Wild Pitch: (Love for the Game Book 1)

by Remi Grey

  “Look.” I continued. “This is some dumb c-list blogger trying to stir up drama when there isn’t any anywhere. Nobody reads this shit. And when Ricky Trolka gets busted for enhancers again, this will be old news. ”

  "They do read this shit, though. It's got 502 shares on Facebook, and Sportszilla Radio did a little piece on you cracking the bat last night. Look, you can’t keep doing this.”

  “Doing what?” I was getting more annoyed by the second, feeling like a small boy getting called into the principal’s office.

  “Acting like an asshole.” He looked down at the article. “Shawn Weeks, 24, was drafted in 2017. From there, he’s gone on to make a name for himself as a left-handed pitcher, a heartthrob, and a piece of sh-“

  “Stop.” I cut him off, knowing full well where this article was going. “I’ll do better.”

  "You say that all the time." Aidan studied me. "Are you sure there isn't anything you want to talk about?"

  “No.” I shot back immediately.

  “I may not look like a therapist.” He purposely pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cocked his head. “But I can play the part.”

  “Honestly, I’m good.” I sighed, thinking of everything I’ve worked for. We both knew my contract was ending.

  "You sure?" Aidan scribbled something on a yellow post-it note and smacked it down on the desk in front of me. “Here. That’s the number for Julie, the volunteer coordinator, she’s got an event today for you if you’re looking for something to outdo that article.”

  Aidan did know me, and he knew that article stung a little bit and that I would want a way to bounce back.

  “What kind of event?” I raised my eyebrows as I folded the note in half. “Because I was going to hit the bat-“

  "Just go to the event. It won't take more than an hour of your time, and I think you'll find it good to get out of your headspace too."

  I found myself agreeing to whatever publicity stunt that Julie had planned. I hadn't done one in a while, and 9 out of 10 times, I always felt like that puppet being forced to do something to make other people happy.

  "Hey Julie, it's Shawn," I said when she answered on the second ring.

  “Shawn! I never hear from you anymore. How are you?” Her voice was quite chipper for it being early on a Saturday.

  "I'm well." I was trying to figure out what she meant by anymore. I indeed never called her before, and I think we met once at some turkey collection food drive. "Look, I'm going, to be honest. Aidan suggested I call you to see if I could stop by this event that's planned."

  "The Halfway to Christmas Event?" Her excited squeal came through the phone. "We would love to have you. It's at Mercy Maverick Assisted Living over in Courtland. Do you have a Santa hat?"

  "I can't say I do." Call me a Grinch, I didn't own a single Christmas decoration even with Christmas 6 months away. "But, I suppose I can pick one up."

  "Oh, wonderful. You're my first big-name volunteer. The event is still three hours away, so please call me if anything comes up. They will be so happy. Nothing touches your heart like seeing the elderly's expression on Christmas." She sounded so genuinely excited that I knew I was officially roped in, whether I wanted to be or not.

  “You bet.” I hung up. I bit my tongue on the comment that 90% of the people at this event wouldn’t even know that it’s not December.

  But that wasn’t the point. I needed to get my head literally in the game. I also had to figure out where the hell I would be able to find anything that resembled a Christmas outfit. I debated briefly on heading to a local thrift shop, but I wasn't in the mood with hearing whispers from people. I could never tell if they were geared at me being there or just smack talk about who I was in general.

  I opted for a local craft shop – preferring to get accosted by old ladies instead. They always stuck with the basics – complimenting my smile or trying to figure out where they knew me from. Sometimes, I encountered the super sassy ones who would make comments about my butt. None of that bothered me, however, for the most part.

  I circled the store twice – taking in the overpowering smell of apple cinnamon potpourri.

  “Can I help you find something?” An older woman and a neatly tied red apron eyed me when she saw me come down her aisle for the third time in 5 minutes.

  “Yeah. Do you have any Christmas decorations out?”

  “Oh, honey.” She laughed. “I know it seems earlier each year, but I just put the 4th of July decorations out."

  “Gotcha. Well, thank you.” I turned to walk away when she got off the ladder.

  “Tell you what though, it doesn’t mean we can’t make Christmas happen for you.”

  “That should be your guy’s slogan.” I laughed as I followed her through the fabric aisle as she explained some craft project she had seen. She grabbed various bits and pieces of cloth and cotton, placing them into my arms. She stopped to study me suddenly as she jingled a small bag of bells in front of my face.

  “You look familiar.” She stated.

  It brought me to that moment, one that I was often faced, especially among older ladies who knew they knew me but couldn’t place where. Most of the time, it was from a series of local car commercials I did where I popped out of the trunk. It was all good fun until I had run into a particular drunk bunch downtown who literally tried to force me into their trunk to re-enact it.

  “Pudgy’s Car Palace?” I raised my eyebrows at her.

