Page 77 of Wild Pitch
“Yeah.” I all but crawl to the edge of the bed and my head swims as I reach to turn on the light.
There’s some rustling on her end, followed by her furious typing on a keyboard. “I’m putting you on the injured list for the time being. Get some rest and don’t forget to eat properly.”
“Ugh.”
“Youdideat today, right?”
The weird twist in my stomach reminds me, first, that no. I did not. And second, that I don’t want to. Like, anything I put down the guzzler will come out like a fountain.
Maybe I should at least drink some water, though. I grab for the room temperature water bottle on my bedside table. Uncapping it feels like a feat and the water feels downright freezing once it hits my mouth. My stomach swirls the one sip like it’s a blender, and I stop.
“Uh…”
“Starr.”
“Garcia?” I wince.
“Do not make me force you to eat.”
“Ha ha,” I rasp out, and there’s only silence on the other end of the line. “Oh, you were serious.”
“Give me your address, Starr.”
I blink hard, as if the dim light hurt. “Huh?”
“I will make you my dad’s famous chicken soup and have you pitching cutters again in no time.”
Something happens in my chest, like a fever is breaking out there and expanding across my entire body. But it’s not uncomfortable. It doesn’t churn my stomach or make my head spin. I want to lean into it, just the same as when I’m tired and want to lay on my pillows.
“I’ll text you,” I say, touching my free hand against my chest. My heart beats rapidly underneath.
CHAPTER 25
HOPE
“Starr is accounted for,” I declare as I walk into the meeting room where the entire support staff is meeting, tucking my cellphone in the back pocket of my regulation pants. “He also seems to be down with a cold like Rivera and company.”
That leads to some sighs, groans, and facepalms.
Yesterday, everyone was fine and playing their best. Today, no other than nine guys are down with what seems to be the same bug. The only difference is that the rest of them showed up to the facilities and gave training a try for a brief moment, until either they or staff noticed that they shouldn’t be training at all and were sent home.
But Starr never even showed up. We’ve blown up his phone all day long, and his agent said that last he checked in the early morning, Starr was at home and just sounded tired. I don’t know about the rest of the men in this room, but I’ve been freaking out that something really bad might’ve happened to him—like a traffic accident on the way, or something worse. I’m so relieved that he finally picked up his phone and it was with my call, that my body feels like it’s floating compared to a few minutes ago. Not that I can say any of this aloud without having my wordsmisconstrued. And especially not after Otto’s little comments yesterday.
“He took your call?” said douche asks, cocking his eyebrow and cutting a look at Steve that everybody can read.
I deadpan with, “Yeah, maybe because I called him twenty times back to back, instead of you trying once and giving up.”
“Thank you for the persistence, Garcia,” Beau says, tossing a nod my way that placates me because upon his level response, Otto and the others can’t stir the shit they wanted to. “Did he sound as bad as the other guys?”
“Slightly worse, I’d say.” As curses and complaints rise, I add, “But maybe it’s good timing. This way he can really rest his elbow.”
Steve nods. “That’s a good point.”
“Now that all the players are accounted for, we can discuss how to reshuffle the team for the next few games. Thank you to the training staff for your support today.” That’s a clear dismissal from Rob Beau, which is great because I’ve been here almost two hours extra trying to locate one cowboy that now needs some soup.
I rush to pick up my bag and luck out that there are no Otto sightings on my way out. I make a mental note of being extra careful around him, even when I already trusted him as far as I could throw him. And I’m a quite strong girlie.
In my car, I check the text message from one Annoying Cowboy with not only his address, but a door code. I’m not surprised that his house is in one of those Winter Park neighborhoods where rich people live, and I set course for a nearby Publix to buy ingredients. His kitchen better be stocked with the tools I need, or else.
