33. Monty

Chapter thirty-three

Monty

For three days, I’ve been focused on baseball. Pitchers and catchers always head south for spring training early since our dynamic is key on the field. If we aren’t in sync, everything falls apart.

The Tridents like to focus on partnerships between catchers and pitchers, believing a strong dynamic and communication is key on the field.

But even though Yami and I will most often be paired together, it’s important I get to know all the pitchers since I’ll be catching for each of them at some point in the season. Which means my days have been long, filled with drills, sessions in the bullpen, and conditioning activities designed to help us all connect.

I like the other guys, but Yami’s my boy. We’re close to capturing the magic Pops and I used to have. And today, at the end of another long day under the Arizona sun, I feel like we’re really clicking.

Except, Yami can’t seem to get his speed up to where it needs to be. And it’s starting to mess with his head .

From my position behind home plate, I flash him the signal for a slider. He lets it rip, and it hits my glove a few seconds later.

“Ninety-nine point seven. Let’s go again,” Coach shouts from the side. I see Yami wince and know he’s not happy. Hopping up from my crouch, I jog up to the mound and wrap my hand around his neck, pulling his head to mine.

“Shake it off, bro. You know what you’re capable of. One-oh-three, baby. I was there, and my hand felt the impact for days.”

“Why the fuck am I going so slow?” he mutters, eyes still downcast. “It’s not the fucking yips, I kept up my conditioning all winter, so what gives?”

“It doesn’t matter. When the time comes, your arm will be on fucking fire. I know it, Coach knows it. Send it with a changeup next, and we’ll get there.”

I thump him on the back, finally seeing a smile.

“Thanks, bro. Let’s do this.”

I jog back to my spot behind home and drop down. Pulling my mask over my face, I give him the signal for a changeup.

This time, he lets it fucking fly.

“One-oh-one point two. Getting better. Three more, boys.”

Yami’s grin grows. I throw down a signal, and he lets it rip. We finish up the session, and after a quick chat with Coach, head to the locker room.

“Fuck, Arizona is hot.” Warren, one of the rookie pitchers, drops down to the bench in front of his locker with a groan. “I’m from Alaska, man. We don’t do heat.”

I whip a towel at him with a grin. “Get used to it. We got four more weeks here. ”

He shoots me a half-hearted scowl. “I might melt. How am I gonna pitch if my hand is slippery with sweat?”

His complaints are nothing new. Arizona is hot. But it’s only gonna get hotter when we play down here during the season, so new guy better toughen up.

“You’ll be lucky to throw a single game if you’re that much of a princess. Hey, maybe that’s your nickname. Princess.” A deep voice comes from across the locker room.

I glance over at Carter Jones, a second-string pitcher who joined the team the season after I did. Not gonna lie, glad he said it so I didn’t have to.

“Jonesie is right,” Yami says, strolling in from the showers. “Toughen up, Princess. This is the big leagues, and yeah, sometimes we play when the heat makes you want to curl up and die. At least we aren’t freezing our asses off on the ice like those hockey weirdos.”

I stifle a laugh. Yami’s dislike of hockey is infamous.

The rookie looks suitably chastised, and I almost feel sorry for the guy. Moving over to sit next to him, I lean in. “Listen. You’ll adjust. Where did you play before this?”

He looks over at me, his face belligerent. Great. This guy’s gonna be fun. “Nebraska, for college. It got hot but not seventh circle of hell.”

I nod, keeping my expression calm. Doesn’t this guy understand that Arizona in February is nothing? Wait till it’s August and we’re down here, or in Nevada, or hell, in Florida. Lots of places are hotter than this, and we’ll play ball in all of them.

“At least we don’t play in the rain.” I give him a wide grin and stand up. Some guys just want to complain, not realizing how goddamn lucky they are to be here. Not me. I’ll play no matter what the weather is. Wind, rain, snow. Okay, maybe not snow. Don’t wanna ruin my gear.

But I’ve never taken one day of my career for granted. Never complained about the fucking weather, that’s for damn sure.

Once I’m dressed, I head out for the bus that’ll take us back to the hotel. I’m eager to call Lark and see how the doctor visit went. Hopefully, she’ll have good news and will be on the plane headed south in a couple of days.

As soon as I’m in my hotel room, I flop onto my stomach on the bed and call her up on a video chat. The call connects, and there she is. My girl.

