Chapter 6
Tenny
It was no surprise that I had a crap game the day Alex got hurt, because I spent all nine innings worried about her.
I vacillated between begging Dr. Ramirez to break patient confidentiality and wanting to pummel my teammates for causing the injury in the first place.
Let’s just say it was a good thing they were tucked away in the bullpen, or I might have done something reckless.
But now, three days later, the idea that I might be in real trouble keeps niggling me.
Because I’ve been here before.
I know what’s coming next.
Sure, I’m still concerned about Alex, and I’m probably too eager for her to bicker with me after our next interview, but the buzzing under my skin is getting harder to ignore. I need to tap her knuckles before today’s game, or I know exactly how it will go.
My inability to keep my head in the game has me missing Rhett’s throws or lifting my foot off the base too early.
Yesterday, I fielded a grounder and threw it to second instead of tagging my own base.
I’ve basically been playing like a Little League dropout.
And that’s without mentioning my abysmal at-bats.
Patrick, our manager, hasn’t said anything yet, but I can see it in the disappointed twitch of his salt-and-pepper mustache.
I need to fix this.
Now.
Which…is why I’ve done some things I’m not completely proud of this morning.
Like bribing the production assistant at Diamond Breakdown for Alex’s hotel information before sweet-talking the front desk employee to give me her room number.
That’s why I’m in an elevator with a bag of pan dulce from the best baker in town, a fruit smoothie, and half a dozen Get Well balloons.
You can never have too many goodies when you’re going to beg someone to end your streak of bad luck.
I grimace at my reflection in the chrome elevator doors.
Too much pounds like a drumbeat in my mind but not louder than the anxiety over what will happen later if I don’t fix this.
I step out onto her floor at the exact second my phone rings.
“Hey, Brad,” I say, shuffling everything to one hand to pick up my agent’s call.
“Have you seen it yet?”
“Seen what?”
“Alex’s segment.”
I slow mid-step down the hallway. “No. I’m running a quick errand before heading to camp.”
There’s a beat on the other end—long enough to make my shoulders tense.
“She led with the errors,” Brad tells me with a measured voice. “Ran the replay twice. Then brought up the defensive metrics from the last mini-series.”
My jaw tightens. “It was a bad game.”
“There were three games,” he corrects. “Three.”
I rub my forehead with the back of my hand, and the balloons bob against the ceiling. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying she’s shaping a narrative.” The word lands heavier than it should. “What I need is for you to not make it bigger than it is. Later today, answer questions calmly, take accountability, give them that goofy charm you’re known for, and then fix it on the field."
My fist settles at the base of my neck, pushing against the pressure mounting there.
“Meanwhile, I’ll handle her.”
My stomach dips. “Brad—”
“I’m not threatening anyone,” he says, already anticipating my protest. “But she doesn’t get to turn a slump into a storyline about decline.”
Decline.
The word sparks something ugly in my chest.
“She’s doing her job,” I mutter.
“And I’m doing mine.”
Silence stretches between us before Brad exhales, “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Not physically, anyway.
“Good. Then there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll handle the noise, you take care of first base, and this will be nothing but a blip by the time the season starts.”
I stare down the hallway for a long moment after Brad hangs up.
It sounds like Alex highlighted all the worst parts of the last few days.
What stings the most is she isn’t wrong.
My footwork was a little lazy. My half-second hesitation caused us valuable plays.
When my focus splinters, baseball speeds up on me.
Then it feels like I’m playing the world’s worst game of catch up, always a step behind.
The sound of a door clicking open a few feet away pulls me out of my thought spiral. I glance up to catch Alex softly closing her door behind her. My heart riots in my chest, not because I’ll have to explain why I’m here, but because Alex looks unfairly beautiful today.
Her blonde hair tumbles over her bare shoulders in effortless waves.
She’s opted for wide-leg trousers and a sleeveless mock-neck top that hugs her frame to a distracting degree.
But it’s her sparkly shoes that get me. I have the oddest impulse to buy her a pair in every color—starting with Waves blue.
“Tenny.” Her surprised voice brings my attention up from her feet. “What— What are you doing here?”
Before I can answer, her phone rings in her hand with Brad’s caller ID.
“Should I get this?”
I shrug, my words more biting than I mean them to be. “You already know what he’ll say.”
“I was doing my job,” she tells me, tone icing over.
Though I obviously know this, though I’d defended her to Brad mere moments ago, my pride chooses this exact moment to flare into an unreasonable beast.
“You didn’t need to come at me as hard as you did. It was a handful of mistakes in a few innings. Who cares? It’s camp for Pete’s sake. I’m only out there half a game for live reps before giving the reserve players a chance on the field.”
Her chin juts up. “That doesn’t mean I can’t report on your performance—or lack thereof—while you’re out there.”
A dry laugh escapes my mouth. “Wow.”
Alex simply raises an eyebrow, not backing down.
Coming here suddenly feels incredibly stupid. My neck flushes as I push forward the fistful of balloons.
“Here. Take these. And these.” I pass the smoothie and pastries into her slender fingers. “I hope your back is better.”
I’m already two angry steps in the opposite direction when her voice stops me. “Tenny, wait. What’s all this?”
“Nothing,” I grit out.
If I can’t trust Alex not to drag me through the mud at the first opportunity, there’s no way I can ask her for help.
On the drive over, I was actually looking forward to telling Alex about my superstitions, of having someone other than my younger sister to confide in.
Realistically, she’d probably giggle with glee over my mental hangups and then beam an evil smile as she told the entire world how I get the yips if I don’t stick to my routines.
“Tenny.”
Though I feel Alex on my heels, I don’t slow down. Forgoing the elevator, I fling open the door to the stairwell and nearly barrel through a gray-haired woman. Her ring-laden fingers sprawl over the collar of her tangerine paisley dress.
“Oh, my word!”
“Sorry, ma’am.” I step to the side, holding the door so she can pass by.
Except…she doesn’t move, just stares at me with a wrinkled forehead.
“Mags! What, um…what are you doing here?”
It’s Alex’s anxious tone that draws my attention.
She looks ridiculous, laden with my gratuitous gifts.
Her phone pings intermittently between clenched balloon ribbons while her purse sags on her forearm.
The pastry bag and smoothie cup look like they’re two seconds from careening to the carpeted floor.
Too much. Too much. Too much.
Shame flares hot at the back of my neck.
I want to throw everything in the trash, but pan dulce that good doesn’t deserve to go to waste.
Sighing—and silently cursing my mother for instilling me with etiquette—I reach out, taking everything back. “Let’s get these in your room.”
The older woman’s face brightens with recognition. “I thought you looked familiar.”
Forcing my lips up, I turn to face her. Usually, I love meeting fans. I’m more than happy to sign anything or take selfies. I’d just prefer to do so when I don’t feel sucker-punched in the gut.
Her jubilant grin wrinkles her cheeks. “You’re Alex’s boyfriend.”