Quit Your Pitchin' (There's No Crying in Baseball 2)

Following the concussion, she’d experienced quite a few problems.

She’d forget where she was, or lose vision in her right eye. Then that turned into a few more alarming things, like spacing out while driving.

Which had then caused another accident, causing her to break her leg.

Once that had happened, we’d moved her into my place, and watched over her.

And that was when the other stuff had started happening.

She suffered mood swings so violent that I started to fear for my child’s safety.

And when I’d relayed that information to Wrigley as well as Dodger, they’d shrugged it off.

Then I’d walked in on Diamond standing over Micah’s bed one night while getting in late from a game.

When I startled her, she’d turned a gun on me and had aimed it straight at my face.

And then had pulled the trigger.

She’d missed, obviously, but it’d been enough for me to know two things.

One, Diamond needed to fucking go.

And two, my wife needed to pull her head out of her ass and admit that there was a problem.

I’d said some things that night after kicking Diamond out of my house that hadn’t been nice, and Wrigley had been gone the next morning with our son in tow.

Which led to now.

Now, we were divorced—something Wrigley hadn’t hesitated in getting done.

And, anger still in my system of having Diamond standing over my son’s crib, paired with the fact that my wife had left and sided with her sister—it had burned.

But I’d made her a deal.

One, she didn’t live with Diamond and never left Diamond alone with our son. In return, I wouldn’t pursue custody.

Wrigley had given that to me, but she hasn’t wavered in the support of her sister.

Which led me to Dodger.

Dodger who had done nothing to help Diamond and Wrigley. Dodger who had even gone as far as to kick Diamond out of his house, too. Which led to even more strife between my ex-wife and me.

Wrigley wanted to offer Diamond a place to stay, and I’d let her know in no uncertain terms what would happen if she did that.

Meaning Diamond was now in her own apartment—paid for by ‘her.’ I say ‘her’ loosely since I was the one paying for it—not that any of them knew that.

And Dodger? Well, he was just a little fucker in the middle of it all.

He was never there to help, only to hurt.

I realized rather quickly after Diamond’s accident that Dodger wasn’t a good person, and probably never would be.

“You weren’t your usual self during this game, Furious George. There were no outbursts, no arguments. You were…normal,” Dodger goaded me, eyes gleaming. “Can you tell me what changed?”

What changed?

My wife called me. My wife—ex-wife—had called to let me talk to my son before the game, and it’d made my heart settle. For a few hours anyway.

I hadn’t always been this crazy man who fought.

I used to be tame. I used to be able to control my temper…I used to be happy.

Now, I wasn’t.

Now, I was worse than before I’d met her.

I was lost.

I was broken.

I was alone.

And worst of all, I didn’t want to be found.

Not by anyone but her.

I was simply existing.

The only thing that kept me going was seeing my son on my designated days.

Nothing made me happy anymore.

Nothing made me smile.

Nothing made life worth living—except for every Tuesday and Thursday when I wasn’t at work. For four hours, on those days, I was happy. I was my old self. I was unbroken.

But every Tuesday and Thursday at eight thirty in the evening, my world stopped spinning once again.

Life became useless once more.

My temper started to spark, and I couldn’t find it in me to care.

“How does it feel to hit four home runs in one game?” Dodger continued, unaware of the anger he was stirring in me the longer I had to speak with him.

I nearly didn’t answer him, but then I remembered my publicist’s words before the game. ‘Be nice. Stop being such a jerk. People want to hear about your life. It won’t kill you to say how your son is doing.’

She was right, and she was wrong.

It wouldn’t kill me, no. But it would fucking suck.

Because with this being an away game, I wasn’t going to get to see Micah tomorrow like usual. It wouldn’t be until the following Thursday, a full week and a day away, that I got to see his cute little face.

“Felt great,” I lied.

I didn’t feel great about anything.

But the fans didn’t need to know that.

And neither did Dodger the douche.

“How was…” Dodger started, but I’d had enough.

“I’m sorry, man, but I have another interview to go to. It was nice talking to you,” I lied, then I turned my back on the asshole.

I really hated him.

If there was one person in this entire world that I didn’t want to speak to tonight, it was him. And the problem was that he damn well knew it.