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Nodding, I rose for my windup. I released the ball and watched as it soared to the plate and dropped into the dirt at the last second, just as the batter swung.
“Strike.”
Asher tossed the ball back, but as I caught it, he turned to the dugout. I followed his line of sight and frowned at Tom Wilson, who was heading my way. Why the hell was he coming out to lecture me? I’d just nailed that fucking pitch.
“Damiano.”
“No.”
He and I had been doing okay for the last few weeks. But if he was going to start thisI’m the coach, bow down to meshit and all of a sudden revert back to distrusting his players, we weren’t going to make it through the season.
“Listen.”
“No, you listen. My arm is on fire. I don’t need to rest. I need to pitch a full game and get into the cycle again.”
He regarded me, his expression stoic, and nodded. “I understand how you feel.”
“So?” I gripped the ball tighter. I was not fucking turning it over. Routines were important for pitchers. So were arm workouts and resting periods. My body needed to get back into the groove of the constant pitching schedule I’d have to maintain for most of the year. If I didn’t get that, I’d struggle for the start of the actual season.
He cleared his throat and ducked his head, but then he focused on me once again, and this time, when I really looked at him, I could see the concern etched on his features. “It’s personal.”
My chest constricted, stealing all the air from my lungs, and my mind whirled. All I could think was that he’d found out about Avery. Or had something happened to her? No. I couldn’t finish that thought. I needed her smile and her crazy stories and her fucking birds that I didn’t want to get close to but loved because she did.
I swallowed my panic. Locking my knees, I stood ramrod straight, hoping it was anything but Avery. “What’s wrong?”
Turned out itwasn’tAvery. But the words that came out of his mouth almost sent me to my knees.
No. Not my dad.
My legs wobbled and my head spun as I took in the details he’d given me. As if my body had taken over because my mind couldn’t compute, I held the ball out to him.
He took it from me and tipped his head toward the dugout.
On autopilot, I walked across the grass and down the steps. “I need to get to New York,” I said to no one in particular.
“I know.”
Startling to a stop, I came face to face with Beckett Langfield.
“My pilot’s prepping the plane now. I’ll get you there.” He patted my shoulder.
I flinched away from the touch, but I muttered a “thanks.”
Continuing to the locker room, I rubbed at the ache in my chest, fixated on the possibilities of what I might find when I got to New York. Heart attack. A bad one. He’d been rushed into surgery already, but that was all the information Coach had.
I needed to call Gianna.
Shit. Gianna. She’d be devastated too.
I swayed a little on my feet. I needed to sit down. I just needed…I just needed him to be okay.
I wasn’tsure I should be here, but what I did know was that I couldn’t stay in Boston. When Gianna called me in a panic because she couldn’t get ahold of Chris, I did the only thing I could think of. I called Dad. I didn’t explain how I knew or why I was so upset. Just that Chris’s dad had had a heart attack and that he needed to get to New York.
Two minutes later, I saw the clip of Chris on the mound. I watched the color drain from his face as he swayed on his feet. He needed a hug. And support. So I couldn’t stay in Boston and hope for the best. And a five-hour drive wasn’t that big of a deal.
I stepped up to the nurses’ station and rested my hands flat on the cool surface. “Um, I’m looking for Bo Damiano.”
She assessed me, her expression full of compassion. “Are you family?”
