Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Meanwhile, the bloke at the plate was in the midst of the best season of his life. Madden had a feeling Ruiz wanted to walk the batter and hope for a double play on the next at bat. But considering the batter hadn’t gotten on base once tonight, Madden figured he’d be impatient. He’d swing at the first decent pitch, they’d have their final out and take the win.
Madden signaled for a breaking ball.
The pitcher spat, shook his head.
After a hesitation, Madden dropped the sign for a slider.
Another denial.
Madden punched his glove, put it up. Waited.
Throw what you want, then, motherfucker.
As predicted, Ruiz walked the batter. But instead of a double play on the next at bat, the batter clocked one out of the park, scoring two runs and effectively ending the game.
“Son of a bitch,” Ruiz bellowed fifteen minutes later as he walked behind Madden into the locker room, throwing his glove against the row of lockers. “How about giving me a decent signal out there?”
Madden searched for some extra patience and couldn’t come up with any. He’d played on several baseball teams since coming to the States and he’d never met a bigger group of prima donnas in his life. His pitchers refused to admit even the most obvious of mistakes, searching for any reason to believe they were still the wizards of baseball they’d been called throughout their careers.
That compelling need he’d had more and more lately—to speak up, to stop playing it safe in the background—grew stronger than ever. Maybe the sudden burst of self-assurance came from Eve agreeing to be his wife or the fact that his hard work on the field had been rewarded with opportunity.
Whatever the reason, he was tired of being quiet. Tired of making himself inconspicuous so everyone would be comfortable, the way he’d done growing up.
“You might want to check the tape, man,” Madden bit off. “It was your decision to walk him.”
Ruiz turned around. “What the fuck did you say?”
Madden stared at him without flinching.
“Jesus. Is this guy really the best we could do?”
“Yeah, I am,” Madden responded, his delivery low and precise. “And you know why? They busted the salary cap signing a bunch of overpriced fucking crybabies.”
He expected the punch.
Honestly, he might have even wanted it.
Only one day of stressing that Eve would back out of the wedding already had him sleep deprived and pacing the edge of an invisible cliff. Madden knew she needed to make doctors’ appointments, but she continued to hold off on connecting their names, which had him anxious. Missing her too. God, the missing of her was like a hot rash on his skin.
As the fist connected with the right side of his face, Madden wanted to regret inciting the man. After all, he needed this position with the Yankees to support Eve and the kids. But the pain felt so familiar, it took him right out of his stress. He’d been hit many times before and survived. It wasn’t a healthy thing that the reminder of what he’d survived could calm his jumpiness, but there it was. The truth.
Maybe I didn’t simply survive. Maybe I earned the right to be here.
Maybe I don’t have to feel like a fraud hiding behind a mask anymore.
Madden thought of his aunt’s words: You are welcome here, in this house of accused black sheep, but don’t make the same mistake I made. Allowing yourself to be run off when you’ve done nothing wrong but exist.
Madden’s eyes flew open at that, his jaw and cheekbone stinging from the punch.
Several players had inserted themselves between Madden and Ruiz, corralling the pitcher on the other side of the locker room. No one was bothering to hold Madden back because he hadn’t budged an inch under the blow.
“Damn, the rookie can take a punch. You have to give him that.”
“Don’t have to call us out like that, man,” someone said in his ear. Chandler. The shortstop. “I’m only a crybaby on days that end in Y.”
Madden made eye contact with every player, in turn. “I said what I said.”
Chandler backed off, hands up in surrender. “Respect.”
* * *
Madden couldn’t shower, change, and get out of there fast enough. On one hand, he wanted to rewind the last fifteen minutes and stay silent. Making waves in the locker room could only jeopardize the stability he was hoping to provide Eve, and god, he couldn’t have that. But the part of Madden that had been quiet and agreeable for so long, saddled with the guilt he’d been carrying since birth, felt like he’d taken a deep breath of fresh air by being heard. Using his voice and feeling as if it was relevant. Worth hearing.
Desperate for a distraction, Madden slid his phone out of the side pocket of his equipment bag where it sat in the passenger seat of his truck. And he called Elton.