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“Fuck off,” Pete replied. Before nudging Ryan on the arm and pushing him toward their lockers.
Ryan forced himself to take a deep breath and ignore the other man. Now was not the time to have it out with him. But if his friends thought he was letting this go, they were kidding themselves. There was no way he wasn’t having words with the asshole. Ryan dropped onto the bench in front of his locker and kicked off his shoes.
After he was dressed, Ryan made his way out of the locker room. “You want to warm up?” Andy asked him as he came up behind him in the tunnel.
“No thanks, I think I’ll see if Patel wants to catch a few.”
“Patel, what the fuck? I’m the starting catcher,” Andy growled.
“And?” Ryan shrugged. “I’ll chuck at you when coach tells me I have to. Until then, stay away from me.”
Ryan walked onto the field and yelled. “Yo, Patel, you want to warm up?”
“Uh, yeah,” the other man stammered.
“Ryan, hold up,” Coach Gill called out.
He wandered over to the pitching coach. “What’s up, coach?”
“Why aren’t you warming up with Andy? He’ll be catching for you tomorrow night?”
“Honestly? Because he’s an asshole, and I need to throw a few to blow off some steam before I have to deal with his shit, otherwise my game will be crap. And I’m not giving him that.”
Coach stared at Ryan, assessing him. Ryan stared him straight back in the eye. He had done nothing wrong, and he wasn’t backing down on this. “Fair enough. Anything I need to be aware of?” Coach asked.
Ryan glanced over at Andy, who stood glaring at them.What an asshole.How the fuck was he supposed to play with him?
“Son, you don’t have to be friends with every one of your teammates.”
“We are definitely not friends,” Ryan snarled.
“But you do have to be respectful because you’re teammates.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth together, trying to get a handle on his anger. “And what happens when there’s nothing about the guy that deserves respect?”
Coach shifted his hat off his forehead, moved it around a little then put it back in place. “No one is all good or all bad, Ryan. Everyone has something about them that is redeemable.”
“Not everyone,” he mumbled. He looked over at Andy again. He could still picture the way Andy had sneered at him with such cruel glee when he’d shown the video of Peyton around the locker room. Now that he knew she hadn’t agreed to the video, Andy showing it was even worse. Shit, who was he kidding? Even if she’d agreed to the video, she didn’t agree to have it shown around a locker room. He dragged his hand through his hair. And he was an asshole for not realizing that before. Fuck.
Coach glanced over at Andy, then back at Ryan. “You sure you don’t need to talk?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Was he? Who the hell knew? But he’d worked his entire life to make it to this point in his career, and he would not let some piece of shit on his team fuck things up for him. He needed to get his head straight. Block out everything but the game. He looked at his pitching coach and gave him a tight smile. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Ryan, if there is something I need to be aware of, talk to me. You’re the best pitcher in the league. Our team needs you. But the thing about pitching is you need someone to catch the ball. This is a team sport, kid. Get your head in the game.”
“Yeah.” He took a deep breath and exhaled.
Ryan walked toward Patel to warm up. He rolled his neck and tried to calm his breathing. Over the years, he’d practiced every technique known to man to calm himself, relax, and shut out the noise. Once a pitcher got in his own head, his game could quickly go to shit. And when you’re throwing a hundred-mile-an-hour-fastball, a wild pitch could seriously hurt someone. Sighing deeply, he picked up the ball and ran it through his fingers. The feel of the stitching and the leather against his palm instantly calmed his nerves. He tossed the ball lightly to Patel, who caught it and threw the ball back. After several more throws, his mind cleared, and the tension eased from his neck.
This made sense. Baseball, he knew. He understood the rules. No emotions, just him and the game he loved.
After several minutes of playing catch, Coach Gill called Ryan over to the pitcher’s mound with Andy behind the plate. Fantastic. He rolled his shoulders several times as he took the mound. He was a professional, he could do this. And if he imagined it was Andy’s face in the center of the mitt, then so be it. He smirked to himself, lined up and let it rip.
“Jesus, Graves, that ball is still smoking,” Coach Gill whooped. “How’s the hand Andy? You got any bones left in there?” Coach laughed.
“My hand’s fine,” Andy grumbled.
“So much for warming up slowly. Don’t think we need to work on the fastball today,” Coach told him before turning to the catcher. “Andy let’s work on varying the sequence a bit. Get in a few more splitters and forks to mix things up. Let’s take advantage of what our boy can do and keep ‘em on their toes.”
