Chapter Nine
This morning, Amy gave me the best speech ever—just for me.
It was like something out of a movie—rousing, and in a strange way, patriotic.
Baseball is America's favorite pastime, after all.
I've heard coaches give inspiring speeches before, but Amy's should be written down and enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame.
I hear her words replaying in my mind as she leads me out of the locker room.
"Charlie Braddock, you are the Admirals' all-star pitcher for a reason. And when we're on the road to the World Series, I need you in top form. Don't let one idiot's taunts get in your head. Charlie, you are more than ready. This team would be toast without you, the fastball king."
She made me feel like I'm Superman without the cape.
"Maybe you think of baseball as a contest," she continued.
"And you're partially right. It's true that in a game one team wins, and another loses.
It's true that some players are traded and others get to stay.
Some go down to the minors again, and others stick around. Maybe fate plays a role, and luck too."
I had been mesmerized by the fire inside her, the desire to convince me I can be the fastball phenom I was before my injury.
"But sometimes," Amy went on, "things happen that make us question all our assumptions.
My dad was the best coach anyone could hope for.
Taught me everything I know about being a coach—and he was an encyclopedia of baseball knowledge.
Ever since I was six years old, there was nothing I liked more than sitting in the dugout with him, watching him work, listening to what he told his players, enjoying the banter between innings. "
Amy was electrifying, and I swore I could almost hear the crowd cheering and whooping.
"But then something happened that changed everything," she goes on.
"I think you know what I'm talking about.
Dad got sick and passed away too soon. I had a choice: Take over his responsibilities as everyone expected—or step away.
Hurtling into the unknown, redefining my own life instead of living up to other people's expectations.
It sucked, and it was scary, but I did my best—and now here I am, coaching for a team that kicks ass—and a pitcher who has turned these players into a family. "
I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. Her words hit me like a fastball to the chest.
But she wasn't quite finished yet. "So, what about you, Charlie? You've had some bad luck. Maybe some jerk thinks you're done for the season—or forever. But are you ready to believe that? Or are you going to surprise everyone, including yourself, and come back stronger?"
Amy pretended she wasn't soft on me but—and this was the best part of her speech as well as my favorite bit—she finished by kissing me.
Her voice is still ringing in my ears as she drags me over to the trainer's facility for more heat and ice. That seems unnecessary since my shoulder is already feeling so good that I'm not worried about getting hurt again. I'll be careful, of course. But the fear is fading away more every day.
When we exit the facility, three reporters are waiting outside the building.
They're clearly hoping to catch a good sound bite they can splash on every TV screen and newspaper headline.
Those vultures must be here about yesterday's contest with Jared.
I try to brush past the reporters, but they ambush me like gnats in July.
"Charlie! Heard you're back for good!" someone shouts, shoving a mic in my face.
I glance at Amy. She stands with her arms crossed, daring me to stay on script.
"Getting my strength back more every day," I proclaim. "Coach Keller and the team are making sure I don't overdo it. But I feel good, real good."
Another reporter cuts in. "What about your little showdown yesterday? Looked like Morris was giving you a run for your money."
"I don't pay attention to Jared's trash talk," I lie, feeling Amy's gaze burn into me.
The Aspen Altitude team, our nemeses, often practice in the same facility.
So naturally, Morris had to harass me. And yeah, I got a little…
irritated. Okay, I shouted obscenities at the jackass because he insulted Amy, and that led to a brief dust-up.
I know I need to keep my emotions in check, just like Amy keeps telling me.
But it's tough when she's Jared's target.
The third reporter is relentless. "So can Admirals fans expect you at the top of the rotation this season?"
I pause just long enough for Amy to chime in. "Charlie's on a great recovery track. We're making sure he's ready to lead this team all the way to the top."
She's prepared to play bodyguard as the questions keep coming. Amy ushers me toward the parking lot where my car waits like an escape vehicle. I duck around Amy and fire off a parting shot toward the little crowd. "I'll be on the mound soon, better than ever!"
The reporters scribble furiously, shout, and circle like buzzards over fresh roadkill. I can still hear them when we reach my car.
"Did you see the camera guy wearing the Altitude's jersey?" Amy asks. "That's either dedication—or a pay-off."
