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Emmy preferred the romance of the game to the business of it, and that’s why she had no love for New York baseball. She’d been spoiled growing up in Wrigley, and it made her wary of anything without history.
She sat cross-legged on a bench in the bullpen watching Tucker throw warm-up pitches while she made a
chart of the day’s exercise schedule and who on her staff would be stretching out which players. Tannis had made a complaint about Ramon’s language, so now Emmy needed to reassign the first baseman’s routine to someone else.
He couldn’t have stuck to swearing in Spanish?
Tucker stopped throwing and stretched his shoulder up, rolling his head back and forth to work out his neck. “I’m stiff,” he announced.
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” She crossed off Tannis on the schedule and wrote Jasper’s name in her place, then texted each of them to let them know they’d be swapping Ramon out for Chet in the rotation. Jasper’s response would have appalled Tannis.
“No. My arm is stiff.”
Emmy’s head jerked up, and she focused on his right arm instead of his face. “Your shoulder or your elbow?”
“Shoulder.”
She released the breath she’d been holding. If his elbow was acting up, it could be a sign of delayed issues from his surgery. A sore shoulder was likely from an improper cool down after his last game and not enough stretching in between starts.
“There’s plenty of time. Just pay attention to any changes while you’re throwing, and we’ll do some more mobility exercises before you go on tonight.”
He drew out his arm in front of him, then up over his head, fanning his fingers wide. “I can’t risk anything taking me out of this game.”
“You’re not going to be taken from the game, Tucker. That’s my call, and a sore shoulder isn’t reason enough to yank you. Are you feeling any twinges in the muscle? Any tingling in your nerves?”
“No.”
“Are any of your motions limited?”
“My fastball feels a little…forced.”
“Okay.” She got up and took the ball out of his hand, throwing it into the nearby bucket. She braced a hand on his chest then moved his right arm through a series of motions. Clasping her hand in his, she pushed his arm backwards. “Resist,” she instructed. “I want you to push back into me.”
He did as he was told, and once she felt like he was giving her his real force, she released his hand. “You’ll be fine. Throw a few changeups first, then pick up the heaters slowly.”
She sat down again, pulling the clipboard back into her lap and continuing to text her staff with their assignments. Jasper kept replying a few choice words about what she wanted him to do, but he was all bluster. Her staff might have opinions, but they were all dedicated and loyal.
“How’s your head?”
“Peachy keen.” He collected a new ball and went through the motions of throwing without releasing it. When he did finally throw for real, she paid attention to his face to see if he showed any signs of pain or discomfort.
The three changeups he threw all went through the holes on the pitching target, and his face remained hard with concentration, but there was nothing to suggest he was injured.
“Perfect,” she said. “You’re going to be perfect.”
“Nobody’s perfect.” He winked.
Chapter Thirty-Four
San Francisco at New York, Record 90-58
Late September was cool in New York, and the sun was on its way down when the game started, painting the skyline behind the stadium a deep orangey pink. The glare of sunlight had faded from the field and the spotlights had been turned on, creating megawatt secondary suns all around the park.
Tucker jogged into the outfield in front of the bullpen and met Alex and Mike. Alex was already stretching out, preparing for a three-hour squat behind the plate. Tucker ran a few quick sprints in front of the bullpen while Alex got ready.
When they started throwing warm-up pitches, he used the extra time to tune out the sounds of the stadium. As anticipated, the crowd in the right field was shouting every manner of rowdy cuss and insult at him. Tuning out fans at an away stadium was a lot like working with an old radio. He had to find the station the stadium was on, then turn the knob until all he could hear was static.
Yankees fans operated on a very…boisterous frequency. He couldn’t turn down the volume, but he could dull the words. It helped that so many people were shouting things at once, since being told he was shitty and couldn’t hit a strike zone from five feet away was par for the course.
