Read Online Whatever Life Throws at You by Julie Cross - Free Book Online Page B

me. “What?”
    “I…um…” I take a deep breath and keep my eyes on his. “Before Frank Steadman offered this job to my dad, we watched videos of you pitching. Frank asked my dad if he would sign you and you know what he said?”
    The anxiety drops from his face. “What?”
    “He said, in a heartbeat . He knows you can totally kill it today, he’s only worried because it’s a lot of pressure.”
    He laughs bitterly. “That’s an understatement.”
    “Pressure is just that—pressure. It’s all in your head. It has nothing to do with what you can or can’t do.” My face is flaming. I’ve totally overstepped my boundaries and this is all getting a little too Chicken Soup for the Soul.
    I wait anxiously as he takes a deep breath, nods, steps closer to me, and squeezes my arm, just above my elbow. “Keep this between us, okay?”
    He walks away, and I release all the air in my lungs and fall back against the wall. If I’m feeling the pressure, he must have five hundred tons more resting on his shoulders. I take the long route back up to the seats and instead of going inside the suite, I stand outside, leaning against the rail, listening to them introduce the players for both teams. I’m right behind home plate when Brody stands on the pitcher’s mound, his white and blue Royals’ uniform spotless and tight in all the right places. But it kind of sucks, playing your first major league game without the support of your team’s owner.
    I’m holding my breath while Brody throws a few warm-up pitches. The speed registers between ninety-six and ninety-eight, but they’re wild pitches. Not even close to strikes. Dad is statue-like in the dugout, his arms folded over his chest, his gaze locked on Jason Brody. My hands turn white from gripping the railing so hard. I let go and lean my stomach against it instead.
    Another wild pitch is thrown, forcing the catcher to dive sideways.
    Come on, Brody…focus.
    My heart pounds when the first batter steps into the box. They can’t dump him for one out, right? He’s going to get at least an inning?
    The first pitch is way outside. Fast but outside. I manage a breath and see that Dad hasn’t moved an inch. He’s not breathing either. Brody’s first pitch replays over and over again on the giant stadium screens. He shakes out his arms and takes his stance a second time, and I swear to God, he looks up at me. For a brief moment, I’m sure he sees me. Then his focus narrows, his expression identical to the one I’ve seen many times when he’s staring down the pitching stand in our front yard.
    The second pitch goes right down the center.
    Strike.
    Thank God.
    I’m so relieved I have to lean over and rest my head on my hands for a minute.
    Brody throws another ball, followed by another strike.
    2-2 count.
    It takes one more strike and the first out for the Royals’ new season for Dad to finally move some part of his body. He should be screaming and cheering, but in typical Dad fashion, he just gives a tiny nod.
    While the next batter steps into the box, Brody shakes off the excess weight he’d carted out here. I can see him sweating a little, taking normal breaths, looking around at the other players and the stadium.
    Good. Now do it again .
    I turn around and finally head back into the suite to take my seat beside Lenny for the rest of the game.
    Brody manages to pitch six innings, letting only a single runner on base. He’s taken out after the sixth inning and replaced by a relief pitcher. The relief pitcher lets a double and then a home run sneak by, causing the Royals to lose 2–0.
    But six solid innings in his first major league game ever has to be enough to keep him around a little longer. I hope. Or at least to absolve some of the bad from the night at the bar. I don’t want to be sent back to Arizona, but even more, I don’t want it to be my fault.
    After the game, I head down toward the locker room to see Dad, but can’t even get through the long hall