Page 21 of Draft Pick
“Woo!” Addie cheers, running to sit between Val and me. “Blue Jays suck!”
“Atta girl.”
7
CREW
“How long doyou think before Apollo struts out in heels?”
“To be completely honest, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet. You know how bossy she can be,” I tell Gus, ushering him to pass me the lighter.
“It’s good for him. I think it’s safe to say we all could use a woman to keep us on our toes, right, Tenley?” he asks his wife.
The sliding glass door to the porch opens, Tenley carrying out a tray of whatever the hell charcuterie consists of. She cuts Gus a sharp look. “You were the most difficult of them all. Let’s not pretend my work on you was light.”
“She’s not wrong.” Gus shrugs and takes a long pull of his cigar, nodding at me in question. “So, what gives with you, Briggs? Ever hear back from that one girl?”
“Stacy?” I question, knowing that could be the only girl he means. There hasn’t been any other since. “That was nearly a year ago and ended before it started. Where the hell have you been?”
“That’s right.” He points his cigar in my direction while Tenley takes a seat beside him. “She wasn’t a kid person, wasn’t that it?”
“That she was not, my brother. That she was not.”
Stacy was a short fling I had around this time last year. We met at a benefit event, her accompanying another staff member at Makers. Somehow, someway, she’s related tosomeoneand was invited to the formal dinner. We got to talking—nothing too serious—but in the end, I just wasn’t feeling it. Her not wanting kids only sealed what I already knew. The connection I searched for wasn’t there.
Come to think of it, that always seems to be the case for me.
“You’ll find the right woman, Crew. I know it feels like she’ll never come, but sometimes it happens when we least expect it.” Tenley points a thumb at her husband. “Only took getting knocked up by this guy for me to believe he had any redeeming qualities in him.”
Gus kisses her on the cheek, and while I don’t necessarily enjoy watching my two best friends be affectionate with each other, I’m also really happy for them. August comes from a long line of siblings, with him being the oldest. It took abandoning his playboy ways and prioritizing the new addition in his life—now five-year-old Apollo—for him to be the man Tenley needed.
He’s doing really fucking well for his family, and I know I’m not the only one who’s proud of him for it.
Adjusting myself in the outdoor wicker chair, I reach back a bit too quickly to prop up my elbow and feel a sharp pain rush down my arm. My elbow instantly throbs while a harsh hiss seeps past my lips. “Shit.”
“Elbow still acting up?” Gus asks, likely recalling the injury I prefer to forget about.
I nod, knowing I can’t hide it. “More lately than before. I’ve been training pretty hard in the gym.”
“You’ve also been working on fielding drills nonstop at practices. You’ve gotta give yourself some rest days, man. Pitcher’s elbow ain’t no joke.”
When I was younger and joined the big leagues, the idea of getting injured from doing the one thing baseball requires of you, to throw the damn ball, seemed unlikely, but I spent a lot of years overdoing it. Refusing physical therapy when my body screamed for relief.
Pitcher’s elbow isn’t an injury that only a pitcher can get. It develops from overuse of the throwing arm. All the tendons and ligaments that make up a healthy and working arm get put to the test. Being a centerfielder requires me to overextend my arm constantly, typically shooting for a throw dialing in at roughly four hundred feet.
All in all, I’m paying for it now. I work hard not to let it affect my game, but again, that comes at a cost, which is usually bone-shaking agony.
Now that I’m older and not a fucking idiot, I take all the precautions to care for it after hard days. Probably should do more, but it’s been a feat to find the time.
At this point, massage therapy and alternating ice and heat aren’t cutting it.
“Maybe you should get it looked at, Crew. By someone other than the massage therapist at Makers,” Tenley tells me kindly.
“I had X-rays and an MRI done on it a while back.”
She tilts her head, disbelief written across her face. “And how long ago was that?”
“Maybe six months? And what’s up with you both questioning my time on things? Is this some come-to-Jesus moment or some shit?”
