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A pitcher who comes in the game to relieve the starting pitcher when they become tired, suffer an injury, or are letting up too many hits/runs.
CASON
Game 30. Twenty-four pitches in it happened. Second inning. 0-2 pitch with two outs.
Disaster struck.
A 102-mph ball hit back at me with such force I didn’t have time to react.
It ain’t pretty, I’ll tell you that much. And the replay, brutal.
Up until then, pitchers know the line drive can happen. Hell, we expect it, but in the few seconds from the time the bat makes contact with the ball, and you register it, you don’t always have time to react. I took one to the shoulder once, and the knee, but nothing like this.
The second that guy’s wrists rolled, I knew what was about to happen, and still, I didn’t bring my hand up.
When I close my eyes, I can still hear the sound it made with my nose and the instant pain I felt.
I look in the mirror at the clubhouse. Three days in California and I come back with six stitches in the bridge of my broken nose, two black eyes, and warming the bench for the next few games. Not exactly how I wanted to see the midseason play out.
“No, I’m not calling her back. She’s like having a puppy that can text,” Noah tells Ez in passing.
I don’t pay attention to their conversation. Ez stops next to me, slapping his hand to my back, his bag slung over his shoulder.
I turn away from the mirror, not wanting to see the destruction anymore.
“Your face wasn’t that pretty to begin with.” He nods out the doors of the clubhouse. “Wanna go grab a drink?”
I’m about to tell him no, because I’m dying to see Sydney since our brief conversation last night while I was getting stitches. Guess who called me when she saw the highlights?
Sydney.
Guess who’s falling for me?
Sydney.
And then she’s calling me.
“Hold on. It’s Syd.” I slide my finger across my screen and bring it to my ear. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She pauses and then lets out a sigh. “I really hate to ask you this, but can you pick Tatum up from Sadie for me? I’m still dealing with the bank, and Sadie has her, but she has something she has to take care of with her boyfriend and can’t take Tatum.”
My heart thuds wildly in my chest for reasons I don’t know. Maybe because she’s trusting me with her daughter or relying on me. “Yeah, I can. We just got back. Send me Sadie’s number.”
“Thank you so much! I really appreciate this.”
“No problem.” Leaving the clubhouse, I jog across the parking lot and regret it instantly when my head starts throbbing.
There’s a pause again before Sydney asks, “How’s your face?”
“It’s fine. I could use some tender loving care though,” I hint, starting my car.
She laughs. “I’ll see you later this afternoon. I’m not sure how long this is going to take. Tatum will probably be hungry when you get her, so there’s chicken nuggets in the freezer. And—”
“Sydney,” I interrupt.
“Yeah?”
“I can handle a three-year-old for an afternoon.”