But even though Yami and I will most often be paired together, it’s important I get to know all the pitchers since I’ll be catching for each of them at some point in the season. Which means my days have been long, filled with drills, sessions in the bullpen, and conditioning activities designed to help us all connect.
I like the other guys, but Yami’s my boy. We’re close to capturing the magic Pops and I used to have. And today, at the end of another long day under the Arizona sun, I feel like we’re really clicking.
Except, Yami can’t seem to get his speed up to where it needs to be. And it’s starting to mess with his head.
From my position behind home plate, I flash him the signal for a slider. He lets it rip, and it hits my glove a few seconds later.
“Ninety-nine point seven. Let’s go again,” Coach shouts from the side. I see Yami wince and know he’s not happy. Hopping up from my crouch, I jog up to the mound and wrap my hand around his neck, pulling his head to mine.
“Shake it off, bro. You know what you’re capable of. One-oh-three, baby. I was there, and my hand felt the impact for days.”
“Why the fuck am I going so slow?” he mutters, eyes still downcast. “It’s not the fucking yips, I kept up my conditioning all winter, so what gives?”
“It doesn’t matter. When the time comes, your arm will be on fucking fire. I know it, Coach knows it. Send it with a changeup next, and we’ll get there.”
I thump him on the back, finally seeing a smile.
“Thanks, bro. Let’s do this.”
I jog back to my spot behind home and drop down. Pulling my mask over my face, I give him the signal for a changeup.
This time, he lets it fucking fly.
“One-oh-one point two. Getting better. Three more, boys.”
Yami’s grin grows. I throw down a signal, and he lets it rip. We finish up the session, and after a quick chat with Coach, head to the locker room.
“Fuck, Arizona is hot.” Warren, one of the rookie pitchers, drops down to the bench in front of his locker with a groan. “I’m from Alaska, man. We don’t do heat.”
I whip a towel at him with a grin. “Get used to it. We got four more weeks here.”
He shoots me a half-hearted scowl. “I might melt. How am I gonna pitch if my hand is slippery with sweat?”
His complaints are nothing new. Arizonaishot. But it’s only gonna get hotter when we play down here during the season, so new guy better toughen up.
“You’ll be lucky to throw a single game if you’re that much of a princess. Hey, maybe that’s your nickname. Princess.” A deep voice comes from across the locker room.
I glance over at Carter Jones, a second-string pitcher who joined the team the season after I did. Not gonna lie, glad he said it so I didn’t have to.
“Jonesie is right,” Yami says, strolling in from the showers. “Toughen up, Princess. This is the big leagues, and yeah, sometimes we play when the heat makes you want to curl up and die. At least we aren’t freezing our asses off on the ice like those hockey weirdos.”
I stifle a laugh. Yami’s dislike of hockey is infamous.
The rookie looks suitably chastised, and I almost feel sorry for the guy. Moving over to sit next to him, I lean in. “Listen. You’ll adjust. Where did you play before this?”
He looks over at me, his face belligerent. Great. This guy’s gonna be fun. “Nebraska, for college. It got hot but not seventh circle of hell.”
I nod, keeping my expression calm. Doesn’t this guy understand that Arizona in February is nothing? Wait till it’s August and we’re down here, or in Nevada, or hell, in Florida. Lots of places are hotter than this, and we’ll play ball in all of them.
“At least we don’t play in the rain.” I give him a wide grin and stand up. Some guys just want to complain, not realizing howgoddamn lucky they are to be here. Not me. I’ll play no matter what the weather is. Wind, rain, snow. Okay, maybe not snow. Don’t wanna ruin my gear.
But I’ve never taken one day of my career for granted. Never complained about the fucking weather, that’s for damn sure.
Once I’m dressed, I head out for the bus that’ll take us back to the hotel. I’m eager to call Lark and see how the doctor visit went. Hopefully, she’ll have good news and will be on the plane headed south in a couple of days.
As soon as I’m in my hotel room, I flop onto my stomach on the bed and call her up on a video chat. The call connects, and there she is. My girl.
“Hey, beautiful.” I grin, unable to hold it back. “How are you feeling?”
