Page 68 of Bad Ball Hitter

“He should’ve told you.”

“To be fair, he did say he was in for a big payout. I just didn’t realize he meant with some other team.” I foolishly assumed he’d stay in Boston.

Right when things are looking good, the damn rug gets pulled from beneath me again.

Looks as if we will have a discussion when he comes home tonight. So much for kitchen baseball. I just hope it’s not on a permanent rain delay.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Drake

“Well, Joe, it’s been another tough road trip for the boys. The team must tighten its defense and improve its bullpen if it expects to turn things around in time to make the playoffs.”

“No doubt about it, Les. Today’s loss was a hard one. I’ve never seen a team spiral so fast after the All-Star break. Watching the team struggle here lately has been hard. And then there’s Drake…”

“Drake’s performance has been a shadow of what we’re used to. He’s hit poorly in these last few games, and you can see it’s eating at him.”

“You know, Les, there is a lot of pressure riding on Drake’s performance. He was supposed to carry us to the championship. Looks like we’ll be lucky to make the playoffs if he can’t find his bat and the others don’t step up.”

“Agreed. He seems to have incorporated himself into the team as a spark plug. When he struggles, the entire team feels it.”

“Do you think he’ll bounce back? Or will Bad Ball Hitter just become Bad Hitter?”

“I sure hope he can. He’s got to find his way out of this slump, not just for himself, but for the team.”

“Let’s hope the quick trip home brings a new dawn for Drake and the team. They’ve got the heart. Now they just need a break.”

“Here’s to hoping, Les. Here’s to hoping.”

The cars whizz by in another city and another night. I pull my baseball cap down lower, grateful for the lack of recognition. Or if people recognize me, they’re giving me my space.

“I understand.” I nod and grip the phone tighter, pissed at the tongue-lashing from my agent. As if I don’t know I’ve fucked up.

“You don’t want to get a reputation as a momentum killer. Get your shit together and make my job easier.” The phone goes silent.

I pull the phone away to look at it and sigh at the dark screen. The fucker hung up on me.

Cursing, I lean against the stone wall and look toward the starless sky as my agent’s angry words replay in my head.

He may be a prick, but he’s spot on. I need to get my shit together. I’ve got so much riding on my performance: carrying the team to the World Series and landing a big contract. Now is not the time for my bat to go cold.

But I can’t quiet the voices in my head. There’s only so much space in that brain of mine, and this constant worrying about whether Jake is mine and keeping this from Lila consumes all of my bandwidth. I usually compartmentalize better, but fuck, I’m stressed out. This delay in our flight home isn’t helping. We were supposed to get home tonight, but with the storms in Boston, they delayed the flight until later tonight.

“I couldn’t help but overhear.” Rappel steps out of the shadow and tips his head toward my phone. “He’s right, by the way.”

I shoot him a glare. “What do you know?”

“I know something’s bothering you. You don’t go from top performance to having three shit games in a row. Did you and Miranda split or something?”

My laugh is humorless. How ironic. Yes, we broke up only for me to find the one girl I’ve always wanted. The one I’ve never gotten over. The one who’s owned my heart and soul since seeing her in that fir tree and falling on her ass.

“Yeah, we actually did.”

“That sucks, bro. But what about that one girl? The one from your past?”

A smile spreads across my face. I can’t help it. Being with her is so easy, despite my deception. “We’re actually together.”

His eyes widened. “Then what’s the problem? Sex not as good as you remember?”

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