Page 24 of Wild Catch
“The wild catch you made that saved our social media manager.”
The what, what?I ask myself. There’s a video?
First time I hear about it, so I have no freaking clue what people are saying online. Surely it can’t be bad if she came out unscathed.
Tentatively I say, “I have no doubt that it was the most important catch of my career.”
Boateng shifts the microphone toward him and says, “According to some, it has made you the biggest catch in the league.” He gives out a rehearsed laugh, like that line was. “Thank you for your time, Logan. We’ll let you go get some rest.”
“Yeah, thank you.” With one final nod, I turn back where I came from.
Most of the guys are already hitting the showers, but first I make a bee line to find my cellphone in my locker. It only takes a few taps to find the top video when I search for my name.
“What the—” Even I know these many million views are not normal.
I hit play on the video and it’s just me squirting a water bottle into my mouth while Rosalina Mena asks me something behind the screen. And then the video slows down, and some saxophone shit starts playing in the background as I move.
Okay, I have to admit that it was a freaky catch. I was moved on instinct alone. Of course I had a general idea where the batters stood on the field for practice, but there’s an infinite ball trajectory possibilities. Mena’s guardian angel must’ve been the one positioning my hand to the precise spot needed to catch the ball and prevent a tragedy.
But then the video changes to my face as I check in on her.
My absolutely terrified face.
I turn my phone away and sit there for a moment, staring at nothing.
Gathering a deep breath, I look at the video again. It has started all over, so I scroll back to that spot.
The hell am I doing biting my lip like that? Yeah, it was scary, but anyone would think that was my wife about to get murdered or something.
No wonder they put this sexy-times music on top. And a brief glance at the comments confirms that yes, this has painted a target on my back for the women of the internet. That’s one, two… sixteen wedding proposals within three scrolls.
There goes my stinking peace and quiet. And if this shit stays up for longer, I may end up with stalkers of the caliber like Starr got during Spring Training.
Standing up, I mumble, “That ball didn’t kill you, Mena, but I will.” I toss the towel on my seat and stomp out of the clubhouse, headed for the back office.
CHAPTER9
ROSE
Me
Did you watch the game?!
Mi Mamá
¡Sí, mija! It was so good
Your papito would’ve loved it
That makes my chest twist painfully. My dad died when I was too young to remember him, but he was still a part of the family growing up.
Pictures of him in his youth line our living room, along with snaps of him and Mom dating, their wedding, and from when I was born. My favorite is from one when I was just shy of twelve months. He held me in his arms and was captured right as he gave me what was probably the biggest kiss in the world. My pudgy little face was scrunched up in joy—there might’ve been a bit of drool dripping down my mouth that Mom says was from the flash.
And he wore an Orlando Wild baseball cap.
Our franchise is pretty new, just a few years older than I am, but apparently one of Dad’s favorite Venezuelan players was drafted to the Wild right as the team started out. It coincided with the timing for Mom and Dad to leave their home country behind and relocate somewhere safer. According to the legend, Dad chose Orlando, Florida, because of the baseball team.
He passed just before my second birthday in a car accident, but so many things about him stayed with us. His music taste, his zest for life, his face in mine… his love of Orlando Wild baseball.