"It wouldn't surprise me if Morris has him on his payroll," I agree, sliding into the driver's seat.
Amy jumps in and sits beside me, seeming like she's choosing her next words carefully. "Do you think you're ready for Aspen this weekend?"
"I just told them—"
"You told them what they wanted to hear." She moves into her patented resolute stance, daring anyone who has the balls to challenge her to give it a go. "Can you handle Morris in a real game or not?"
"I'll be fine. Don't you trust me anymore?"
"Yes, but your injury sapped your confidence for a while." She drills her gaze directly into mine. "You've done amazingly well when you practice with your teammates, but winning against a rival team is much more stressful."
"Amy, I meant what I said. My shoulder can handle it." I glance at her sideways as I maneuver the car out of the lot. "Don't you believe I can do it?"
"I believe you're still a stubborn idiot."
She sounds annoyed, but I catch the hint of a smile before she turns away to stare out the window. "Just don't blow it, okay? A lot's riding on you and your first spring training matchup."
I groan. "Let it go, Amy."
"You know I can't do that."
She acts like she doesn't believe I can get the job done, that I might crack under pressure though I never have before. Something else is going on inside her head. And suddenly, a proverbial light bulb pops on over my head. Maybe my epiphany is bullshit, but I don't think so.
We're on the road now, and she's already running through scenarios for this weekend's game.
I'm visualizing finally burning Jared with a smoking fastball as he stands there slack-jawed.
I don't say much, just nodding along, partly listening.
Mostly, I'm imagining her saying something else when we get back to my place.
Something like "you really kicked his ass out there. "
Instead, she's still talking about expectations.
Halfway to my apartment building, I can't contain my epiphany any longer. I peek at her sideways. "You're still worried about me, aren't you? That's why you've been such a downer about my healing progress."
"Don't be ridiculous."
Her stubborn expression tells me she won't admit to the truth, not yet.
The rest of the drive passes in silence as she contemplates the view out the window again, and I obsess over what the Altitudes' lineup might look this year.
I heard a couple of guys defected to other teams, but I don't know if that's true.
We've just reached my apartment building, and I've pulled into a curbside parking slot. Amy jumps out before I can even stop completely.
"I'll email you the schedule, Braddock," she says over her shoulder.
I lean across the seat. "Amy, wait, we need to—"
She waves her hand in the air without looking back and disappears into her car, where she'd left it along the curb. Her taillights are receding into the distance before I can even climb out of my vehicle.
Back inside my apartment, I head straight for the freezer and fish out a couple of Miller Lites, then crash on the couch and flip on the TV.
Naturally, the news is all about yesterday's dust-up with Jared and my impending "comeback.
" The talking heads are already at it, rambling on about how I'll be lucky if I can keep up with the camera crew, let alone Morris.
I crack a beer open and choose to ignore all their BS predictions.
The news cuts to a clip of Amy during the final game against the Marlins, which had been last year.
She wasn't my coach back then. In the clip, I can see her ponytail pulled tight and bouncing around.
Then the video switches to her on the field yesterday, stepping between me and my nemesis like she's managing two wild dogs instead of players fighting for dominance.
I couldn't say it in front of all those reporters, but I know how much she's banking on me pulling off this comeback. That only makes me want it more—maybe more than anything in my life.
Forget about Morris. Focus on your game, Braddock. The jerk wants you off guard.
Tomorrow, I'm slated to face off against Jared again, for the first time in more than a year. Am I nervous? Nah, of course not. Well, maybe a tiny bit. But I have the best incentive of all to keep me grounded and focused.
Her name is Amy Keller.
The next morning, I wake up before the alarm and do a quick stretching routine to gauge how my shoulder feels.
Nothing hurts—a good sign. Grabbing a protein bar and a banana, I head out the door, determined to get in some solo training before my early meeting with Amy.
By the time she arrives, clipboard in hand, I've already run through half of my usual warm-ups.
She sweeps her gaze over me from head to toe. "Someone's eager today."
"Just getting ready to smash the Assitudes."
I expect her to roll her eyes at the nickname, but she only sighs. "Cut the wisecracks, Braddock. Today, you need to prove to the world that you're still the fastball king. Let's get started."