Chapter 11
— Scout —
“How’s it feeling, Scout?” Linney asked, lifting my arm and folding it open and closed while pressing on my elbow joint.
“All in all, good. The anti-inflammatories have been working great. I think I’m good to start light throwing in the bullpen.”
Linney hummed, concentrating on the finer movement of my arm. “I think we might be there; slowly, mind you, since we’ve rested it for a couple of weeks.”
“Longest two weeks ever,” I drawled. Not only because I’d been benched. It had also been two weeks since I’d seen or heard from Remmy after she refused to give me her number. She’d saved mine but had since turned into an enigma in every sense of the word. And if I didn’t know better, it was entirely on purpose. She had black cat energy written all over her, and fuck if I wasn’t here for it.
Linney snickered. “In your defense, you haven’t been as much of a sad sack as some of the other guys when they’ve been injured. Rather surprising, all things considered.”
I hummed and let that sink home. My entire career was on the line. If I couldn’t get this Tommy John injury rehabilitated, I’d need surgery. Worst-case scenario, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill the remainder of my contract with the Portland Bears. Early retirement simply wasn’t an option I wanted to consider at this stage.
“I’ll start slow,” I promised as a murmur.
“The diagnostic scans have shown improvement; however, it’s still going to be at least another four weeks before you’re back to full throwing capacity. You’re lucky we caught this early—we would otherwise be looking at months of recovery.”
She released my arm. “We’ll continue with physical therapy, and I’ll let Ben know you can start a progressive throwing program. Between the two of us, we’ll get you back out there in no time.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second.”
For the next half an hour, Linney massaged and gently worked her fingers around my elbow, upper forearm, and lower bicep. After she’d finished up and had a chat with Ben about my progressive throwing program, I went to the gym to run through my rehab training program.
I wanted nothing more than to go balls to the wall. To go hard and lift weights like I normally would have, but I couldn’t afford another setback. So instead, I completed the workout while dealing with a major case of FOMO thanks to the guys gearing up to play in Phoenix tonight, then headed home to tune into the game from my living room couch.
—Three weeks later—
Still benched, I hung out in the bullpen while the team warmed up for our first of three home games. They’d then fly out to Baltimore next week while I stayed behind to continue with my rehab. If all goes well, I’d rejoin the team before they headed to Minnesota.
The hunger and drive to start had my hands restless and my knee jiggling up and down. It fucking sucked sitting on my ass watching. While the progressive throwing program was working, I hadn’t forgotten that I was still deemed injured despite being ninety-nine percent pain free every day now.
The atmosphere within the park drove that addiction higher. Literally tens of thousands of people lined the stadium bleachers and were getting hyped by the pregame entertainment. The last of the late afternoon sun warmed my back as I watched our pitchers Jasper, Hanno, and Andrés pitch to our catchers Matty and Tanner.
As the pregame entertainment wrapped up, I re-situated to the dugout with the guys, anxious to see the first pitch underway. Sitting on my hands while benched was infinitely worse now that I was feeling healed and healthy again.
By the time the first three innings had passed, I’d become a nervous fucking wreck. Standing and stretching out my back while Coach barked advice and plays for the upcoming innings, my attention wandered to the bleachers as the crowd danced to the inning’s break music. Pretty standard really, until Blake snorted from beside me.
“That’s awkward as fuck.”
I set my hand on my hips. “What is?”
“Kiss cam,” he said, nodding toward the large screen at the far end of the ballpark. “Dude doesn’t want to kiss her—she’s obviously his sister. I mean, just look at ’em.”
Glancing at the streaming footage, my jaw dropped, and an invisible punch hit me square in the chest. “No fucking way!”
“What?” Blake asked over the roaring chants of Kiss! Kiss!
I laughed as both Remmy and Bastian frantically made a slicing motion at their throats and shook their heads. “Yeah, they’re defo not gonna kiss—they’re siblings.”
Blake shrugged. “Could be their thing, ya know.”
I gave him a side-eyed look. “Trust me, it’s not.”
Remmy stayed on the big screen long enough that my head had to remind my lungs to breathe. Then she was gone. Without giving it a second thought, I took the dugout steps two at a time and jogged along the infield baseline past the catcher’s box, on a mission toward the high cameraman off first base.
“Hey, man.”
The guy did a double take, then stuck out his hand. “Scout! Henry Lieb. How’s the elbow?”
I shook his hand while making small talk. “All but healed, thanks Henry.”
“Good to hear, man. Can’t wait to see you back out there soon.”
“The sooner the better,” I agreed, trying not to be too impatient. As it was, Henry solved that problem for me.
“What can I do for you, Scout?”
“Well…” I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly feeling foolish. “That dark-haired woman and the dude that wouldn’t kiss… I was wondering if they came through your camera.”
Henry’s face lit. “Oh yes, they’re just up there.” He pointed in the general direction over his shoulder.
I tried my hardest to lock down the surge of giddy excitement. “You think you could find her again for me? She’s a friend of mine.”
“Ah, I see.” He winked, then swiveled his camera. Without streaming it onto the ballpark screen, Henry scanned the crowd for me.
