Page 11 of The Catcher
“Don’t touch me again,” I hissed to Tanner, my voice trembling.
But Tanner’s hand shot out again and he pulled me back to him briefly, his hand hard on my hip. “Don’t scream next time,” he growled in my ear. “Or I’ll thrash your ass.”
Then he finally let me go and I didn’t look at him again as I hurried out the door and down the hall.
“Do you want me to tell Lou?” Tre asked, loping along beside me.
“No,” I said shortly, straightening my blouse where Tanner had twisted it in his big hands.
“If he bothers you, come tell me,” Tre said, his blue eyes sharp as they looked at me.
“Thanks,” I said, “but it’s fine.”
Tre was sweet. Steak was nice. All of the guys on the team had been nothing but welcoming.
But.
I didn’t think any of them could doshitto stop Tanner if he wanted to do something.
5
Tanner was still in a slump, and I was still required to watch the games in my seats right above the dugout, looking for something, anything to use to spin his stats to make them look better. I was so bored I had begun to keep score with a scorecard and a pencil just for something to do, and I began reluctantly to pick up terms and understand the game better. And so I flicked between my tablet and the scorecard, trying to find anything that made him look better. According to the many angry comments on all the social media videos of him, which were my job to monitor, he was pulling his head on his swing. But the pitching coach was in despair with every attempt to fix it.
The Phoenixes had a road trip to the nearest other major league stadium, which was only a few hours away, and Lou requested I join the team. Since they were going to be traveling all weekend, I decided to go to the Friday game and then take a flight back to my hometown for a quick weekend break. A Matt, who I had learned could be distinguished from the other Matts by calling him Matt B., joined me in the seats on Friday afternoon.
“I like your hat,” he said, pointing at the huge straw monstrosity covering my head. It was 104 degrees in the shade, and I felt like Satan’s asscrack.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, taking a sip of the only perk of the job so far—ice-cold ballpark lemonade.
“I’m on the 7-day injured list,” he said, sitting down beside me.
“Wooo,” I said listlessly. It had to have been the weakest team woo in the history of the Phoenixes, but I saw Tanner flick his eyes over to us.
At the next inning, I felt a tap on my shoulder and it was one of the assistant coaches.
“Mr. Courtenay needs you in the dugout,” he said.
“Who, me?” I yelped, jolted out of my lethargy, my heart starting to beat faster. “I’m not allowed in there.”
He shrugged. “He says he wants you there.”
Feeling nervous, I followed him back and sidled into the dugout, expecting to be thrown out at any moment, but Lou only grunted when he saw me.
“If anyone asks, you’re an athletic trainer,” he said.
OK. I suddenly felt uneasily like they were playing a dangerous game, using me as the cookie to get Tanner to do what they wanted. That was all very well. But. Except. There was something I didn’t like in his eyes when he looked at me.
The game seemed so close and personal from in here. I eyed Tanner as he caught for Tre, strong thighs spread over the ground. There was a slick sheen of sweat on his tanned arms. From this distance it was easy to admit to myself that my mouth got dry when I saw his arm snap out to trap a wild pitch.
But when he headed back into the dugout after the inning was over, I felt the same flush of searing fear as he stalked into the dugout. He looked at me, then threw his helmet, so close beside me that I felt the whistle of air on my skin. Around him,I felt like I was prey and if I stayed still and frozen enough he wouldn’t take notice of me. Nothing good could result in someone like Tanner Courtenay taking notice of you.
“I told you not to throw your fucking fastball at him,” Tanner snapped at Tre.
“You almost hit Emrys,” Tre said, casting a worried glance over at where I stood frozen.
But the volatile catcher was right in his face. “Don’t tell me what to do with her,” Tanner snarled. “She’s mine to do what I fucking want with. I’ll throw what I fucking want at her.Youneed to stop throwing dumbass pitches.”
I felt like my cheeks were on fire. What did he meanI was his?
