Chapter 1
July
Rhys pushed the catcher’s mask up to the top of his head as he signaled to the umpire for a time out. He could practically see Carson Bloom sweating all the way up on the mound. Was his hand shaking? Well, shit.
He would blow this game for them, and they’d managed to hold onto a lead from the first inning. Even if at times it felt like their fingernails were almost pried away. The rookie reliever would make that fall apart if he didn’t get his shit under control.
Rhys took a few breaths as he walked out toward the mound.
Carson had done pretty good in his debut appearance, but he’d been shaky from the start tonight.
Yelling wouldn’t do any good. He’d seen the way the young man — he had barely turned nineteen, and already in AAA—flinched when voices raised during practice.
If he planned to stay here, or hell, rise all the way up to the majors—and if any baseball player told you they didn’t want that, they were a fucking liar as far as Rhys was concerned—he would have to get over that.
Rhys would be happy if he could get the kid through two more outs. They’d have another win under their belt and could go out and celebrate.
Massachusetts had some good clubs. He’d found one last season. If it was still open, he knew just where they could go. He was sure there were others as well. First, they needed to kick some Shark’s tail on their own territory.
“What’s shaking, Bloom?” he asked when he reached the mound. The in-fielders moved in closer, and he locked gazes with their third baseman, Alfredo Campos for just a moment.
Guillory, the pitching coach, headed their way as well. Hopefully he could get Carson settled before he made it out here. Then, he could grumble all the way back to the dugout about the wasted walk. “Other than your hands, that is.”
“Fuck you, Molson,” Carson said.
“Nah, you’re a little too skinny for me.” And young. Rhys had just turned twenty-six, but Carson still seemed like a baby to him.
Carson flipped him off, but Rhys didn’t see a tremor in his hands any longer. He made sure his glove was in front of his face before he said, “McClellan is a golfer.”
“What the hell do his past times have to do with the game?”
“He likes them low. He’ll go after anything that’s at the knees, or even below. Keep the pitches high, and he’ll take them every time.”
Carson narrowed his eyes, but he nodded. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”
“I know you can.” Rhys patted his shoulder, turning as Guillory huffed up to them.
“Done already?” He glanced at Carson. “You got this?”
Carson looked at Rhys then back to Guillory and gave another nod. “Yeah. Let’s finish this.”
As Rhys settled behind the plate, his mask over his face once more, he thought that’s what they were going to do.
Carson threw exactly what Rhys called for, and three pitches later, McClellan walked back to the home team’s dugout.
There were two runners on base, at second and third, but they only needed one more out, and they’d be able to leave here with their heads held high.
Rhys thought he would have to settle him down again when Carson threw two balls, both well wide of the strike zone, in a row.
He could sense the pitcher taking a deep breath.
Rhys called for a slider low and inside.
Carson shook that off. Fastball then, same location.
The first two pitches had been outside, the batter would expect this to be the same.
Carson went into his wind up, and threw the fastball. But, the location was wrong. High and centered. If Rhys had been in front of the plate, he probably would have seen the batter’s eyes widen with glee. He could practically imagine it. And he knew. Before the bat even struck the ball.
The crowd’s massive cheer hammered it home. As did the runners jogging toward the plate.
A walk-off homerun, and the game was over.
“I’m sorry.”
Rhys caught Carson’s words and the dejection in them, from all the way across the locker room.
He saw Alfie standing next to the kid. Carson had his bag over one shoulder, head hanging low.
Rhys knew what it was like to take all the responsibility, even if you weren’t the one shoveling it onto yourself.
The kid didn’t deserve to be weighed down like that.
As far as Rhys was concerned, Carson didn’t have anything to be sorry for. The pitch had been good. Just not quite where he’d called for it. If McClellan had still been at the plate, the game would have ended differently.
From what Rhys knew of the batter, it should have gotten right past him. Apparently he’d been working on his swing more than had shown in the game highlights he’d watched. A few of the players looked at them as well, but most seemed to be hanging under the cloud of their loss.
The loss which was as much Rhys’s fault as Carson’s.
He called for the pitch, it was on him to control the game from the backstop.
He hadn’t done a good enough job of that this time.
Although, he knew that wasn’t the way it would get written up in the articles and all over social media.
Not to mention the opinions people who never played baseball a day in their life would have.
He really hoped Carson had someone handling that for him. Rhys knew how ugly things could get in that cesspool, and dealing with it on your own could drag you down.
Alfie was talking to him, probably giving him a “we’ve all disappointed ourselves” talk. Sometimes that just made you dwell on the mistakes more. Sometimes it was better to have something to take your mind off of it.
Rhys threw one arm over Alfie’s shoulders, drawing Carson’s attention from Alfie.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I need to blow off some steam.” He glanced at Carson, ready to make a joke to lighten his mood.
From the look in Carson’s eyes, he wasn’t just putting on a front. There was something shattered there.
So, he changed course at the last minute.
Sometimes you had to do that when a pitch wasn’t going to come in where you thought and needed to move quickly to get in front of it.
He nudged Carson’s elbow. “I’m sure you could come along, even if you can’t drink.
” He gestured to the bag. “You can leave that here. You’ll need it again for tomorrow’s game. ”
Carson shifted away at that. “Yeah, well, neither of those will be happening. I gotta start back toward Greensburg. Got a long drive.”
“They’re sending you back down,” Rhys said. It’s the only reason he’d be going to Greensburg, and right this second, to rejoin the AA affiliate. It still surprised him a bit. Carson had pitched well in his other appearances.
“Why wouldn’t they?” Carson asked, as if it made complete sense to him.
He let the bag fall from his shoulder. “I let everyone down today. Turner and Guillory tried to say I just need more seasoning, and I’ll probably get called back up again.
I’m not a fucking steak, though.” Rhys’s lips twitched at that imagery, but Carson continued.
“What if that was it for me? My one chance, and I went and blew it.”
Rhys put his arm around the kid’s shoulders, letting his other arm drop from Alfie.
“It won’t be,” he assured Carson. “I’ve gotten called up to the majors once and even got sent back down to AA a couple times after I was here.
If I can manage to come back, you can, too.
They’ll put you where they need you, and I don’t doubt that will at least be here at some point. ”
“You sure?” Carson’s brows pinched together, as if hunting out some insincerity, but Rhys meant every single damn word.
“He is,” Alfie said. “We both have experience with that. They will need you back up here when you’re ready.”
“You work on the command of that fastball and the circle change,” Rhys said, “and I have absolutely no doubts.” He had the velocity down, just not always the control.
“Yeah, okay.” Carson took a step back and lifted the strap of the bag onto his shoulder again. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right” Rhys shot him a grin. “That’s a given.”
Carson rolled his eyes, but Rhys caught a hint of a smile on the kid’s lips. “I gotta get going, though.”
“Let us know when you make it there,” Rhys told him. “And good luck.”
Carson left the locker room, his shoulders a little straighter at least. Alfie watched him, his gaze like an actual caress. Rhys didn’t let himself look over.
“You’re good with them,” Alfie said, which did pull Rhys’s gaze toward him. He couldn’t help it. “All the pitchers, but especially the bebes.”
Rhys didn’t always understand what Alfie said when he slipped into Spanish, no matter how many times he tried to teach himself, but that one was easy. “Doubt any of the rookies would appreciate being called babies.” No matter how true. “It’s just part of the job.”
He didn’t wait for Alfie to argue with him over that, and he knew he would, but headed over to the other side of the locker room. A few of the guys had already gone to the shuttle, but surely someone would grab a rideshare with him.
He couldn’t be the only one who needed to blow off some steam.