The Trade(119)

I nod at him but don’t say much. Then I turn to Jason and say, “That’s the fifth time one of the guys has called me that today.”

Jason tosses some sunflower seeds in his mouth and says, “Because in their eyes, you’re the boss.” Jason focuses his green eyes on me and says, “As much as you don’t want to believe it, the guys on this team like you. They see your hard work, your determination, and they’ve come around to the fact that they were idiots at the beginning of the season.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say sarcastically.

“Don’t pull that woe is me shit with me,” Jason says in a sterner tone. “Want to know the reason why you don’t know this? It’s because everyone is too goddamn nervous to approach you. You don’t give off a very welcoming vibe. But trust me when I say this, they appreciate you and they see you.”

I glance up at the dugout where I catch a lot of the players up against the fence, cheering on the team, encouraging one another, and here I am, sequestered in the back. Was Milly right, am I really punishing myself, putting this all on me with my actions?

“I see that beautiful brain of yours working and trust me, when you’re asking yourself, is Jason really right about this?” Jason pats me on the shoulder and says, “I am.” He hops off the bench and then points his finger at me. “And you can get to know the guys even better when you come to my fundraiser in a few weeks.” Jason looks me dead in the eyes when he says, “I’m counting on you to be there.”

I nod, unsure how to process what he said, so I do the one thing I know how to do best—block it all out and focus on the game. Play the game. Live the game.





Still June





I breeze into the training room with one thing on my mind, ice.

I need fucking ice.

I was clocked in the back today, right between the shoulder blades by one of the pitchers on the Baltimore Storm. Imagine that, my old team apparently holding a grudge against me as well. Guess what, chaps, I had nothing to do with my godforsaken trade. And yet, they still pegged me.

Without even flinching though, I tossed my bat, kept my head low, and took my base. And the crowd cheered for once. Yup, they cheered that I got beamed in the back, which made me chuckle when I was on first, because wow, they really fucking hate me.

But after the cheering died down, I heard Maddox screaming at the pitcher from the dugout, which then led to the umpire issuing warnings to each team.

The warnings set me on edge, because I knew what was going to happen next, and it did. Maddox was on the mound and pinned Jose Fernandez on the elbow with a ninety-three-mile-an-hour fastball, which led into an all-out brawl.

I was the first to reach Maddox and held him back while Jason held back Jose until the Storm could reach their player. But there were a few punches thrown here and there.

Maddox was ejected from the game, so was Coach Gordan, and a few players from the Storm. Completely unnecessary, but typical for the Rebels.

Although, it’s never happened on my behalf before.

That’s what has my mind reeling as I push through the doors into the ice room where Maddox is dipped up to his neck in an ice bath.

When he sees me with my shirt off, ready to take up my own form of recovery torture, he motions his fingers for me to spin around so he can see my back. I do and hear him laugh. “Bet that fucking hurts.”

“Doesn’t feel good,” I answer, dipping into the tank next to him, a breath hissing out of my lungs as my balls crawl up inside me.

“Probably not as bad as what Jose is dealing with right now.”

Maddox is known for hitting players in the elbow; it’s his go-to peg spot, and he’s gotten so good at it, that he knows exactly where to throw the ball to give them the worst possible bruise.

“Yeah, pretty glad I’m not him,” I say, feeling awkward.

Sensing how uncomfortable I am, Maddox says, “They were out to get you from the beginning. No one fucks with us.”

Us.

It’s a simple word but weighs about a ton in this context.

Looking to the side, I quietly say, “Thanks, you know . . . for sticking up for me.”

“Anything for the boss,” Maddox says with a quirk to his lips.

I shake my head. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Me,” he says easily, which surprises me. “We haven’t made it easy on you here. We’ve turned our back on you, and hell, I’m sure there are guys on the team who’ve said some shitty things to the press at some point. But even with everything that’s been thrown at you, you’ve acted like a damn boss and gotten the job done. Got to hand it to you, you’re a fucking clutch captain, dude.”

Am I dreaming right now? Did Maddox Paige really say that?

He chuckles and adds, “Don’t look too shocked. You would have noticed the shift in the clubhouse if you didn’t have your head down all the time. The guys are cautious approaching you. A high five or knee pat here and there. They understand we don’t deserve your attention, but we’re here if you want to give it to us.” Don’t deserve my attention?

Lips pressed together, mulling it over, I say, “Thanks, that means a lot.”

“Does that mean you’ll grab beers with us every once in a while?”

The vise that’s been constricting my chest for the past few months finally releases, as I slowly nod my head. “Yeah, I will.” Even though I’m not quite sure I mean it. They might think I’m okay right now, but what happens if my bat falls, or if another article comes out that they don’t agree with. Will they turn their backs again?