned a starting role just by playing, by being who I was.
And I'd been so buried in grief and anger, I hadn't been me in . . . so long.