XXX CHAPTER 12 XXX
Emmett shouldn't have been surprised to see the following morning's tweet.
ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Individual excellence is celebrated, but team chemistry and coaching impact the results.
He didn't want to ignore it—or Edward, especially after their breakfast yesterday—but he also didn't want to get off track. As you will impact those young minds. Sorry, keeping it brief today—pitching.
I know. We'll be rooting for you from behind the first base coach about halfway up main concourse.
Fuck. Hello, distraction.
The damage was done. Emmett had already located Edward and Carlisle's seats in his mind's eye, somewhere around ten o'clock from the mound, far enough away that Emmett would have to sift through a sea of heads but close enough to be recognizable. Damn him.
The more Emmett tried not to think about it during his ride over to the stadium, the firmer the image locked itself in place. Once the gates opened and the fans started to filter in, Emmett was aware of a constant, nagging desire to watch that section of the stands. He imagined Edward and Carlisle to be the types to arrive at least an hour early and enjoy a hot dog while the players stretched and tossed the ball around.
As it turned out, the Cullens' arrival at T minus 50 minutes wasn't an event Emmett had any chance of missing—though he was trying mightily. Stretching and listening hard to his body, Emmett recognized the tiny hairs at the back of his neck pricking up like a bloodhound catching a scent. Emmett poked his head out and scanned the stands behind first base as if pulled by a giant magnet to the spot where Edward and his dad were climbing the steps. Morbid curiosity kicked in, leaving Emmett unable to look away while they took their seats. So much for blissful ignorance.
He sighed heavily and snapped into his pre-game routine, starting with a jog in place to get his heart pumping. Reviewing Coach Waits' advice from their session in Cleveland, Emmett set his concentration on the field and on the Tigers' batters. Martinez and Cabrera were dangerous on a good day, and if Emmett were to let down his guard even for a split second, either of them could be disastrous.
With a half hour to go before the first pitch, Emmett started warming up his arm. Easy does it, he reminded himself with each wrist flick and figure eight. He was itching for that ball and a chance to do something with it. The extension felt good, the familiar buzz rolling through him, the warmth of his muscles heating up to do their job.
As he pulled away to long mound length, Emmett let it go, ripping a fastball to his warmup catcher.
"Somebody piss you off?"
Whoa. "No. Sorry."
Dominguez grinned back at him. "No problem, man. I can catch whatever you wanna throw."
Wise ass. Emmett glanced over at his coach, who was watching him carefully. He didn't need to remind himself there was more at stake here than impressing his little crush, but that only made him more frustrated and tense. He cared too much, and that wasn't a situation he could talk himself out of. Stepping back into his routine, Emmett threw the rest of his practice pitches, tucked a wad of chaw against his gums, and lined up with his team for the national anthem.
The Mariners jogged out to the field, and Emmett loosened up again with a few pitches to Black. When the Tigers' first batter stepped into the batter box, a blast of adrenaline assaulted Emmett's system. Laser-focused on Black's signals and delivering the ball to home plate, the spectators were the farthest thing from Emmett's mind. He threw two fastballs Hunter couldn't touch and a curveball he popped to Seaver for the easy out.
A growing chant of "Mac, Mac, Mac" picked up momentum. Easing into his game, Emmett pulled off two sliders in a row, giving the second batter no chance and finishing him off with a fastball strike. In the third spot, Cabrera crouched over the plate, and Emmett beamed him his best I am ready for you, motherfucker glare. Black gave the signal, and Emmett snapped a curveball in for a foul tip. Bolstered by his success, Emmett shook off the next signal for a changeup and threw in another curve, frustrating the hell out of the batter and drawing the second strike. Hoping to trip up Cabrera, Emmett threw a wide breaking ball, his first ball of the night. Black called for the slider, and Emmett drew another strike to end the inning.
The crowd rose to their feet, chanting his name and cheering. On the jog back to the dugout, Emmett allowed himself one quick peek into the stands. Edward lifted his cap and waved it madly around his head.
Nobody else will ever know, Emmett told himself. Pausing for a split second before descending into the dugout, Emmett lifted his head and pinched the bill of his cap in Edward's direction.
XXX
"Where's your shoulder pain, one to ten?" Waits asked.
"Four, maybe five. Nothing I can't ride out to the seventh inning."
The coach ran his fingers across his lips, giving Emmett a hard stare and nowhere to hide. "Hmm, your pitch count's low, but you've been riding that curveball hard tonight. We need to lay off a bit, or I'm going to have to take you out. You hearing me too, Black?"
