The Dugout(11)

We spend the next hour in the cages working off the tee and doing short pitching with Jason behind a screen and chucking balls over the plate.

There were a few misses here and there where I rolled my wrists too soon, or my shoulder flew out a little too early, but for the most part, I was very happy with the practice.

Falling to the ground, I prop myself up with my hands behind me as Jason leans against the pitching screen.

“Dude, what the fuck is your problem in the games?” he asks, joking, but also perplexed.

“I have no fucking idea.” I drag a hand over my face, exhausted. “But I need to figure it out because there is no way Badcock is taking my position away from me.”

“Badcock isn’t having the best season either. Disik is just pushing your buttons.”

“Well, it’s fucking working.” I check my watch and say, “Want to get in some weights before classes?”

“Yeah, it’s one of the reasons I came in with you so I didn’t have to do afternoon weights before practice.”

During the season, we have to lift three days a week, but because we’re constantly practicing and playing games, we have to fit in the weightlifting on our own schedules. Jason and I usually go in before practice together, but it sucks because we’re normally maxed out after practice and can barely make it to the dining hall for dinner.

Getting the weights done early might be my new routine.

We pack up the balls along with the tee and the nets—Coach likes everything to be orderly. I stuff my bat in my locker and change my shirt for a fresh one, not wanting to sweat all over the equipment, and then Jason and I walk down the connecting hallway to the training facilities for all the teams.

The golf team is nearly done, which means the space will be free soon.

We lean against the cinderblock walls as the golf team finishes up with abs, tossing medicine balls back and forth while country music plays on the speakers.

“Did you see the drive Collins had the other day? I saw a replay of it on the local station recap. He killed it. Birdie on a par four.”

“Missed it, but Gunner was talking about it. He told me Collins is going pro after this season. Good for him.”

“He’s no Tiger Woods but he has great potential,” Jason says just as the team wraps up and starts emptying out of the room.

When there are only a few stragglers left, Jason and I enter the weight room and both hop on the treadmills where we do a light five-minute jog to warm up our legs. Not that I need it at this point, but Jason’s muscles are probably still cold.

“Hey boys, didn’t think I’d be seeing you two this early in the morning,” Vinny, the head trainer says, coming up to our treadmills and lacing his beefy hands on the arm grips.

“Got an early start and did some batting practice,” I say between some light breathing. “Thought we’d get our weights out of the way today.”

“Smart. Well, your workouts are in your files. It’s leg day today. Your usual trainers aren’t here but Milly and Jerry are both on the floor if you need someone to spot you. I’ll be in my office if you have any questions.”

“Thanks, Vinny,” Jason says as he picks up the pace. I do the same, matching his speed.

“Have a good one.” He pats our treadmills and takes off.

Once he’s out of earshot, Jason says, “I still think he’s banging Elle in the training room. Whenever they’re around each other you can cut the tension with a knife.”

“Is that rumor still floating around? No way.” I shake my head. “Elle is too young for him.”

“Eight years isn’t much.” Jason shrugs. “He’s a charismatic guy.”

“That’s true. I swear I get butterflies whenever he winks at us.”

Jason roars in laughter and slows his treadmill at the exact moment we hit five minutes. “I knew you felt a little something for Vinny. I could see it in your eyes.”

“It’s his bald head, there’s something about it that makes me want to rub my bare scrotum all over it.”

He chuckles all the way to where our workout files are. “There’s something seriously wrong with you, man. I have no idea how Knox and Holt put up with you.”

“They would stroke my ego quite often actually. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with my batting, I need someone to stroke me.” I press my hand against his back and whisper into his ear. “Will you stroke me, Jason?”

“Get the fuck out of here.” He pushes me away, laughing.

I snag my workout file from him and check out what’s in store for my legs today.

Lateral-weighted squats, box jumps, dead lifts, parallel squats, front lunges . . . great.

I glance at Jason. “Thank fuck we’re doing this now.”

“Tell me about it. My legs would be fucked if we did this right before practice.”

We both walk over to the free weights, claim a station, and begin racking up our bars. Vinny makes it easy on us and tells us how much weight and how many reps for each set, gradually increasing the weight as we move on. It’s mindless work, and we have to go through the correct motions to get the work done. He even provides little check boxes on the paper where we can check off every exercise. Makes us feel like we’re accomplishing something.

“Do you need any help?” I look to the side where a buff blond dude is standing, wearing a green athletic trainer shirt and khaki shorts. This must be one of the guys Vinny was talking about. What were their names again?