Listen, Pitch (There's No Crying in Baseball 3)

Sterling grunted. “Where was Ol’ Bruno when you got gang-banged by the van?”

I grunted. “Pissed off that I left him behind. And I’m sure I’ll be hearing that from the league as soon as I get back. Apparently, his sole purpose in life now is to make sure that I’m okay. He hasn’t left my place since it happened.”

He was in the goddamn RV I’d parked out back, but I had a feeling the big fucker was sitting on his couch right now monitoring everything I did. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had around the clock surveillance on me.

“Why do you have a bodyguard anyway?” he asked. “You were supposed to call me the night of the accident and tell me.”

We’d played Sterling’s team the night I’d had the accident, and he was right. I was supposed to tell him.

“The league thinks I have a stalker. They suggested I have a bodyguard to protect me from said stalker.”

I didn’t have a stalker.

I had an Uncle Pablo. They just didn’t know that.

“So, tell me more about this girl…”Chapter 14I can’t tell if I have free time or I’m just forgetting everything that I was supposed to do.

-Rhys’ secret thoughts

Rhys

Two weeks later, twelve weeks after my accident, I felt almost as good as new.

As long as you didn’t count the screaming headache that I got when I became too tired, or I started working out and my heart rate got above one sixty.

Any other time, I felt right as rain.

Well, kind of.

The other time I didn’t feel all that well was when my dick made itself known that it wasn’t dead.

And that only happened when she was around.

Over the last two weeks, as my idea took root, I became more and more attuned to her every move.

I watched her when I was sure she wasn’t watching me, and I planned.

Planned for how I was going to ask her what I wanted to ask her…which I knew that she’d likely refuse right off the bat.

But, I was waiting.

Waiting until I could find out more information on her. Find something that she wanted, to offer as an incentive, to get her to agree to what I wanted.

It was unconventional. It was crazy…and I wanted it.

Bad.

It was the only way.

And she was the only woman that I knew wasn’t after me for anything like money, or fame.

Because, for a person like her to sit with a man she didn’t even know for as long as she did with me, it meant that she was selfless, kind, and overall a good person.

And I needed that.

In the worst way.

I needed someone that I knew would be there for me. That I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about cheating on me or screwing me over. That I also knew wouldn’t fuck me over and hand me off to Uncle Pablo the first time he dangled a carrot out in front of her.

That person was Henley.

I knew it, and soon she would know it, too.

I just had to do a little research first…right after I took care of my erection.

***

Two weeks later, fourteen weeks after waking up from a coma that could’ve claimed my life, I wished for death.

But not because I actually wanted to die, but because I was finally back at practice…or at least weight training.

My trainer, Sway, was there, but also my personal trainer, Cedrick, as well.

Cedrick was twice my size, incredibly in shape, and intimidating as hell.

Especially when I was looking at him from under three hundred pounds of weight on my barbell.

“One more,” he said in a thick, Scottish accent.

See, Cedrick was from Scotland. Cedrick was also one of those motherfuckers that threw trees—aka cabers—for fucking fun.

He was brash, abrupt, and didn’t like anybody.

He was my favorite person in the world.

Until about thirty minutes ago when he said, ‘one more round.’

Now, I just wanted to be done with this torture so that Henley would allow me to lay in her lap while she rubbed my head—something she’d started doing two weeks ago when she knew that I was still having headaches after any kind of exertion.

But, while she seemed to help one ache, she only caused another.

Another that wasn’t anywhere near as satisfied when I tried to take care of it on my own.

Yes, I was getting quite attached to the girl, and I couldn’t exactly pinpoint why.

“You’re not trying!” Cedrick bellowed.

I gritted my teeth, pushed even when all I wanted to do was cry—yes, grown men could cry when their trainers tried to make them lift more than their body weight their first day back at weights—and did what I was told to do. Do one more rep.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

Until moments later, I literally had nothing else to give.

Cedrick, sensing this, squeezed my shoulder with a rough palm.

“Good boy, boyo.”

I snorted at his use of ‘boyo’ and ‘boy’ in the same sentence and got up from the machine.