Page 41 of Hot Streak

Connor frowned. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s just. . .maybe everyone’s right. Maybe all I’ve got is the heat.”

“Not true,” Jackson argued. Even though it felt like a week ago, that was exactly what his theory had been. That the Comet was an unbelievable arm and nothing else.

But he’d caught him enough times now, in several bullpen practices and simulated games and now a real game that he knew that wasn’t true.

He overthought. He resisted advice. And both of those things could cause him to lose control. But when he regained it, when he relaxed and just let the pitches happen, he could hit any spot Jackson called for.

That was definitely a skill not every pitcher had.

Especially not every pitcher with the kind of heat Connor possessed.

“Everyone says it. You kinda said it,” Connor said. He was frowning now and still kicking the dirt, like he might uncover one of the secrets of the universe.

“Well, they’re fucking wrong and don’t let this go to your head, but maybe I was too,” Jackson argued. “You want me to go tell Andy to put it away? ’Cause I will.”

Connor looked surprised. “You’d do that?”

“Listen, Andy Sadler’s legendary, sure. But he’s not infallible. And maybe you’re right. Maybe everyone’s just a little too in love with your speed.”

Jackson turned his hat back and settled it on his head again. “Let me go tell him real quick, and then we’ll throw this bullpen, alright?”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Jackson jogged down to where Andy was sitting, motioned for him to get up and come closer so they could talk.

“Hey, put the radar gun away,” Jackson said.

“What?” Andy cupped his ear, like he was convinced he’d misheard.

“Put the radar gun away. You don’t need to know if Connor’s hitting a hundred on this bullpen. I’ll be able to tell you if he is.” Jackson could feel the speed as the ball hit his glove.

“It’s standard. You know that,” Andy said.

“And you should know better than anyone that with a pitcher of Connor’s abilities, there isn’t a standard. There isn’t a ‘norm.’ We adjust as necessary.”

“And this is necessary,” Andy stated, frowning.

“Yeah. For now. Not every bullpen. But for now.”

A glimmer of understanding flashed in Andy’s brown eyes. “You’re tryin’ to get him to trust you. Tryin’ to convince him you’re on his side.”

Jackson nodded.

“After that move in his last start, yeah, that’s something you gotta work on.”

Jackson had hoped that nobody had realized he’d told the batter the pitch Connor was desperate to throw—the one he’d taken to the house. But then, Andy wasn’t just any coach.

“You pull shit like that,” Andy continued, stare unwavering, “with anyone else, there’s gonna be hell to pay. But we brought you in to develop Connor and, clearly, you thought it was necessary.”

“It was . . .” Jackson internally squirmed. Had it been necessary? In the moment, he’d believed it was. He’d believed there’d been no other way to make Connor see sense. Explaining it to him hadn’t worked. Justifying it hadn’t either.

Of course, he’d also lost his temper.

They pushed each other in a way Jackson wasn’t used to.

He was used to showing up at a new team and maybe having a moment of proving himself, but by the time he’d established his skill, there were rarely any problems.

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