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35
Corey stood in the locker room with multiple microphones shoved in his face as the cameras rolled. After another Metros win, his smile was planted firmly on his face. Even though inside, he felt like he was slowly dying.
“Coach make the right call pulling you before the eighth?” one reporter shouted.
“Of course,” Corey agreed. Although he hadn’t let up a run in seven innings, he walked two guys in the seventh. “My arm was getting tight. He and I talked; it’s about the win, not how many times I can throw the ball.”
“Not everyone would agree,” another one tossed out.
“A younger version of myself would have said it was about how many pitches I could throw, so I can’t judge too harshly when people are so wrong.” Corey forced a laugh.
“Metros are still leading the league. Going into the playoffs at the top slot this year?” The question came from the other direction, so he turned with a smile.
“It’s early August. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. A lot can happen in two months,” Corey assured. He could fall in love and have his heart crushed.
“But you’ve got to be happy with how this season is going.”
He hated everything right now.
“My pitching is exactly where I need it to be. The rest of the guys are on point, and the bats are on fire. How could I complain?” Corey pointed to the back. “One more, and I’m done, guys.”
“Didn’t hear any mention of chipmunks today,” one of the younger guys who’d been having fun with Corey’s fun facts about chipmunks prompted.
Corey’s heart imploded, but he kept the smile firmly in place. “I heard they bite, man.” He turned and walked away, heading to his locker to grab his shit. He wanted to get out of the locker room, the stadium. Hell, he’d love to leave the country. After getting pulled, he’d gone through the rub-down, ice bath, and shower, so nothing kept him here right now. He grabbed his key and pocketed his phone without looking at it.
“You good?” Daily asked from the next locker over.
“Just in the zone,” he said and left, skipping beer night to head home. Hopeful he could keep dodging everyone for a while longer.
Nine days later, he couldn’t avoid Marc’s house anymore.
“What made you decide not to travel with the team this month?” Marc asked as Corey moved back toward him.
Today, Corey had done a complete workout and simulated three innings in Marc’s cages. When the Metros had agreed to let him skip the three-day road trip, it had been with the understanding that he’d work out with Marc. So although he didn’t want to be here, he had to be.
“Don’t fix something that ain’t broke,” Corey said, but he was itchy to leave. He’d been avoiding everyone so he wouldn’t have to talk about Taran. It was easier that way because his heart panged at just the thought of her name.
“Don’t pack up your shit. You’re coming in,” Marc said.
“Not up for it.” Corey bent to grab his bag but paused when he felt the hand on his shoulder.
“Not a choice, man.” Marc pulled away to cross his arms and glare.
Corey sighed. It absolutely was a choice, but he didn’t feel like fighting him. So he walked into Marc’s house and slumped onto the leather sectional, noting how many of the Evanses were there. He gritted his teeth. Will, Luke, Joey, Danny, and Nick. Even Grant stood in the corner, which had Corey’s eyebrows lifting.
“Yeah, you know it’s bad if I leave my house.” Grant shook his head.
“I’m chill.” Corey flashed his practiced smile.
“Nope,” Will said. “Put away The Corey Matthews; don’t care about him at the moment. But I really need to chat with Corey.”
“I’m right here, and like I said, I’m chill.” Good wouldn’t work. He didn’t feel good. Couldn’t even say he felt fine. But chill—that summed it up. He wasn’t going to lose his shit; he was simply getting through every day.
Will sighed. “You love her, Corey. The big, can’t control it, makes you all kinds of happy and miserable all rolled into one kind of love.”
He loved her.
He missed her.
