The Trade(117)

“Cory.” Milly pushes my shoulder. “What the hell are you thinking?”

I shrug. “Thought it would go down.”

“By magic?” Milly rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Seriously, Cory, you need to take care of yourself.”

The doctor nods to my head and says, “Take off your hat.”

Lifting it off my head, I dip forward so he can see the back, where there are a few pea-sized bald spots scattered.

The doctor runs his hand through my hair and then looks at his palm. There are strands on his hand. After that, he makes me do a few other exercises, checks my stomach, asks if I’m having trouble sleeping, goes through a quick physical minus the coughing part, and then leans back on the counter and says, “It’s safe to say you’re extremely stressed and your body is starting to react to the stressors you’ve been enduring. The blood pressure is concerning but given your lifestyle, I’d need to research if there is medication you can take during the season. Obviously, I can’t talk about changing your diet, as your sports dietician would be the only one to do that. We could look at starting you on 5-HTP, which is a neurotransmitter, a precursor to serotonin. But, you need to speak to an exercise physiologist to decide which cognitive behavioral therapy they’d suggest to work alongside the 5-HTP. I know this is easier said than done, but you need to find some ways to relax. CBT will help with that. Herbal teas that have chamomile, passion flower, lavender . . . The nurses here have recommended Traditional Medicinals Cup of Calm.”

Yeah, okay.

I nod and hop off the table, placing my hat back on my head. “Thanks.” I give him a handshake and start to move out the door when Milly says, “How can he relax? What are some techniques?”

That last question is how I ended up in a bubble bath with a book in hand about stress relief, and a tea by my side.

Fucking Milly.





May





Rebels Locker Room Heats Up with Fights

Despite currently leading their division and leading the league in homeruns, the Rebels can’t seem to get along off the field. Close sources have been saying Cory Potter is at the center of it, with high demands and diva-like tantrums that have pushed all his teammates away. Word on the street is, they’re petitioning a way to get him off the team. Only time and lots of prayers will tell.

Rolling my eyes, I toss my phone on my table and go to drag my hand through my hair but stop, remembering I have to avoid tugging on it. Much easier said than done when I’m dealing with the kind of bullshit reporting that’s going around this city.

When did it become okay to just make up blatant lies? I’m tempted to sue all these publications, but with my luck, they’ll spin it into me being a giant baby and unable to handle “a little negative” press.

“Here’s your salmon,” Milly says, floating over to the table with a plate in hand. “Yummy, right?”

I’ve been forced to go to Milly and Carson’s place for dinner when I’m home and when I don’t have a night game. Milly said it’s because she misses me and is lonely when Carson is out of town, but I know that’s a load of crap from staring at the fifth salmon dish she’s made for me since we started these dinner dates.

She’s checking up on me, trying to make sure I’m following the strict low-blood-pressure diet the sports dietician prescribed. She has nothing to worry about. I’m following it because I have nothing better to do with my downtime.

“Thanks,” I say, picking up a fork and starting to shovel the pile of green beans on my plate into my mouth.

“So . . . what’s new?”

“Nothing,” I answer, mouth full, chewing.

“Liar. I saw you looking at that article. Why don’t you say something? Speak out? Hell, why doesn’t anyone speak out?”

I shrug. “What’s the point? They’re going to make up what they want anyway. The story is too good right now; it’s just something I’m dealing with at this point.”

Milly sighs and then says, “You know, I always prided myself on being your sister, because you are what baseball players should strive to be. Kindhearted, hard-working, and with a pure love for the game. Now when I look at you, all I see is the hard-working part.”

I pause my fork to my mouth. “Are you saying I don’t have a kind heart?”

“I don’t know, when was the last time you volunteered?”

“Fucking Tuesday, at the hospital.”

“Oh.” Milly’s face morphs into an apologetic look. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well no one does. I’m the same man, Milly.”

She shakes her head. “You’re not. You’re going through the motions.” She bites her bottom lip and says, “I bet if you apologized, she’d come back to you.”

“Milly,” I groan, dropping my fork to my plate. It clatters and falls to the table. “Enough, okay? It’s over between me and Natalie. There is no repairing what happened.”

“You don’t know that,” she says in desperation. “Dottie was saying—”

“Stop right there.” I stand from my chair and push it under the table. “I don’t want to know what your circle of friends has to say about my non-existent relationship with Natalie. No one should be talking about it.”