  “That’s it!” She clapped her hands together. “So cool. I loved those commercials. You’ve got the plan, we’ve got the car, you’ve got this in the can, we’ll help you go far…” She trailed off, trying to remember the words to the jingle.

  "Nailed it," I told her as she helped me carry all of the things she bestowed upon me to the register.

  “So…” I trailed off as I put the various fabrics and things on the belt. I couldn’t remember any of the steps she told me about what I was supposed to be making. “I’m not crafty.”

  “Ah.” She winked. “No wife at home to help you?”

  "No wife at home to help me," I said firmly, a bit dismissively the moment I saw the familiar twinkle in her eye. I was all too familiar with flirtatious ladies.

  "Well then, here." She ripped a sheet of paper out of some sort of magazine she grabbed from under the register. I studied its glossy exterior. It had simple directions that taught kids how to make a Christmas hat with fabric glue and fluff. She had literally given me a child's project, and she was finding humor in the whole thing.

  "I don't know," I told her as I handed over my credit card. "Kids craft or not, I stink."

  "You just have to snip, glue, and add fluff, and you're done. You can't go wrong. I'm sure the kids at this event you're entertaining will love it."

  “Elderly, actually.”

  "What's that, dear?" She handed me the bag of supplies.

  “It’s an event for the elderly over at Mercy Maverick. They celebrate Christmas twice a year so that everyone gets to experience it.”

  “Oh, yes.” The cashier said excitedly. “We’ve actually dropped off a few things there for craft projects. Appreciative bunch of folks. Be wary of Lionel though -- he’s a bit of a spitfire that one.”

  "Okay." I laughed as I headed out the door, wondering briefly who Lionel was. I put it out of my mind until I pulled up to the facility a few hours later. I looked down at the seat next to me where my sad excuse for a Santa hat lay. The pattern in the magazine was designed for kids, not my enormous head. So I overcompensated and ended up with something three sizes too big for my head. I quickly put it on, and I felt like I was literally wearing a case like the one my mom used to stuff the throw pillows in during the holidays. At least this way, I could stay mostly hidden.

  The pom-pom immediately drooped over my eyes as I walked towards the reception desk. I blew it out of my face, annoyed.

  “Hi. I’m here for-“

  "Shawn Weeks?!" The receptionist was standing up now t
o look at me. "I'm a huge fan! I was told you'd be coming, but I didn't believe it."

  “Technically, I’m Santa today.” I blew the same damn pom-pom out of my face.

  “Great. So let me tell you what we’ve got here.” I followed her as she showed me the different stations set up. There was some sort of Christmas bingo happening in the common area, a Christmas cookie decorating station set up, and several young volunteers standing around looking uncomfortable. They studied me as I took the apron that was handed to me, tying it around my waist. It barely hit my knees.

  A loud blare of music, some boppy Christmas tune remix, filled the air a few seconds later, and a few people started to sing along. It was then that I noticed there was a small crowd of residents – those who were able to stand on their own – gathered in a group in the dining area. I leaned against a wall, studying them. In front of them, a woman briefly caught my attention. She was setting up mats, and she appeared to resemble an elf with her red leotard, green tights, and a headband that kept her long auburn hair out of her eyes. It jingled every time she bent over to straighten the matt, but that wasn't what caught my attention. From far away, I could tell that she was good looking with an even better-looking body. Man on man, I could do so much with that as I thought to myself.

  "Is there hot cocoa and Baileys here?" A gruff voice came from somewhere to my left. I looked over, and it was an older man in a wheelchair. He was stuffed into a sweater complete with a winter scene that seemed a few sizes too small. His round belly was poking out of the gap in the middle where the buttons were gone.

  “Excuse me?” I said with a laugh, assuming he was making a joke.

  "Ah, forget it. There's never any booze at these things." I watched him as he wheeled toward the group warming up for Yoga or whatever they were doing. They were doing some sort of arm circles now. I wanted to watch, but I knew I was needed at the cookie decorating station. One of the workers seemed a bit panicked. Though only three people were sitting at the table in front of her. They were all grey-haired and donned in plastic bibs -- ready to make sweets.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked as I approached her.

  “Some of them aren’t too good at using the cutlery if you just want to help them frost.”

  No one said anything, and no one even made an effort to do anything with the cookies. I frosted three of them and began to feel annoyed that I was here, unneeded. The only reaction I got from them was a lady directly to my left. She kept making occasional kissing noises in my direction.

  That or she was gasping for air. I couldn't tell, and frankly, I didn't want to.

  "Got any more cookies?" The man asking about the booze from before was back. He had bumped me slightly from behind with his wheelchair. Intentionally.

  I almost wanted to ask him to say please – as if I was talking to a toddler, but instead, I studied him. He had to have been in his upper 80's, and he donned a baseball cap that didn't match his sweater. It was for our biggest border rivals.

