Chapter 3
Hunter
Oklahoma and California are very different. I didn’t think I’d miss the ocean air as much as I do, and it’s humid as fuck here—every damn day.
I run my forearm across my forehead, then push my hat back down, pulling the brim lower to block the sun.
Rosin and sweat do mix, for a nasty curveball at least. I should be able to throw some crazy pitches while I’m out here, though I’m not used to a hard limit on how much I can throw.
I get twenty in today’s session, all breaking balls.
I suppose when people pay more than a million dollars for an arm, they want to do all they can to protect it.
I’m not so sure coddling it is the way to go, however.
Nolan Ryan threw his ass off back in the day, and he was the best there was well into his forties.
I wind up and release my last pitch for the day, and it snaps in Roddy’s mitt. He holds it in place for an extra beat, letting Coach get a good handle on my spot.
“Good work, Reddick. Your curve looks solid today. Hit the trainer and take the arm care seriously.”
Coach Burdick slaps my back with his massive palm, then heads toward Roddy to chat. The two glance my way while I’m packing up.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and meander toward them. “Did I miss my spot or something?”
Roddy shifts his glove from over his mouth, revealing the hard line of his mouth.
“You did fine today, Hunter. Go take care of your arm,” Coach repeats.
I nod and their eyes linger on me for a beat before Roddy’s glove comes back up to cover his mouth.
He’s clearly talking about me. I thought the little bet incident was our icebreaker.
I don’t know what the fuck I did to make this guy hate me so much, but I can’t have him fucking up my path to the show.
I spin around again and their gazes zip to me.
“You know, if I need to work on something, I can take it. You can tell me.”
I shrug, because I’ve grown up with coaches barking mean shit at me. A lot of dudes say they can handle criticism, but I really mean it. I didn’t get to be this good because my coaches were nice to me. They pushed my ass, every day. Hell, I pushed myself twice as hard as they did.
“You know what you need to work on, Hunter? Your arm care.” Coach’s expression matches Roddy’s now. I’m fucking this up.
“Yeah, okay. I got it,” I mumble. I head out of the bullpen and up toward the clubhouse without looking back again.
The trainer is finishing up my massage when Roddy makes his way into the room. I lift my chin when our eyes meet, and he rolls his eyes before heading to the other side of the room where one of the young catchers is working on hip mobility.
“Pfft, whatever. Maybe spend more time with the catchers and leave me alone,” I mutter.
Mike, our trainer, stops his compressions and follows my gaze to where Roddy and the young catcher seem to be getting into it.
“Roddy’s old school, ya know,” Mike says.
“Oh yeah, believe me . . . I know.”
Mike chuckles and heads toward the ice machine to fill the bag for my wrap.
“He’s the best, though. And people he’s caught for? They win Cy Young awards.” Mike drops the Ziplock of ice on the table next to me, then tugs my sleeve down before holding the ice in place against my bicep tendon. I wince from the instant chill.
“Yeah, I know his story. And he’s good. I’ll give you that. He’s just so . . . prickish. I mean, why does he have to fuck with that kid’s head too? Look at that. Kid’s marching out all angry. I bet he’s going to have a shit practice thanks to Roddy’s words of advice.
“I’d be careful here,” Mike warns.
I glance at him but before he can explain things further, Roddy is at my side with his mask tucked under his arm.
“You should know you threw some great stuff today. That conversation I was having with Coach? It wasn’t about you.” He holds my stare for a few painfully long seconds, and dammit if I don’t swallow under his scrutiny.
“Thanks,” I eek out.
“Also,” he begins.
My head falls back and my eyes flutter shut as I exhale. Here comes the lesson. It’s bad enough I’m trapped here to take it, thanks to Mike wrapping ice against my arm.
“Not everything is about you. When you were at San Diego State, it probably felt like it. Hell, I’ll give you that—you put that team on your shoulders.
But out here, you’re one of many. And I do mean many.
So, do your job, work hard, and when you finally get called up, remember to listen to your fucking catcher. ”
I drop my chin back to my shoulder and meet his hard stare.
“That what you tell the kid?” I shift my eyes toward the exit, where the rookie marched out a few minutes prior.
Roddy chuckles, and I can’t be certain, but I think Mike just tsked under his breath.
“You’re good to go. See you in two days,” Mike says, slapping the end of the wrap along my shoulder before making eyes at Roddy.
“Take it easy on him, boss,” Mike says to Roddy before packing up his tools and moving to the next massage table to work on one of our infielder’s hips.
I swing my legs around and move to slide from the table, but Roddy cages me in before I can, leaning over me with his hands on either side of my body, forcing me to lean back so far I fear I might flip backward and tumble to the floor.
“Shit!”
“Yeah, shit is right. Now, listen to me when I tell you this one . . . last . . . time.”
I’m done playing tough. Roddy’s shorter than me, but he’s twice as thick.
And being this close gives me a clear view of what looks to be a well-earned scar that cuts from under his right eye toward his jaw.
I’m sure it was baseball related, but I also wouldn’t be shocked to learn that he got it when some mugger slashed his face with a knife.
Just like I wouldn’t be shocked to find out he then made said mugger swallow the knife whole.
“Not everything is about you. Tell me you hear me.”
