After months of therapy, Garrett Delko is still struggling to cope with his brother's suicide. The only time he finds peace is on the pitching mound and with a mysterious girl he's been obsessed with since the first week of college. One night, he se...
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One and a half months later
Baseball was all about reaction. Reaction to the ball, reaction to the other players, but there was one person who set it all in motion—the pitcher. If they messed up, then there was no game, nothing to react too. And right now, there was no game.
Garrett could feel his teammates' patience fraying with every out of bounds pitch he threw. As he stepped onto the pitcher's mound, he shook his throwing arm, hoping to loosen the muscles. He didn't know what was going on with him. He thought it was nerves since it was the first time the second string was playing against the starting lineup, but his pitches weren't settling like they normally did.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the head coach and assistant coach whispering behind their clipboards. Jordan, the star pitcher, and biggest asshole Garrett had ever met smirked behind them. Sweat broke over Garrett's brow. He had to nail this. Prove to them—all of them—he was as good as he claimed.
Taking his position, he turned the ball till the seams lined up with his middle finger. It was his favorite grip for a fastball because it allowed the ball to sink over home plate confusing the batter. Angling his body, he brought the mitt and ball to his chest. He nodded to Stephan, his catcher, and then in one smooth motion, lifted his left leg, cocked back his right arm and let it fly.
"Ball!" the assistant coach, acting as umpire, yelled.
Damn it. He was off by at least two feet, which in baseball might as well have been on another planet.
Stephan, the catcher, ripped off his mask and rose from his crouched position behind home plate. He picked up the ball and stalked towards the pitcher mound, every step drumming with frustration.
"I know what you're going to say," Garrett said before Stephan could start in on him. "But I don't know what's wrong with me." He felt off. Anxious. It wasn't normal. Even when Garrett's world was falling apart, he could count on the pitching mound to ground him.
Stephan flicked his head, dislodging the black bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. "You're jumpy as shit. That's what's wrong with you. You've been like this all week. Settle, man. You need to settle."
Garrett kicked the dirt beneath his cleats. "I'm trying." But something clawed at him. He hadn't felt this way since the last time he saw...her.
A series of heckles rose from the starting lineup's dugout. Each dig burrowed under his skin. Jordan, who seemed thrilled by the turn of events, spit out the husk of a sunflower seed, and yelled, "What's wrong, Delko? Need your hand held?"
Behind Garrett, Eli, a sophomore and the second biggest asshole, cooed, "Not gonna cry are ya?" He was the team's only shortstop, so he played for first and second string.
"Forget them," Stephan said. "You know they love to mess with us."
Maybe the rest of the team felt that way, but Garrett would bet money it was different for Jordan. That guy hated him. It felt personal too, though Garrett didn't have a clue as to why. He was small peanuts compared to Jordan who had professional teams scouting him.