  I quickly frosted a cookie and slid it towards him as he wheeled towards the table. Instead of decorating it, he licked the frosting off and studied me the whole time. I felt as if I was being judged, which, although it was nothing new, it made me uncomfortable this go around.

  “Your hat is stupid.” He finally said.

  “Your hat is stupid.” I shot back almost immediately. I was here to improve my image, not run it further into the ground because some old guy couldn’t play nice. I couldn’t help it -- his hat really was dumb though.

  He laughed a deep sound, which slowly turned into a wheeze where he had to take a few deep breaths.

  “Is that any way to talk to your elders?” He finally said when he caught his breath.

  “Is that any way to talk to…” I trailed off. He clearly didn’t know who I was, and it wasn't worth my time. I was getting ready to leave anyway.

  “I know who you are.” He cut in. “And frankly, I can’t stand you.”

  “Good. All that matters is that you like your cookie." I saw that he was eyeing the red and green sprinkles in their neat little containers in the middle of the table. He was expecting me to slide it towards him so he could reach, but I had had enough. I turned and walked away, leaving them out of his reach. He had pissed me off. If he was going to hate me based on what he read – this way, I could actually give him a reason.

  I took my stupid hat off, prepared to stuff it in the garbage when I heard a voice coming from the table, and it wasn't the voice of a crotchety old man.

  "How are your cookies? Oh, Delilah, that angel looks beautiful! Did you decorate that yourself?"

  “And Lionel, yours looks like it was tasty seeing as how you licked the frosting clean off.”

  So, Lionel was his name. The spitfire the lady at the store referenced. I waited for him to say something slick about me to the other volunteer, but he said nothing.

  I turned around. The yoga instructor was leaning over the table. She had taken her hair out of the bun, and it now fell freely down her shoulders, making the tan that she had stand out even more. Either she wasn't from here, or she had just gotten back from a vacation that left her skin kissed by the sun. For whatever reason, I couldn't stop staring, and she realized it too.

  She excused herself from the table and approached me. She stuck out her hand, which I shook.

  "Hi. I'm Sydney Baker." She had a firm handshake, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, which I ignored as I studied her face. She had the lightest line of freckles dotting her cheeks and nose.

  "Shawn." I shook her soft and warm hand. I didn't want to let go. She was beautiful.

  “I actually know who you are.” She pulled her hand back first.

  “Oh yeah?” I raised my eyebrows, immediately feeling better that I was once again in

  control. I always had the upper hand when it came to fans.

  “Don’t sound too cocky. I’m supposed to know who you are.” She laughed and opened her mouth like she wanted to say more before abruptly closing it.

  “Is that so?” I wasn’t buying her cover.

  “It’s so. But you know what – forget it.”

  “Ah. Well, it was nice to meet you.” I stood in front of her, unsure of what to say. Although I was used to this, she was taking an awkward amount of time to ask for an autograph.

  "Sydney!" One of the residents had called her over, and she gave me a head nod to say goodbye. I tossed the stupid excuse for a felt hat over my left shoulder, not even bothering to see if I made it into the trash where it belonged, and I stormed out of there. It had been one big colossal waste of my time – the old folks wouldn't even remember that I was there, no one knew who I was, and there wasn't a single media crew there.

  I planned on making this all known as I called Aidan the second I stepped out of the facility.

  “So, this was a colossal waste of time," I said the second Aidan answered before he even had the chance to say hello.

  “It’s not. Think of how ha-“

  “Nobody gives a shit that I’m here.” I wiped the sweat that was forming on my brow off. It was an unseasonably hot day but one that I had wanted to take full advantage of. “You knew I wanted to focus on some backpedal drills ahead of the Flyers game, but no Shawn, do this."

  “Relax.” Aidan’s voice was calm, although a bit short, having convinced himself that he made the right call. “I’ve got something going in the paper.”

  “Woah," I said, drained of all energy. I still had time to rush over to our practice center on the other side of town. "Next time, if I'm literally just going to sit around a bunch of old shits who don't give a damn about what's happening around them and some desperate volunteers with nothing better to do – count me out."

  I hung up. Aidan would get over it. He knew how important my practice sessions were to me, especially ahead of a big game. Someone cleared their throat. I turned around to see Sydney holding my felt cap in her hand. I wondered how much she had heard, but judging
by her expression – it was likely the whole conversation.

  “I found your hat on the floor.” I reached out and caught it instinctively as it soared through the air towards me.

  "Wait," I called as she turned around, one foot inside the door.

  “What?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “What could you possibly want from the desperate volunteer like me with nothing better to do?”

  Chapter 4

  Sydney

  “He’s literally an infuriating, insensitive, condescending asshole.” I stopped to take a deep breath before continuing. “And his hair is stupid.

  “Relax.” My friend Molly laughed at the hair comment. “You have to work with him, so you better grow to like him."