Hardball

by V.K. Sykes

  * * *

  Nate kicked over his stool, whipped the towel from around his neck and fired it hard against the wall.

  “Nothing’s changed, then,” he growled, leaning against his locker in the Patriots’ clubhouse.

  “Sorry, pal,” Jake said, a commiserating look on his face. “Maddie says Holly’s determined. She doesn’t want to see you again.”

  Nate felt like punching the locker. But he had enough self-control not to give himself a broken hand to go along with the wrecked shoulder. Jake had done him a favor by filling him in on what Holly had said to his wife the previous day. And he’d made it clear that Maddie would murder them both if he ever said a word to Holly about it. “What the hell am I supposed to do now? I can’t get the woman out of my mind. Not even for a damn hour.”

  “It is what it is, man.” Jake shook his head as he yanked off his soaked gym clothes. “And you need to get your head together before you even think about taking the mound again. The guys are depending on you.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Nate snapped.

  Jake gave him the evil eye.

  “Ah, hell,” Nate said with a weary sigh.

  “Why don’t you see somebody else? It’ll help get Holly out of your head. God knows you won’t have any trouble finding a date.”

  “I already tried that. Actually, I went out last night with a girl I dated a couple of times in the off season.” Nate shook his head as he thought about the ridiculously awkward evening with Carla Chiarelli. “All I could think about was how much I wished she was Holly. How’s that for stupid?”

  Instead of heading into the shower, Jake sat down at his locker. “But you’re still not ready to do the commitment thing, right?”

  Nate grabbed another towel from the stack. His hair was matted and his body still dripped after the tough, hour-long workout in the clubhouse weight room. He flexed and stretched the muscles in his left arm and shoulder. The pain was gone now. A little more strengthening and he’d be the old Nate Carter again. He hoped.

  If only he didn’t miss Holly so much. “Jesus, I can’t. I care about her too much. I’m not going to end up breaking her heart. And you know it’ll probably come to that somewhere down the line. I just don’t trust myself not to screw things up.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, asshole. I get it. You don’t want to be like your sister. So you’d rather let Holly break your heart.”

  Nate grimaced. “I can take it better.”

  “Then deal with it, man,” Jake glared at him. “You can’t have it both ways. Holly’s proud, and she’s not going to go running back to you. If you won’t make the change, then you gotta move on.”

  “I know,” Nate said, even though the thought of never seeing Holly again made him feel sick. But Jake was right. Time to move on.

  “At least I’ll be able to pitch again soon,” he said, trying to sound optimistic.

  “You’re cleared for a rehab assignment, right?”

  “Tomorrow. They’re sending me up to Ottawa. I’ll pitch there Thursday, and if everything goes okay, I’ll be activated on Monday.” The Ottawa Cougars were the Patriots’ Triple-A team. Players rehabbing from injuries were usually sent there to play a few games before returning to the major league team.

  “Can’t come too soon,” Jake said, getting back up. “We need you bad. And speaking of needing you bad, you hear anything about the Dodgers yet? Do they want you or not?”

  Nate snorted. “I asked Dembinski again yesterday. He said nothing’s going on. Buddy Baker’s got his ear to the ground in L.A., but he hasn’t heard anything more, either.” And that pissed him off. He didn’t need the uncertainty of his status with the Patriots on top of everything else going wrong in his life. “But I’m sure the Dodgers are waiting until I’ve got a few games under my belt and look completely recovered. I don’t blame them. Nobody’s going to want a sore-armed pitcher.”

  “Good,” Jake said. “Sorry, man, but I hope the bastards leave you right where you are.”

  “I know. The whole thing’s really messing with my head. Maybe it’s all just smoke, but I wish I knew one way or the other.”

  His friend gave him a disbelieving look. “Yeah, not knowing if something you care about is a sure thing or not—a real bitch, isn’t it?”

  Nate scowled at him. “Fuck off, Miller.”

  Jake’s mocking laughter followed Nate all the way into the showers.