AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Uh-huh.” Refusing to give him the attention he so clearly needs, I avert my gaze to the dozen other people in the room, lifting a hand in a brief wave but deciding against a verbal greeting—heysounds decidedly pathetic in my head, given the circumstances.
No one greets me particularly enthusiastically. I get it, I do—I know how team selection works. One of their friends probably got booted so I could waltz in after a six month hiatus with the extent of my recent training having taken place at Sun Valley’s local batting cages and be handed a spot I didn’t earn, nor do I deserve. I don’t take their silence personally. I don’t blame them.
I would much rather their silence than the ridiculous, overly exuberant greeting Coach David Malone bestows upon me.
“There he is.” Before I can blink, my hand is enfolded between clammy fingers and shaken so hard, my shoulder throbs. “God, it’s good to see you.”
For the second time in less than ten minutes, I lie. “You too.”
Still shaking my hand, he asks, “Excited?”
Third time’s the charm.“Uh-huh.”
“I hear your family’s here? That girlfriend of yours and her kid?”
My polite smile tightens. “Yes, sir. In the stands.”
“Pfft.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Next time, we’ll get them a box.”
Next time. Like I’ll be playing with them again. Like I’ve already signed the contract.
Fuck, knowing Ryan, he probably forged my signature and signed it himself.
Oh, and speak of the fucking Devil; summoned by the mere thought of his name, my agent waltzes into the locker room, looking like the cat who got the cream and making my stomach twist and turn more than it already is. “Look at you. Back from the dead. That woman of yours finally loosened the leash.”
It’s a good thing Ryan doesn’t give me a chance to reply—I’m not sure he’d take the ‘fuck you’ poised on the tip of my tongue particularly well. He doesn’t even notice my sudden anger; he just spews some spiel about the press, about milking my big comeback from the redemption angle, never mind the fact I haven’t promised anything more than this one game.
I don’t even get the chance to interrupt, to set him straight, and it’s Malone’s fault this time. He snaps his fingers—snaps his fucking fingers—at me and, with Ryan on his heels, blows out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll talk later, okay? Good to have you, Morgan!”
“Wow.” A low whistle unfortunately brings my attention back to Sal. “You got, like, four whole sentences. I think you’re daddy’s new favorite.”
I ignore him.
“Your agent is fucking annoying.”
As much as I agree, I keep on ignoring Sal—as best as I can when the locker with my name on it is right beside his. Stowing my stuff, I make quick work of swapping my suit for my uniform.
It’s weird, pulling on clothes I’m so accustomed to in colors I’m really not. The bright red of the Devils jersey seems so vivid compared to the deep gray of the Wolves—ugly, if I’m being honest. Obviously, I haven’t worn this uniform in yet so it’s scratchy and stiff against my skin, too tight in all the wrong places. Thank fuck for my regular cleats, or I might lose my mind. Too many things are different. The number on my back, the people in the room, the feeling in my gut.
I don’t feel settled. I don’t feel ready. I feel…
“Nervous?”
Like I’m ever going to admit that. “Am I ever?”
Sal cocks his head. “No,” he says, more meaningful than the simple word deserves. “You’re not.”
* * *
Before the second inning is even over, I make my decision.
And it has nothing to do with the twinge in my shoulder or the opposition hurling insults my way or Sal Rodés and his smarm.
It’s all down to my gut.
I walk onto the field—nothing. I throw the first ball—silence. I play the way I always have—like The Cass Fucking Morgan—and my gut has nothing to say.
Not until my gaze drifts to the stand almost completely occupied by my family and lands on one member in particular, a blurry figure who could be anyone but my gut knows it’s her.
