I’m on that one with a challenge, tapping my helmet quickly and the ump scoffs loud enough for me to hear over the crowd.
I can’t stop it. “It was down the fucking middle.”
“It was too high,” the ump barks back.
Don’t respond. Just let him check the system.
“What, nothing else to say?”
Fuck.
“Go check it. I challenge it, go fucking see for yourself.”
“You guys are just going to challenge this fucking game, like it’s some crutch or something. Maybe you should let me do my job and focus on yours.”
I shake my head and count to ten. I know Will can tell I’m getting frustrated, but he needs to stay on the mound, and this guy just needs to check the call.
I simply tap my helmet, signaling the challenge yet again. If I’m wrong, then we lose one of our two challenges. The other team already lost one for challenging that strike.
He grumbles more curses as he goes to check. I bite my tongue until the metallic taste of blood gets me to let go.
“Strike three,” the ump corrects, and I can tell from his tone how much he hated saying that.
Fucking music to my ears.
The batter steps away, moving back to the dugout, and I toss the ball back to Will. Before the next one’s walk-up song even starts, the ump grumbles again behind me.
“Should I let you make the calls this time?”
“Well, I’m the one catching them, so maybe.” The smart remark is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
In reality, it isn’t anything crazy—I don’t even curse, but I can feel the ump’s anger radiating off him.
“Get out of this fucking game.”
“Are you shitting me right now?” I push up out of my stance. “You’re throwing me out because you were wrong?”
He points to the Blues dugout. “You’re out of this game. Get the fuck out.”
I toss my hands up and the boos from the crowd start. I can hear Will yelling some shit, and Olsson’s making his way over, but this asshole has his mind made up.
“What the fuck is going on, Reyer?” Olsson yells as I meet him halfway from the dugout.
“An overreaction,” I clip and keep on walking. The ump’s made his call and there’s no point in anyone else getting thrown out.
Dex stops me next, right in front of the door I need to go through to get to the clubhouse. “You okay?”
“Perfect, actually.” I snap in the heat of the moment but stop and take a deep breath. “I’m fine, but I’m out of the fucking game now, so, if you don’t mind…”
Dex’s face tells me he’s concerned, but instead of pressing, he steps to the side.
The whole way to the clubhouse I just feel exhausted. With every step, my shoulders feel heavy, like I’m walking on the bottom of the fucking ocean.
Fuck. What even is this week? It hasn’t even been a full week yet, and somehow my whole life’s been turned upside down and ninety degrees. I’m helplessly trying to get some sort of grip on something—anything to give me some sense of control.
I really thought Mia and I had it this morning on my couch, but that went to shit.
I pull my phone out of my duffle bag. My immediate thought is to text Mia and tell her I’m fine, just need to cool off, but then I pull up another number.
