“Let’s start with a light bench press to warm you up,” she said, and off they went on the upper-body work.
He went through the motions, did the workout, then grabbed his towel.
“We’re not finished, Garrett,” she said.
He frowned. “That’s the normal routine.”
“I thought we’d change it up today, add a little more weight.”
“Really.”
“I think your shoulder needs to have some stress added to it. We need to get you warmed up to start throwing pitches.”
The idea of throwing a pitch made him ache in the pit of his stomach. Since the injury, it was all he could think about. This was everything he was working for.
And everything he feared.
But he refused to back down, refused to let the fear control him.
He was either going to get back in the game again or have to accept that his days as a pitcher were over. And there was only one way to find out.
He tossed his towel down, excited to be challenged. The day was already looking up. “All right. Let’s do it.”
Two hours later, his enthusiasm had waned. Between the weights and the therapeutic exercises and more of that god-awful stretching that was beginning to remind him of some form of sadism on Alicia’s part, he was as limp as an overcooked noodle. He sat slumped on the living-room sofa while his evil therapist updated her notebook.
“I think you’re trying to kill me.”
She momentarily lifted her gaze to his and smiled. “Wimp.”
“Admit it. The other teams in our division have paid you to destroy me.”
Another quick look. “Oh, suck it up. Yours isn’t even the worst injury I’ve ever seen.”
He stayed quiet for a few minutes, watching as she concentrated, typed, chewed her bottom lip, then made a few more notes. He noticed when she was focused, she could shut out everything, including his constant complaints, which were obviously falling on deaf ears.
Tired of himself, he got up and fixed them sandwiches for lunch.
“Hey,” he finally said, hollering to her from the kitchen.
“Yes?”
“Lunch.”
She stood and came into the kitchen. “Really? You made lunch? I could have done that.”
“You were working. And I can throw a turkey sandwich together. Though yours is without the turkey. Hope you don’t mind avocado and all that vegetable and grass stuff.”
She laughed. “I love avocado.” She sat at the table and took a bite, then made a moaning sound that made his balls quiver. “Oh, you have mad sandwich-making skills. Thank you. I was getting hungry.”
“You were working away in there.”
She swallowed and nodded. “I have big plans for you.”
His shoulder winced in response. “Great.”
“You’re going to like it. I promise.”
He doubted it. “The only thing I’m going to like is when the Rivers put me back in the starting rotation.”
She took a bite of her sandwich and studied him like a science experiment. She was no doubt pondering new ways she could tear his shoulder apart. He finished off his sandwich, trying not to watch her watching him. He had to admit it unnerved him.
“Why don’t you tell me how you got hurt?” she asked.
“I’m sure all that crap’s in my chart. You read it, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but it’s not the same as hearing it from you. I want to know what you were doing, what you remember about your body mechanics. We want to make sure you don’t reinjure yourself when you hit the mound again.”
He shrugged. “I was pitching.”
“What pitch?”
“A slider. I reared back, threw the pitch, and felt a pinch. After that, I was sore.”
“But you didn’t come out of the game right away.”
“No. I finished the inning.”
“And pitched another after that.”
He grimaced, remembering the leadoff walk, the base hit, and the three-run home run before the coach pulled him from the game. It had been a nightmare. He knew his shoulder was hurt, knew he’d been throwing nothing but shit and there’d been nothing on his fastball. But when the pitching coach came out after the base hit, he’d promised the coach he still had it, that he could get the next batter out.
Nothing like pitchers and their egos. They never wanted to admit defeat. But this had been different. He was hurt and he knew it, and he still continued to pitch. And it had cost his team.
“Coach should have pulled you. And even worse, you should have told them you were injured. You cost the team three runs because of that.”
It was like she was reading his mind. “Wow, you don’t pull any punches, do you?”
“I don’t see any reason to blow smoke up your ass when you know it’s the truth. One of the things I try to work on with athletes is reading the signals of your own body. When you’re injured, your recovery time can be a lot quicker if you step down as soon as you feel pain.”