Page 67 of Wild Hit
Only know do I notice the stadium exploding in noise.
“Hot! Damn!”
“Are you—Whatareyou?”
“Can you give me your autograph?”
That one makes me snort while I’m in the middle of bumping someone else’s chest. Then two high fives. A low one. Bumpingforearms. Getting my helmet tapped and then tapping back. A hug. Getting my ass slapped. Baseball boys be like this.
When the manager says “that was savage,” to you and pats your shoulder, you know you did a good job.
If so, why is something bothering me?
The nearest person now is Logan Kim as he’s putting on the easy catcher pads first. I tell him, “Hey, I’m heading inside real quick.”
He gives me a side glance and zero words, and yet a whole conversation passes.
You okay?
Yeah. Just need to check something.
You better not be hurt, you jackass.
I’m sure it’s nothing.
One minute. Then I’m coming for you.
Thank you, Grandpa.
Shaking my head, I head into the tunnel and when I’m far away enough from cameras, I remove my batting gloves and flex my fingers.
“Ohhh,” I say, finding the issue right away.
“Miguel Lucas Machado,” a feminine voice says all of a sudden.
My eyes snap up and there she is, goldilocks herself descended from her throne to this humble away-clubhouse. “Hmm, my middle name isn’t Lucas.”
“Jose?” she guesses a second time.
I don’t confirm it but that is, in fact, my middle name.
Instead, my eyebrows rise. “What brings you to this sweaty place?”
She leans forward, hands on her hips and expression as furious as it probably gets. “Are you hurt?”
I look backward. Did Logan say anything? But the way behind me is clear of any snitches.
“No,” I respond as I turn back. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Then why are you doing that with your hand?”
I glance down. I’m still flexing my fingers. I turn my hand around again, palm facing up. The impact that blew up the wooden bat in my hand made my new wedding ring dig into my finger, and a blister’s already forming.
That’s it. That’s the big injury. Boo hoo.
A shadow falls over me and then her hand is on mine. She spreads my palm wider and gently taps at the annoying little blister.
“Oof, that looks bad.” She’s frowning like she just got really bad financial news. Then, just as tragically, she meets my eyes and says, “Take it off.”
