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20
Eight days later, he’d kept his word and was still leaving her alone, but it was killing him. He’d pitched like old dog balls again because of it. He slammed the towel into the locker and flopped into his seat. He’d gotten pulled in the fourth and couldn’t even stand to sit on the bench while the game finished.
“You ready for new ice?” the female voice of the trainer assigned to him asked.
Corey pulled out his phone as the ice burned against his skin. Seventeen damn messages. All from the Evanses. Six from Marc. He forced his brain to settle and focus on the words.
Marc:What the hell was that inning?
Marc:Where is your head at? Because I can tell you sure as shit its not thinking about what you’re doing
Marc:If they don’t pull you now Monroe needs to be fired and Ashford too for that matter
Marc:You missed every single mark for your left foot again. Are you on your period or some shit and that’s why your head’s a mess?
Marc:How many times do we need to go over this? Figure out a way to get out of your own head. Maybe get laid
Marc:I expect a call tonight
Fucking Marc. He was his personal pitching coach, and the guy knew his shit, but Marc texted him every time he sucked, all game long. Marc was a former pitcher; he knew that sometimes you just had a bad day.
He glanced around the locker room and watched as one person after another looked away before he could make eye contact. He knew what they were all thinking. There goes Matthews’s good season right down the shitter. Falling apart wasn’t a new thing for him.
Corey grabbed the towel back from his locker and hung it over his head so he didn’t have to look at anyone. He needed to get out of his head. The team was in Lake Tahoe, and Bridget was here. Maybe a few hours with her would help him stop thinking about Taran.
He’d met Bridget a few years ago when he’d done something for the Helping Hands charity. She was a pediatric nurse, sweet as hell, and gorgeous to boot. They met up when he was in town and had time. He flicked through his phone, found her contact, and shot off a text.
“Bro,” Daily called.
The last thing Corey wanted to do was pull the towel from his eyes, but Daily did it for him.
“Bro,” Daily repeated.
“One crap game doesn’t make a slump,” Corey said before Daily could ask.
Daily rubbed his beard before he nodded. “We all have `em.”
“So, what do you want?” Corey asked and yanked his towel back. He hung it over his head again and stared at his feet.
Daily chuckled. “Demoda wants me to take you out tonight; get you loose.”
“Fucking hell,” Corey snapped. “He’s now mothering me while I’m on the goddamn road!”
Daily laughed. “Well, when two men love each other.”
“Suck it,” Corey demanded, and he heard the cough that was meant to hide a giggle. It took every ounce of control he had not to turn in that direction.
He hadn’t realized Taran was nearby. She hadn’t been there when he came out of the shower. He knew that because he checked for her every time he walked into a room. It was pathetic, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing it. So he could only assume she’d come in with Daily. It sucked that she’d not only watched him melt down on the mound but also got to see the razzing he was going to take from his teammates—who, in fairness, were trying to get him out of his head. He needed to be loose, relax and not overthink. But he didn’t want her to see everyone trying to help him. Mainly because it made him feel like a loser.
“Seriously, bro, we’re going to Silver Lining, my sister’s bar. Either drinking to the bats that saved our asses or to mull over the loss you caused.” Daily’s feet settled on the floor next to his, and Corey assumed he sat down at the next locker.
The buzz of his phone caught Corey’s attention, and he glanced at it. Bridget’s response made him smile.
“Can’t. Got plans,” Corey said.
“Hmm,” Daily pondered. “No Evanses in Tahoe. It’s my stomping ground, not yours.” He paused. “Tahoe.” He snapped his finger. “My naughty nurse.”
Corey’s eyes now shot up to find Taran, and the towel fell to his feet. She wasn’t around. He didn’t see her in the locker room, and the glass to the trainer and team doctor didn’t frame her pretty face either. He let out his breath. Thank fuck. Although he wasn’t sure why he didn’t want Taran to know about Bridget, but he didn’t.
