Page 7 of Curveball

She slipped inside Wildflower Interiors, leaving me staring at the door long after it closed.

I didn’t know that girl.

Not anymore.

“How does that feel?” Dr. Howard asked, hands steady as he worked my elbow through its range of motion.

“Better,” I said honestly.

“Your mobility is ahead of where I expected it to be,” he said, jotting notes onto his clipboard.

“Well, you know me, I’m an overachiever,” I deadpanned. “So, what’s the bad news?”

Dr. Sean Howard was in his early fifties and had helped me rehab several minor injuries throughout my career. The team used to insist I see a physical therapist in Austin who worked with our players regularly, but I would always drive to Primrose Hill to see Dr. Howard. The guy knew what he was doing, and I trusted him. I’d been working with him since I was fifteen years old, and he was just starting his practice. He knew everything my body had been through over the years, and knew how to heal me properly. After the first few injuries, the team saw what he could do and left me alone about it.

Dr. Howard chuckled. "I wouldn't say there is bad news, but probably just bad news to you. I think it'll be about three or four months until you can start working with your pitching coach to begin throwing again.” He leaned against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankles, with his arms crossed against his chest. "For now, we’ll start with isometric exercises, then we’ll introduce resistance, and after that, we’ll move on to shoulder and core strengthening. I want you here at my office three days a week, and I’ll put together a program that you can do at home. You’ll need to do the home exercises two to three days a week, preferably on the days you’re not at my office."

I hopped off the treatment table. "Sounds good, I can do that. Can I work out at all?"

"You can do anything that won't impact your elbow—so legs and core. You can also run, just be careful and don't do anything that could risk the healing of your elbow," Dr. Howard said as he led me out of the treatment room.

I nodded. "Noted. All right, well, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yup, tomorrow the real work starts to get you back on that field." He smiled.

On my way home, I called my field manager, Coach Parks, and my pitching coach, Coach Turner, to give them the latest update. A detailed report had been sent to Dr. Bennett and Everett, and they were already working on what my pitching program would look like once Dr. Howard and Dr. Bennett cleared me to resume throwing.

Seemed like everything was already taken care of, and now it was all on me to do what I needed to do to heal.

When I returned home, all I wanted to do was crawl back in bed and be done with the day. Between the brief glimpse of Farrah this morning and having to start rehabbing my elbow, I was over it. I didn't really know what to do with myself if I couldn't work on my pitching or run my body through my usual grueling workouts. I didn't know how to sit with myself and my mind, especially when the only thing I seemed to be able to focus on at the moment was Farrah. She was always there, sitting dormant in the back of my mind.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind spiraling. I began to question whether I had made the right decision all those years ago.

What if I’d fought harder when she walked away?

What if I’d chosen Primrose Hill instead of chasing baseball?

Would we have been happy? Would it have been enough?

Then my mind drifted back to baseball and this goddamn injury. The thoughts turned darker.

What if I didn’t come back the same?

What if this was it?

Who would I be without the game?

My phone vibrated, interrupting the endless questions running through my head.

Mom: Hey sweetheart can you come by tomorrow to help your dad?

Me: Sure 10 am ok?

Mom: Perfect see you then

I lay my head back against my pillow and shut my eyes on a defeated sigh. How the fuck was I going to do this for the next several months?

Chapter 4