“It felt fine.”
“No twinges or sudden sharp pains?”
“None at all.”
“Good. Do it again. Easy, still.”
Excited, he threw again, doing his best to follow her instructions and keep his throw as soft as he could. No pain.
They lobbed the ball back and forth for about fifteen minutes, until Alicia told him they were taking a break.
Frustrated, he walked off the mound toward her. “I was just getting warmed up.”
She reached into her bag for two jugs of water. “It’ll be a short break.”
They sat in the dugout and Garrett took several swallows of water, staring at the mound, anxious to get back out there.
He turned to her. “I want to throw a pitch. A real pitch, Alicia.”
Alicia shook her head. “You’re not ready yet.”
“We’re already in spring training. And I’m missing it. I threw the ball and felt fine.”
She lifted her gaze to his, and he saw the understanding in her eyes. “Tossing a few balls ninety feet isn’t the same as the mechanics of pitching, and you know it. Those weren’t even warm-up pitches. There was no velocity to them. We’re just stretching your muscles right now, getting your arm used to throwing again.”
Disappointment ate away at him. He stared at the mound, a place that suddenly felt a million miles away.
“How soon can I pitch?”
“We’ll go back out there in a few minutes, and you can throw again.”
“I mean pitch. A curve, a slider, a changeup.”
“And a fastball?”
“Yeah, that, too.” He was itching to really throw some heat, see how it felt. He missed pitching.
“Sooner than you think.”
“That would mean today. My arm feels fine.”
She stood and tucked the water into the bag. “Your arm isn’t ready today. Let’s go throw some more.”
He wanted to argue, and when he got to the mound, he wanted to take a windup and blast a heater into her waiting glove.
Logically, he understood what she said made sense. Rushing his recovery could hurt his progress. But damn if it didn’t take every ounce of restraint he had to pull back and lob those weenie balls.
But as he continued to throw, he began to see the wisdom in her approach. After thirty minutes his arm felt fatigued. He didn’t want to quit, because, sonofabitch, he wasn’t even throwing pitches. They were playing catch and nothing more.
But Alicia had some kind of freaky sixth sense. She approached the mound, the ball in her hand.
“I think that’s enough for today. Let’s go back to the house and ice you down.”
He didn’t want to admit defeat. “I can go a little longer.”
“No, you can’t. That’s enough for today.”
Without waiting for his next argument, she pivoted, left the mound, and packed up the bag.
Game over.
He’d gotten back onto the mound. He’d thrown a ball.
But it sure as hell felt like a loss today.
FOURTEEN
ALICIA HAD READ THE DEFEAT ON GARRETT’S FACE after they left the field.
She’d thought he’d be excited to get out there and throw again, but she didn’t factor in that he wanted to pitch—real pitches—or how much not being able to do so would devastate him.
When he’d first taken the mound, she’d read the fear on his face, and for a while there she’d been afraid he wasn’t going to be able to muster up the courage to even lob balls underhanded. But he had. And then she’d seen him fired up and excited, and she’d been excited for him. Until he found out he wasn’t going to be able to throw his standard pitches. Then he’d been pissed off. She understood his frustration, but she also knew what was best for his recovery, even if he didn’t.
Men and their egos. It was bad enough that so much of what a man considered his self-worth was tied to his penis. There was also the not-so-small matter of career. Sex and career were the deal breakers. Lose the ability to perform either one of those, and it spelled doom for a man—at least in his mind.
She was fairly certain, though it was a guess and likely a fantasy on her part, that Garrett was a master in the sex department. His career, on the other hand? That part was still up in the air.
She would have loved to let him pitch today. She’d seen the game films. Hell, she’d been to the games and watched him. Garrett was magnificent. He had a sneaky slider and a wicked fastball. She wanted to see him throw that heat again.
But he wasn’t ready yet. Deep down, she knew he was aware of that, but she hated seeing the disappointment on his face.
He was going to be ready soon. His arm had moved easily today, and he hadn’t exhibited any signs of pain. It wouldn’t be long before they could start easing into throwing actual pitches.