I watched while holding my breath, hoping like fuck I hadn’t been conjuring her image in my head. He ran over each row, methodically working his way back and forth, until we both pointed at the screen at the same time.
“Is this her?” he asked, while I exclaimed, “That’s her!”
He zoomed in further. “She’s pretty.”
“She’s a handful, trust me,” I drawled.
Excitement danced in his eyes. “So, now what?”
“Uhh—” Fuck, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Let me get back to you in the next inning’s break.”
I stared up at the area she was seated in and hunted her out, finding her staring back at me from fifteen rows up.
Dipping my head in acknowledgment and without breaking eye contact with Remmy, I clapped Henry on the shoulder and promised to be back in the next break.
Of all the thousands of pairs of eyes in the stadium, all I felt were Remmy’s burning into my back as I jogged back to the dugout.
“The fuck you lookin’ for, Gats?” Isaiah laughed while I rummaged through one of the kit bags.
“A marker.”
He snorted. “Lookin’ for a ruler as well?”
“Huh?” My top lip quirked in confusion.
“To measure your dick, again. Let me save you the trouble—it’s still small, dawg.”
I itched to wipe the smug grin off his face. “Shut the fuck up, Morillo. I want to write on a ball.”
Throaty laughter had me pursing my lips in annoyance. Typical Isaiah. Ever since he hooked up with my niece, Holly, he’d become an even bigger pain in my ass.
“Ah,” I announced, flicking the found marker between my fingers, fancy as fuck. I bit the cap off and held it between my teeth as I wrote out CALL ME! around the circumference of the baseball.
A snort came from Isaiah’s direction. “Desperate much?”
“Says the one who was panting over Holly like a desperado.”
“I don’t pant,” he snapped, crossing his arms and kicking back.
“Sure you don’t.” Satisfied that I’d messed with him, I tossed the marker back in the bag and smirked at him before I left the dugout.
I made myself at home in the bullpen until the inning entertainment kicked in, then approached the barrier closest to where Remmy was seated.
The instant our eyes locked and a wide smile broke out across her face, my pulse kicked up a gear. I was about to do something I’d never done before, and even though I thought it was a sure thing, I’d be embarrassed as fuck if it backfired.
“Henry!” I called, then lifted my eyebrows when he turned. He immediately understood the assignment. He swung the camera my way, and I appeared on the large screen in the background of the ballpark.
No backing out now. I quickly searched the crowd for Remmy again, and found her eyes on me, but narrowed.
“Remmy! Stand up!” I bellowed, pointing at her so everyone around her turned to look.
She muttered something to Bastian… something that started with “ what the fuck ”.
With those around her aware that the ball was to go to her, I held it up, words out, and yelled, “Catch!”
I tossed the ball and held my breath as it sailed through the air. Behind its arc, Remmy reached out with horror on her face. She wasn’t going to catch it. Thankfully, Bastian snatched the ball from in front of her, then offered it wryly to his sister.
The crowd started clapping and cheering. Reading the ball, Remmy threw her head back in laughter and held the ball high. The words CALL ME! flashed across the screen in the background, and a deafening chant of Call him! broke out. I jogged up and down the sideline, pumping my arms, coaxing the crowd into a chanting frenzy, all while Remmy’s blushing face filled the massive ballpark screen. Hiding behind her hands only encouraged the crowd to roar louder.
Ten more seconds in the spotlight, and she reluctantly yielded. Throwing up her hands, she mouthed, “Fine!”, then rummaged through her handbag. Even though she’d never given me her number, I’d made sure mine was in her phone before we left Montana after Merce and Beckett’s wedding. I’d be kicking myself right now if I hadn’t insisted on adding it.
After a few taps of her fingertips, she checked the screen, then aimed it outward. Her phone screen was projected onto the ballpark screen, showing that she was calling ACE.
“Yaaasssss,” I shouted, pumping my arms above my head, gaining more buy-in from the crowd. Pointing directly at Remmy, I grinned and sent her a wink, over the goddamn moon that my plan had worked. No one could say no to forty thousand people cheering you into action.
Despite pressing her hand to her face, Remmy laughed and shook her head. With the next inning about to kick off, I jogged backwards while sending a two-finger salute off my brow, knowing I’d just forced Remmy’s hand and not one bit sorry about it. Not even when the umpire turned to me and flamboyantly signaled an ejection.
I laughed but threw my hands in the air. “What!”
“You’re interfering with the play and delaying the game,” the umpire shouted back.
“I wasn’t interfering!”
“You are now. Hit the showers, Gatlin.”
I was about to argue my point despite being fully aware that he had every right to toss me when Coach arrived between me and the umpire.
“He’s tossed, Dallas. Get him out of here,” the ump stated with no room for argument.
Coach adjusted his cap in snappy movements. “If he wasn’t already benched, I’d be arguing this.” He then turned to me. “Get your ass into the clubhouse, Gatlin.”
“Fuck, fine.” I knew I was flaunting the rules, so I took the ejection in my stride. With a final salute off my brow toward Remmy, I left the stadium to a roaring round of applause instead of boo’d chants. It was a nice goddamn change.
I jogged down the steps and headed straight into the tunnel past the dugout, then barely slowed to a walk as I headed for the clubroom. I had a missed call to return.