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Leaning against the wall of the dugout, my eyes are closed, keeping myself from drifting away from the game. Keeping myself relaxed, my body sways with the rubdown on my arm. The guys around me chatter about nothing, all riding the high of the game. We still have two innings, and anything can go wrong in that short period of time.
“Adams,” Coach Pollard yells out as he approaches.
Opening my eyes but otherwise remaining still, my eyes follow him as he crouches in front of me. Lowering his voice so only I can hear him, his expression and tone are serious.
“Can you finish the game, kid?”
“Yeah Coach, I got this,” I state flatly, not giving anything away.
Coach stares me down before giving me a brief nod and pat on the knee as he rises to his feet. Tuning out the crowd again, my thoughts drift to Kassidy. Something happened on the bus when I wasn’t around, but we didn’t have a chance to talk about it.
“Adams, get your ass on the field!”
Jumping at Coach Pollard’s voice, I yank the jacket off and grab my glove. Several of the guys pat my back on my way out of the dugout. Working through breathing exercises to recenter myself, my focus returns to the game.
Everyone is in high spirits as we head into the locker room. We won five to one, ruining my no-hitter. I still pitched one hell of a game, but no doubt my father will pick it apart when I speak to him next.
Stripping off my uniform, I step into the shower, ignoring all the other guys. Hanging my head, the hot water beats on my back. Time slips away from me as my muscles start to relax under the spray.
“Adams! Get out here,” Coach bellows.
Suppressing a groan, I reluctantly shut off the water, toweling off quickly. My shower shoes squish as I head back to my locker. Rapidly glancing around the room, my teammatesare in various states of dress. Coach is standing in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest. The other coaches and managers fan out behind him. It appears that I am the last one missing before the speech starts, so I take a seat in front of my locker. Coach wastes no time, launching into his lecture.
“First, good game,” he starts. “Brock, you pitched one hell of a game,” Coach pauses as everyone claps for me. I give a slight wave of my fingers, acknowledging the win. The smiles don’t last long though. “Second, I want to know what happened this morning on the bus. How the fuck did Kassidy end up with a punch to the face?”
Gasps sound around the room from those who were on the other bus. The coaches know who was on what bus, so if no one confesses to the incident, the entire bus will receive punishment.
“If someone doesn’t start talking, anyone that was on that bus will be benched for the foreseeable future,” Coach says, his irritation rising.
Orazio stands, drawing everyone’s attention. Coach moves his hands to his hips, looking expectantly at the first baseman. Orazio clears his throat, giving me a quick glance before his focus turns back to Coach.
“Coach, while I was closer to the front of the bus, I caught the conversation. Several guys were making lewd comments regarding Kassidy and her relationship with Brock.” He pauses as several of the guys start getting outraged on Kassidy’s behalf. Coach is stoic as he takes in the tale, no doubt having heard some of it from those on the bus who witnessed it firsthand. “Brock and Zanko came to her defense. When it was suggested that those who started the altercation stand down, words were exchanged, and things turned physical. Kassidy was seated between Brock and Zanko, unfortunately getting caught in the middle of it.”
Orazio sits when he finishes his story. Coach takes a moment to look closely at those of us who were involved.
“Was it not made clear that Kassidy was to be treated politely?” Coach asks the rhetorical question, all of us staring at him. He scrubs his hands over his face. Dropping them as he seems to come to a decision, he looks around the room. “Brock, you are out of rotation for three games. Zanko, you are sitting out two,” Coach pauses. I was already out for the next game, having played tonight. Coach looks at me. “Adams, you and Thomas, in my office now. As soon as I get names on who was harassing the girl, more punishment is coming. Orazio, you too, now!”
Coach walks away, and two of the other managers and coaches follow behind him. I quickly pull on a pair of sweats, and the three of us head to the coach’s office. We file in, standing opposite Coach as he sits behind his desk.
He does not look happy.
“Shit!”
After almost an hour of Coach reaming us all new assholes, a sharp pounding on the door cut off his tirade. We were supposed to already be on the road. Everyone but the small group in the office is already on the bus.
Each of us scrambles to finish getting dressed, grabbing our duffle bags, and making a mad dash to the buses. As soon as our feet hit the steps of the bus, the doors are closed behind us. We aren’t on the same bus we rode here on, the other one already in route to the next school. This one is just as full, and we fall into the first empty seats we can find, just behind the driver.
Lucky for us, Coach picks up his rant where he left off. To add to the embarrassment, half of the team and staff are here to witness our talking down. I hope Kassidy is okay being alone on the other bus.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ihave never been much of a baseball fan. For me, the sport moves too slowly. Watching Brock and the guys, I am starting to understand the game, and it’s easy to enjoy.
Sitting in the stands, several strange looks are sent in my direction due to the bruise on my face. Doing my best to ignore those around me, my focus is on the game. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that Brock has been looking for me several times when he peers up into the crowd. Shaking off the errant thought, the crowd’s energy is palpable. Several people start whispering during the later stages of the game. Straining my ears to eavesdrop, I have to do an internet search to figure out what is happening. An audible gasp leaves me when realization sets in on the significance of Brock’s playing.
I begin to cheer a little louder with each pitch, sitting on the edge of my seat. When one of the batters makes contact with the ball in the eighth inning, I think, the entire crowd groans. Even though Groveton is the visiting team, everyone in attendance knows they are watching something special happen.
Once the game is over and each of the teams shakes hands, they eventually make their way to the locker room, and the crowd disperses. I remain in my seat, not sure what is supposedto happen next since one of the coaches or managers brought me to my seat earlier. Deciding to stay where I am, I figure they will come and get me before the team leaves for the hotel that is several hours away. Tomorrow’s game is in the afternoon. Brock explained that it would allow for unforeseen issues if they traveled first, spending the night closer to the next school.