I nod, but that doesn’t seem to be good enough. He slaps the bench on either side and lunges a few extra inches closer to me.
“Say the words,” he commands.
“Not everything is about you,” I say, repeating verbatim.
Fuck if I can’t help but be a smartass. If I get my teeth knocked out right now, I deserve it.
But I’m not going to let this guy think I’m a total pushover.
There’s a line, and while I see he’s to be respected, he himself has a few things to learn.
His pupils dart from left to right as he focuses on each of my eyes for milliseconds at a time, and I swallow down the dry razors taking over my esophagus just as he steps back with a hard laugh.
“Well, fuck if you aren’t one tough rockhead,” he says, holding out his hand. I blink at it for a moment, then grip his palm for a shake as he helps me to my feet.
“I’ve been called worse,” I say, adjusting the fit of my wrap around my arm.
“I’m sure you have,” Roddy says through a chuckle. “You bust your dad’s balls like that? Or is that something you save for grizzled old athletes like me?”
Roddy moves toward the locker room, so I follow.
“I have two sisters, and if you think I’m bad, you should meet them.”
It’s true, too. Bethany and Isabelle are two and four years older than me, respectively, and the amount of shit I took from them growing up should have put me in the manure business.
“Two sisters, huh? I know a thing or two about that. Try four!” Roddy flings open his locker and tucks his mask in the cubby at the top before unsnapping his chest protector.
“I wouldn’t have survived four,” I laugh out.
Are we . . . bonding? Finally!
“I barely survived, and I’m twice as tough as your ass,” he says.
I laugh at the joke at my expense, but Roddy doesn’t, so I quiet down quickly. After a few awkward seconds, though, he cackles and snaps his clean shirt at me.
“Just giving you shit.”
“Ha, yeah. I get that. Now.” I exhale and take a seat in front of my open locker before pulling my turf shoes off.
We change out in semi-comfortable silence for the next few minutes, and Roddy finishes first.
“Tell me one thing, rookie. Did you really spend the night with Renleigh when you left the bar a couple nights ago?”
My lip twitches and eventually gives in to a lopsided smirk, and for a moment, I consider lying to him. With my luck, though, this is another one of his tests, and he’ll catch me in it and hang it over my head for the next week. I meet his gaze.
“I spent about three minutes with her that night, all the way to the parking lot, where she pocketed the cash and told me to have a great season.” I shrug and he chuckles, leaning forward and patting my shoulder in what very much feels like an act of solidarity and consolation.
“You’re not the first, young man. And you will likely not be the last with that one.
That girl doesn’t date. And she doesn’t trust. And maybe around here that’s a good thing, ya know?
” He glances around the empty locker room, and I get his point—there’s a lot of single, and not-actually-single assholes coming in and out of this place.
Except, I don’t really think I’m an asshole.
Confident to a fault? Sure. Maybe even cocky.
But when it comes to women, I’ve always been a gentleman.
I’ve even had relationships that lasted more than a season, which I bet a lot of the dudes on this team can’t say.
My college freshman girlfriend and I are still friends on social media.
Hell, she even invited me to her engagement party set for November.
“What if I’d still like to give it a try?”
Roddy spins around and walks a few steps back toward me.
“Try and sleep with her? I mean, she’ll probably throw a drink in your face the next time you hit on her, but—”
“No, no. I mean, like, take her out and shit. You know? Take her to dinner, maybe a show. Whatever people do around here.” I wave my hand around the room, acknowledging the limited entertainment in Sweetwater.
It’s a cute place, but it’s harsh on the fringes.
And other than the college town part and the rivers and ranches, there aren’t a lot of places to take a girl you’re trying to impress.
“You mean you want to date her?” His brow arches.
I lift my shoulders.
“Yeah. And if it leads to her place some time, well, okay. I mean, I’m not blind. But, I don’t know, there’s something there. Maybe it’s the challenge. She reminds me of my sisters, giving me shit right back. I’m into that, I guess.”
Roddy chews at the inside of his cheek and lets out a breathy laugh.
“Well, goddamn. I don’t know what to tell you, rookie. Like I said, that girl has a fortress up. But it doesn’t hurt to try, I guess. Just don’t think I’ll be buying you a beer to nurse your wounds in every time she shoots you down. I’ll cover the first one, but that’s it.”
I chuckle as I stand, then grab my phone and keys from my locker to shove into my pockets.
“I’m persistent. It’s only one of my charming qualities,” I say with a grin.
Roddy, however, grimaces.
“I’m not so sure I’d call it that. Annoying? Yes, but it falls short of charm.”
We walk out together, reaching his lifted pickup truck that looks like it’s seen more seasons than he has.
“Maybe you can teach me how to be charming, old man,” I say, only half teasing. I don’t really need nice guy lessons from Roddy, but I would like the two of us to get along.
“Ha, I’m not the one to go to for lady advice. Trust me. But I’ll get that beer ready. And piece of advice?” He stops with one foot in the truck, leaning into the open door.
“What’s that?”
“Not everything is about you. Same advice goes for shooting your shot with Renleigh. Remember that.”
I nod, though I’m not entirely sure what he means. Besides, I’ve got a feeling about her. Maybe I can help her shake up those walls for a bit and let herself have a good time.