Chapter 35
— Scout —
Berating myself, I kept my eyes closed as I shut the toilet lid and flushed away my sins. I don’t have a problem I thought to myself while swishing mouthwash in front of the clubhouse bathroom mirror.
I spat, straightened my shoulders, and donned the cocky mask I always wore after purging before a game. Today was different though. Tension still lingered from the shit going down around Remmy. It plucked tight in my gut. Pinched extra as I joined the tide of teammates swaggering to the dugout, cleats clicking on the concrete floor of the tunnel.
Standing in front of the entire stadium that already hosted a smattering of spectators, I took a moment to simply breathe in the atmosphere as I always did before a game. The buzz already filled the air, penetrating my veins. Absorbed into my blood. It fueled the itch on my palm to feel the raised stitching against the smooth leather ball.
After a final puffed breath, I plucked my mitt out from under my arm and followed my pitcher and catcher teammates to the bullpen.
What ensued could only be defined as poor taste and malicious taunts from a group of the rival team’s supporters, trash-talking through our entire warm up.
By the end of it, I was all but seeing red. Even with the stadium now full of spectators, I couldn’t hear or see anything other than the group that fucked with my head.
Hanno bumped his glove against my hip as we walked back to the dugout. “They’re doing it to rile you, bro.”
“It’s fucking working,” I ground out around clenched teeth.
“Of course it is. It’s making me feel murderous too, but you need to push it down.” Just for the next few hours , he left unsaid.
So I did. Shoved it all to the back of my mind and slammed the door on it. Which worked until the third inning when the boos were a little louder than the last round.
The swap over had me jogging past the next batter, who called my name. “Yo, Gatlin.”
I spun in his direction, jogging backward as he pointed to his shoe.
“Want me to do this barefoot? Give the crowd a bit of a show since you’re into that kinky shit?”
“Fuck you, Myers,” I spat.
“G’me your toes and I will, bro.”
His wicked laugh set my nerves on fire as he casually swung his bat to and fro.
The death threats, the speculation, the mind fuckery, plus the web of lies the media spun, and now the taunts from fucking Myers, compounded and seeped through the cracks in my outwardly calm veneer.
At the pitcher’s mound, I twisted. Matty in backstop signaled the pitch. I rocked back and wound up. Sinking every last ounce of irritation and energy into a slider pitch, I released it with a roar.
Then I felt it: a pop in my elbow, and a beat later, the searing pain.
~
“How’s it looking?” I mumbled, sitting on the edge of Linney’s portable physiotherapy table.
Her pursed lips hadn’t released their firm line during the entire five minutes she’d been gently assessing and manipulating my elbow.
“You’ve done it good this time, Scout.”
“Dumb it down for me, Lins.”
The truth in her eyes was plain to see when she met my gaze. “I’m pretty sure you’ve ruptured the UCL. But we’ll need imaging to confirm it.”
“Fuck me to tears ! You serious?” I hissed, running my free hand down my face.
Normally, my grousing would bring a little smirk to her mouth, but it remained set in its serious pout. “Yeah. I am.”
There was no physical fuckery needed to bring me to tears. Those stinging the back of my nose were real and sharp as reality sank in. I’d grounded my career to a screaming halt. Completely this time.
I stayed silent with my prayers as she set up the portable scan equipment at my side. But in my heart I knew it had snapped. I felt the pop. The radiating pain had subdued thanks to the pain relievers Linney immediately gave me, but the numbness in my pinky and ring finger was another red flag of a Tommy John injury.
I shut my eyes against the clicking of buttons, then opened them when the cool end of a jelly-coated handle touched down on my elbow. Linney kept her expression carefully masked while she maneuvered the wand around my elbow joint, studying the meticulous and minute movements on the screen.
When she released a quiet curse, my heart plummeted. “You’ll need surgery for this one, Scout,” Linney murmured. “I’m sorry.”
Those were the words no professional sports player wanted to hear. They went hand-in-hand with a career crashing into an unglamorous end.
“When?” I murmured hoarsely.
Shadows of worry etched throughout her expression. “I need to discuss this with the coach and management teams, but chances are you’ll be heading into surgery by this time tomorrow. Basically, as soon as we can arrange it.”
I wanted to cry with frustration as well as for my career. I should have known better. Should have kept cool under the jeering purposely designed to get under my skin.
But I’d failed myself. Failed my team. And now I’d potentially pay the ultimate price.
Bobby pushed into the room and took one look at our matching grim expressions.
“Fuck,” he hissed, striding over.
“It’s ruptured,” Linney stated calmly.
I hung my head while they conversed beside her desk, discussing schedules and numbers on her laptop while I berated and cursed myself over and over again.
And in my moment of need, a pull like I’d never known consumed my soul. For Remmy. I needed her.
Needed her more than I ever had before.