Page 124 of Under Pressure

Quinny

Not yet. I haven’t finished grovelling.

I choke on a laugh. This sound is rare as of late.

When can I expect to hear your voice again then?

Quinny

You’ll be home soon.

Not until then?

Quinny

Not until then. You deserve a grand gesture.

I want to be the one doing those.

Quinny

You have. More than once. It’s my turn, so don’t interfere.

Goodnight, Beck. You have a delivery arriving.

The Seattle crowd hates me more than usual.

I let their boos move through me as I nod at Wes. He squats behind the plate and taps his glove to the dirt, decoying. The ache in my shoulder is from overuse, but I haven’t dared bring it up to Roman this last week. If he knew I was getting tired and wasn’t getting better fast enough, he’d sit me, and that would be far worse than the stubborn pain.

Setting, I bounce on my foot twice. The ball is smooth in my fingers, and I adjust my grip to where I need it to be. When it catches the top right corner of the zone, Wes catches it with ease. The ump behind him makes a loud noise, and the stunned batter shakes off his lack of swing.

An electronic voice in my ear tells me the pitch Wes wants, and I shake it off once before another takes its place. I agree to it, then set again.

Everything feels normal as I move. Despite the pain, my body has moved the way I need it to. My knee comes up perfectly, and I lunge forward normally. Then I throw. The searing pain starts in my shoulder and then explodes, shards of heat zipping down to my fingertips.

“Fuck!” I shout, only half-aware of the ball going too far from Wes’ glove for him to make the catch.

It rolls out of view a beat before I squeeze my eyes shut and let my arm dangle at my side. Suddenly, Roman’s in front of me. Kordell appears beside him, and then our trainer is taking hold of my wrist and trying to brace my arm.

“What happened?” Roman barks, panicked.

I drop my head back and inhale through my nose, teeth together.

“Alright, we need to get him off the field.”

“Who do you want coming out, Rome?”

My manager doesn’t waver from his position in front of me. I know it’s his hands that cup my head and move it down until I can open my eyes and look at his. “Are you okay, Beckett?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for a fucking thing. Go and get looked at. Let them take care of you.”

He releases me softly before spinning to the men in black approaching our circle. My teammates are crowding the mound, and my eyes are glassy as I find Kellan moving toward me the fastest.

“Call her,” I order him. Order Roman and every one of my teammates close enough to hear me. “Don’t make her find out any other way.”

He nods once. It’s enough for me.