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Josh
“What the fuck is this?” I crunch the starting lineup in my hand and make my way toward Coach’s office.
“Anderson, you need to calm down,” Will mutters from somewhere behind me.
I ignore him. I’m on the warpath and I need answers before I lose my shit. I know Coach warned me this would happen, but I thought it was something that would happen down the road, not a week fucking later. All eyes are on me as I head into the office where Coach is leaning back against his chair, signature drink in hand. We never know what’s in that cup, and we know not to ask too many questions.
“What can I do for you, Josh?” Coach grins, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and it makes the anger boil inside of me.
“Are you enjoying this?” I grit out, hating the laughter in his eyes.
“Not gonna lie, I kind of am.”
I roll my eyes, holding up the starting lineup and shove it onto his desk.
“What the hell is this?”
His eyes cast down, then slowly make their way back to mine. He never makes a move to pick up the piece of crumpled paper because he already knows what it is.
“Josh, we talked about this.” His joking demeanor vanishes in a flash as he leans forward on his desk.
“I thought you said it would happen eventually. It’s been a fucking week, Coach!”
He shakes his head, causing me to become even more unglued. I close my eyes and count to ten before I throw one of his fucking fake ass trophies off the shelf beside me.
“Why am I not playing third base tonight?” I mutter through gritted teeth because any less restraint and I know I will fly right off the handle. I have prided myself on never missing a game that wasn’t due to injury. I won a gold glove because of my play at that specific position. It’s mine.
“I thought you needed a break,” he says, taking a swig of his drink and gesturing for me to sit. I ignore him.
“Bullshit. I don’t need a fucking break, I need to fucking play.”
He shakes his head as I take a deep breath, calming myself somewhat.
“You are playing, I put you as DH.”
I hate being the DH, all I’m doing is batting, and since I’m sitting in the dugout the rest of the game, it messes with my timing, and Coach knows this. But obviously he doesn’t give a shit.
“I see that. What I want to know is why you’re putting me as DH?” The anger inside starts to crest to the surface as I grip the edge of the wooden desk for support.
“Management hasn’t been impressed with your play as of late. They brought T.J. up for a reason and want to see what he can do. And I want to give him that chance.”
I roll my eyes because this cannot seriously be happening right now. T.J. is a cocky bastard that thinks he’s going to take my job from me the first chance he gets. Fat fucking chance.
“You can’t be serious. Just because I had a few bad games doesn’t give you or them a right to give my spot to some kid who thinks he’s king shit!”
Coach gets up from his seat and walks around his desk, making sure to stop inches from where I stand. “I want you to listen to me very closely. I am the fucking coach of this team and as much as I would love for you to get out of this slump of yours, this is out of my hands. You know as much as anyone in this game that management is the boss. What they say goes, no matter how pissy you get.” He takes his finger and puts it right in my face. “And as much as I like you, Anderson, I will not hesitate to make your life a living hell if you question my decisions ever again. Got it?”
I stare silently. His eyes bore into mine and I give him a curt nod, spinning on my heels and making my way back to the locker room.
I feel as if I’ve been hit over the head with a boulder. I’ve never been so angry with a coach in my entire career, and that includes peewee. I’ve earned this spot on this team and for Coach to just throw it away and give it to a kid who thinks he deserves a shot just because he had a few good months down in the minors.
It’s bullshit.
Will is beside me as I enter back into the locker room, holding my hand up when his mouth opens to say something. Whatever words he’s about to spew in my direction are stopped in their tracks.
“I’m not in the mood right now. Let me get through this game and we’ll talk later.”
He nods, squeezing my shoulder before going back to his locker and getting his uniform on.
