He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Alicia. If I stopped pitching every time I felt an ache or a pain, I’d be out of the game.”
“Don’t feed me that line of bullshit. You know the difference between discomfort, fatigue from overuse, and ‘Oh, no, I’ve really hurt myself.’ You knew it that day, didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
She leaned back, obviously confident that she was right. “That’s what I thought. You didn’t want to come out of the game, which is normal. I understand that. My brother and cousins are hardheaded like you. They play injured. You all do. It’s part of your psychological makeup as athletes to think you’re impermeable. But look where are you now. You missed the second half of the season with this injury. You’re lucky the tear didn’t cost you your career.”
Irritation bristled through his nerve endings. “Not the first time I’ve heard this lecture, you know.”
“I’m sure it isn’t. But it might be the last time if it doesn’t sink in. How many more times do you think that shoulder’s going to take this kind of abuse? You’ve got a rocket arm and a wicked fastball. Tears like that develop scar tissue, and a repeat of an injury like this will end your career.”
Well, she’d painted that picture in big fucking letters on a clear blue sky, hadn’t she? The doctors had at least sugarcoated it for him with smiles and positive thinking, told him he’d be back in the rotation in no time at all.
Only he hadn’t been back in the rotation, and all these months later he didn’t feel like he’d ever be ready to pitch again.
And the opening of the season was bearing down on him like goddamn Armageddon.
“Any more soft words of encouragement you’d like to give me?”
She pushed her plate to the side. “Come on, Garrett. You didn’t choose me because I’d pat you on the head and tell you how awesome this was all going to be. You chose me because you knew I’d be blunt with you, just like I was that first day. And the one thing you can always count on from me is honesty. I’m also going to force you to be honest with yourself, and that means recognizing how important it is to learn to read your body’s signals.”
“I hate being pulled from a game.”
“Of course you do. You’re an athlete and a damn good pitcher.”
“But I fucked up that day, and it cost me my arm.”
She gave him a smile. “Not permanently. We’re going to fix it, and you will pitch again. I believe it. Now you have to believe it, too.”
After lunch, Alicia disappeared, claiming she needed to make some calls. Garrett went outside and took a walk on the beach to clear his head.
Reliving the day of his injury hadn’t been a picnic. He never wanted to think about it, because when he did, it made him realize what an arrogant asshole he’d been that day.
He should have walked off the mound as soon as he knew he was hurt. Instead, he thought he was invincible, that he could save the inning, save the game, and that nothing could stop him, not even the pain.
What a fucking dumbass he’d been. He’d let down his team and screwed himself over in the process.
He’d always had to learn lessons the hard way.
Alicia was right. He had to do better about listening to his body, because he never wanted to go through this again.
When he came back in after his walk, she was waiting for him. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail and slipped on tennis shoes. She had a gym bag slung over her shoulder.
“Going somewhere?”
“We’re going somewhere. Go change.”
He cocked a brow. “Into?”
“Comfortable workout clothes.”
What now? Burying him in the sand and making him sweat? Maybe stringing him up somewhere or stretching him out on one of those medieval torture racks? She could get pretty inventive. And scary. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
He changed, and they got in the car. He turned to her. “Where to?”
“The baseball stadium.”
Now that he hadn’t expected. Dread and excitement churned in his stomach. He started up the car and headed down the highway toward the stadium. Spring training was underway, and he wasn’t part of it. God, he really wanted to be.
“The team’s not here today, you know,” she said as he pulled into the empty parking lot. “They have an away game.”
He turned off the ignition. “I know the schedule.” He knew every game, where the team was, who they were playing, and the fact he wasn’t playing with them. With every passing day he felt the season slipping through his fingers. Spring training had been underway for a while now. And he was missing it. He counted down the days until the start of the season. That had always been his target date to get back on the mound. Now that date was breathing down his neck like an ugly beast—shadowing him every damn day and making him lose sleep at night.
She grabbed the bag and they went to the door. They showed their credentials to the guard, who let them into the stadium.