“Hey, beautiful.” I grin, unable to hold it back. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

My grin falters. Something’s not right. She keeps glancing to the side.

“Yeah? Great. So what did the doc say?”

Her eyes dart away, and she licks her lips. Shit.

“Birdie? Babe, you’re freaking me out.” Finally, she looks at me, and fuck me, her eyes are shiny as if she’s about to cry. I scramble up to sit, panic consuming me. “Lark. Talk to me.”

She smiles. But it’s fake, I can tell. “I’m fine, Dan. Really. It’s nothing serious, and the doctor gave me some medicine to help settle my stomach. I’ll be on the plane with the team.”

That news should have me feeling ecstatic. But I can’t seem to push past the dread.

“That’s great. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me neither. ”

We stare at each other for a few seconds. I hate this. I don’t know what’s wrong, just that something is. I want to push her to tell me what’s going on. But as I open my mouth to do just that, she cuts me off.

“I have to go, Sadie’s coming over for dinner and to help me pack. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

I nod silently.

“I love you, Dan.” At least this time, her smile seems a touch more genuine.

“I love you, too.”

She ends the call before I can say anything else, and I’m left staring at a dark screen.

A fist pounds on my door, and I hear Jonesie’s voice shout through it.

“Monty! Let’s go, bro, Yami found a barbecue place we’re headed to for dinner.”

I’m not even hungry. But somehow, I manage to drag myself up off the bed. Grabbing a Tridents ball cap and pushing it on my head, I stuff my wallet and phone in my pocket and open the door. “Yeah, let’s go.”

I brush past him, striding down the hall to the elevator.

“Dude. Everything okay?” he asks as the door slides shut in front of us. I like Jonesie. But I sure as shit don’t know him well enough to talk to him about Lark.

“Yeah, fine. Just tired.”

That seems to be good enough for him because he nods and leaves me alone. Downstairs, we meet up with the rest of the guys, and head out for dinner. Being around everyone helps take my mind off things for the most part, and I try my best to focus on my teammates.

But later, when I’m lying in bed alone, there’s no avoiding my thoughts and the mental panic spiral I’m trying to ignore.

Somewhere around 1 am, when sleep continues to evade me, I roll over and thump my pillow with a grunt. Tomorrow is gonna suck donkey balls if I don’t get any sleep.

Giving in, I grab my phone and open up my texts with Lark.

DAN: Baby, I know something’s wrong. I just hope whatever it is, I can fix it. Because I love you. Nothing’s gonna change that.

I’m not expecting her to reply, certain she’s asleep even though I’m an hour ahead of her. But to my surprise, just as I’m about to set the phone down, I see the three dots that indicate she’s typing. I sit upright, staring at the screen, willing her reply to appear.

LARK: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. There’s nothing to fix, I promise. I love you too.

It doesn’t tell me anything about what’s upsetting her. I debate calling her and demand she tell me what’s going on. But it’s the middle of the night, and we both need to try and sleep. Dragging in a deep breath, I try to convince my brain that she means what she says, and I don’t have anything major to worry about.

DAN: There’s a giant hug and even more giant kiss waiting for you when you get here.

LARK: Oh yeah? How giant.

Finally, I crack a smile. There’s my Birdie.

DAN: As big as a baseball field.

LARK: Pffft that’s not so big.

DAN: Okay, as big as the night sky.

LARK: Wow, that’s big.

DAN: That’s what she said.

LARK: Omg.

DAN: Love you, Birdie.

LARK: Love you too.

This time, when I set my phone down and roll over, my eyes start to droop. And finally, I drift off, visions of Lark lying in the bed beside me replace the worry that’s consumed me all evening.

But sleep is short-lived. When I bolt upright a short while later, the room is still dark. My heart is racing and my breath is coming fast. I feel clammy with sweat, and the sheets are tangled around me.

Fuck, I haven’t had a nightmare since I was a kid, but there’s no denying the unsettling feeling of waking up from one.

Reaching for the glass of water on my bedside table, I chug it down, letting the cool liquid soothe me somewhat. I try to grasp onto the threads of the dream that are fading fast but can’t. All I remember is the terrifying feeling that everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve worked so hard for, is slipping away from me.

And if I don’t run fast enough, I’ll lose it all.