The catcher nodded and shot Emmett a sympathetic shrug. The game was tied at one-all, and a no-decision sucked, especially when he'd pitched so brilliantly.
The curveball was working, Emmett wanted to say, but Waits already knew that. "Sure, Coach."
"Don't mess with that shoulder, Mac. You let me know if the pain gets worse."
"I promise."
Narrowing his eyes, the coach made up his mind. "Don't fuck with me. Trey will make sopranos of us both."
"I'd probably forget about the pain in my arm if he cut off my balls."
Waits cracked a smile for the first time all night, but Emmett knew better than to take his threat lightly. He was pushing it, and they both knew it. Tucking a small wad of chaw inside his lower lip, Emmett forced the pain to the back of his thoughts. Mind over matter. Just like when the scouts were watching. He had five days to heal before he pitched again; Emmett was going to make the most of this outing.
The coach allowed Emmett fifteen more pitches before pulling him out in the sixth inning. "You put on a great show tonight, kid, but I can't let you throw another ball."
Emmett knew better than to try to change his mind. The crowd gave him an ovation as he jogged to the dugout. The cameras were on him, and he kept his eyes on the grass. His shoulder needed icing in the worst way, but it was bad form to head in while your reliever was still pitching out the inning, and he couldn't afford to raise suspicion. Emmett gutted it out, jogging into the locker room as nonchalantly as possible when they made the third out.
XXX
It wasn't until the next morning, when he woke up cranky and sore, that Emmett noticed the stream of messages Edward had left him the night before, a downward spiral of anxiety Emmett probably wasn't in the best frame of mind to respond to right now.
You pitched a tough game. Sometimes stats don't tell the story.
You looked like you were in serious pain out there toward the end. You okay?
Sorry, hope I haven't overstepped. And overmessaged.
Ugh.
He popped a few Advil and threw together a smoothie, then took his jumbled thoughts and battered body out to the deck. Tipping his face to the sun, Emmett drew the beach air into his lungs. A run would do me some good was quickly followed by, Yeah, no fucking way. He wasn't in a good place, and he didn't feel like doing a damn thing about it. He sure as hell didn't feel like showing up for practice today even though Coach would only have him stretch, but that was a red flag he wasn't about to wave.
Tammy would lovingly cajole him—"You better snap out of this mood before the party Saturday night"—but he wasn't quite ready for her cheering. Jasper would do that thing where he read between the lines, and Emmett wasn't ready to reveal what he was sure the good doctor would find. Mom and Dad would serve Emmett the usual chicken soup for the son's soul, but they wouldn't really get it, and that would leave him feeling worse and guilty for worrying them.
His options fell away one by one, leaving one glaring, obvious choice. Heavy sigh. That giant "S" he'd been wearing lately was starting to feel pretty damn good on Emmett's chest. Was he prepared to step back into the phone booth and cover up his superhero costume with a pair of nerdy glasses? Could Emmett let his ardent admirer in on his secret—that he was human after all?
Easy does it, Emmett cautioned himself as he dropped into the desk chair. Right, that advice wasn't working too well lately.
Thank you for the concern, and don't worry about overstepping. You're fine.
No response. Huh. Come to think of it, where was Edward's morning tweet?
Hey! Where's my daily inspiration? Just when I needed one…
Silence.
A cold shiver ran down Emmett's spine. How easily tested their connection was, how fragile. How very much Emmett had taken for granted that his fanatic fan would always be so. Was he truly that easily scared off?
Emmett clicked on Edward's profile, taking comfort in the fact that the "Big Mac attack" was still Edward's picture of choice. A haunted voice inside him argued otherwise. Apathy would produce the same result.
I don't have time for the drama queen routine today. More pissed off than before, Emmett changed into his running gear and hit the beach. Punishing the ground beneath him, he ran out his frustration, forcing his thoughts into a tight, manageable box. Sweat flew off him as he pushed himself until his burning lungs said "No more." He showered and grabbed his duffel, giving his computer an icy glare as he passed it on the way out.
Author's Note: What? What did the computer do? Aww, a little trouble in paradise? Poor, frustrated Mac. :(
I figured you'd rather have the new chapter even though I haven't had a chance to answer my reviews from chapter 11 yet. Honestly, I've been working on the juicy part of the story for you guys, and I think you'll forgive me when you get there! Meanwhile, I WILL most definitely get to ALL the reviews, so let me know how you're feeling!
XXX ~BOH