Page 3 of Sliding Into Love
Good.
The seasoned players knew better than to try to befriend Ethan Ford; they barely interacted with him other than what was required to play. Every year, some rookie or transfer tried to invite the whole team out for drinks or to a family cookout. But not the Hawks, especially not Ethan.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out with friends.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’dhadfriends.
Jen was a friend of sorts, but only in the stadium. Marshall made sure Ethan’s focus was solely on the game, on winning. All of Ethan’s time was spent building up his strength and endurance, to prove he was good enough to be a starting pitcher. Never mind Marshall’s notoriety for leaving in pitchers until they dropped from exhaustion or blew out their arms; he rarely put in relief unless absolutely necessary.
Every game Ethan played with the Hawks, no matter the outcome, Marshall reminded him how much better his father had been. Would always be better, with his legendary Hall of Fame status and household name.
It didn’t matter that this season was Ethan’s first pitching in years. Didn’t matter that pitching was all he’d dreamed of since the age of four when he declared his intention to pitch like his father. Ethan grew up on a baseball field, from his Little League days to high school through his stint in collegiate baseball.
In an unprecedented move, Marshall signed Ethan out of college as a center fielder and left him there for five seasons, dangling the potential to return where he belonged over Ethan’s head with every ball he caught and every hit he missed.
Andfinally, after years of brutal training and manipulation, Marshall informed Ethanthiswould be the year. The season Ethan finally got to take the mound as starting pitcher for the Hawks. It was his dream. He was right where he’d always wanted to be, and the Hawks were forecast to have their best season in a decade.
And he couldn’t afford to fuck that up.
“Ford!” Marshall’s voice barked from the darkened depths of his office.
Shit. Ethan thought he’d get away without any trouble. Apparently, he’d thought wrong. Silently, he ducked into the office and stood, waiting.
“Mister Ford.”
That sardonic tone was never a good sign.
“Coach.”
“You seem to have found a few new fans tonight.”
“Just tossed a ball to some kid.”
“I see.”
Unsure what to do, Ethan stared at the toes of his cleats and waited.
“You seemed quite interested in the one fan in particular. The girl.”
“What girl?”
“I know what I saw, Ford.” Marshall’s hand slammed on his desk, and Ethan bit the inside of his cheek to keep from flinching. “No attachments!” Marshall yelled, though Ethan was only a few feet away. “You focus on thegame. You focus onwinning. You donotfocus on some cleat-chasing girl with a litter of screaming brats. If you need to get it out of your system, do it. With someoneelse.”
“Coach, I—”
“Go find some other piece of ass looking for one night with a pro. Now, get out.”
Ethan’s gut churned as he spun on his heel to leave. The woman didn’t deserve the way Marshall talked about her, but he’d learned a long time ago it was best to take what Marshall threw at him without response.
But that didn’t stop him from feeling like shit about it.
“Hey, Derek,” Ethan yelled as the catcher pushed through the exit door. “Hold up a second,” Ethan jogged forward, holding out a canvas tote bag toward Derek.
Derek looked at Ethan, confused.
“I didn’t get to sign the little girl’s ball, so I thought I’d sign a few and you can give them to—to them.” He’d almost said toyour friend,but he couldn’t. Couldn’t even think about her.
“Don’t you want to give them to her yourself?” Derek waved toward a car a little away from the others.
