Southpaw: an enemies-to-lovers sports romance by Ginger Scott

Southpaw: an enemies-to-lovers sports romance by Ginger Scott

Author:Ginger Scott [Scott, Ginger]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little Miss Write, LLC
Published: 2023-03-29T16:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER 12

Jensen

Five full innings.

Fifty-two pitches.

Goddamn, was that fun.

Coach takes a seat on the bench across from my cubby as I organize my cleats, various compression sleeves, and glove into my equipment bag. It’s hard to move easily when one of my shoulders is wrapped in plastic and pinned to my side under five pounds of ice.

“How’s the arm,” Coach asks.

I do my best to move it with my limited range in the ice pack.

“Honestly? It feels better than it did before the injury,” I say. I’ve heard from several guys that Tommy John has come so far that it’s almost like a tune up for pitchers. I couldn’t see it at the time, when I was staring down sixteen months away from the sport, but now that I’m on the other side, I can see the positives. I’m stronger.

“Good. You looked comfortable out there. The slider’s working,” Coach says.

“I was really glad Enrique didn’t line that ball back down my throat.” I laugh.

Coach grabs the bench on either side of where he sits and rocks back with mutual laughter.

“I’m just glad he didn’t line one into the dugout,” he coughs out.

“I bet. Those screens are shit.”

“No doubt!” he agrees. The Monsoon field is iconic, and I get how it’s special to him and his daughter and the city, but it’s in desperate need of safety upgrades. I’m pretty sure I saw a piece of the concrete rafter fall onto the concourse the other night on my way home from lifting.

“Hey, Jensen. Can I ask you something?” He leans forward and lifts a brow.

I nod, then zip my bag and take a seat across from him, clasping my hands together as I lean forward and rest my arms on my legs. I’m suddenly nervous.

“Do you really believe in this cockamamie head shrinking business my daughter’s roped you into?”

I lean back at first, breathing in deeply and studying his expression to get a better read on his intent. He doesn’t seem angry, and I don’t get a sense that he’s warning me to avoid his daughter the way a dad gets protective over his little girl. I think he really wants to understand her business. His old-school ways are being challenged by her in a way.

“At first, honestly, I thought it was bullshit,” I admit.

He laughs out hard then crosses his arms over his chest, refocusing on my face with even more interest in my answer.

“At first, you say. So that means you’ve changed your opinion,” he prompts.

“Hmmm,” I ponder. “Do I think I would have thrown as well as I did tonight if I hadn’t had a few strange conversations with Sutter? I don’t know. That’s hard to answer, though I’m sure your daughter has quantified it differently.”

“Oh, no doubt!” he busts out.

We commiserate for a few minutes over Sutter’s insistence and persistence, but eventually the conversation comes back to his original question. Do I believe in her concept? Do I think people can be mentally coached to have an edge?

“Sir, I’m a pretty hard-headed pessimist.



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