Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Like you’re one to talk, Dad,” Pike said, stepping away from his mother. “Jesus, whatever. I should have known better than to think this was going to be any different than every other time I’ve come home.”
“Please, Pike, don’t leave,” his mother begged, sounding so upset Pike wanted to kick the banister on his way down the porch steps.
“I’m not, Mom. I’m just going for a walk,” he said, turning back to see his mother’s eyes wide in her perfectly made up face. She’d dressed up for his visit and gone to a lot of trouble with the meal, otherwise he would be out of here. He didn’t need this tonight, not when he was already stressed out about his future and reeling from his encounter with Tulsi. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and aimed his body toward the mesquite trees, down the trail leading to the fifty acres of family property where his father’s lodge guests weren’t allowed to hunt. As a kid, Pike had spent half his life out here, riding horses and ATVs, fishing and camping with his friends, dreaming of the day when he would never have to go back home to Jim Sherman’s house again. He’d loved his dad, but he’d also resented him. No matter how hard Pike tried, no matter how many games he won or trophies he brought home, it was never good enough.
In interviews, Pike credited his father’s relentless drive and devotion to the game for getting him to the big leagues years sooner than other pitchers. When the St. Louis Cardinals’ star pitcher tore his rotator cuff seven years ago and the recruiters started scouting the minors for a mid-season relief pitcher, Pike immediately rose to the top of the list of contenders, even though he was only halfway through his first season pitching for the Springfield Cardinals. He’d been a star at twenty-two and was now well on his way to being a legend, but when people asked, Pike always passed the glory on to his father rather than talking about his own passion for the game.
The truth was, Pike didn’t know if he loved the game anymore. He still fought hard to be the absolute best player he could be because that was the way he was wired, but playing ball hadn’t been fun for a long time. Not since he was a kid and his Little League coach told his dad that Pike was a prodigy, setting a lifetime of events in motion.
Sometimes Pike wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self to play soccer instead. He was grateful for his success and knew he was living the dream, he just wasn’t sure whose dream it was—his or his father’s.
“Hey, Pike, wait for me,” Mia called from behind him.
Pike paused on the dirt trail, waiting for his sister to catch up before he started walking again. “I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh. “I was determined not to let this happen, but the man just…pushes my buttons.”
“I know.” Mia crossed her arms and kicked a rock farther down the trail. “I should have realized Dad was going to be worse this time, not better. He’s scared, Pike. I think he’s afraid you’re never going to play ball again.”
“And then what good would I be to anyone, right?” Pike said, but his joking tone fell flat.
Mia’s fingers curled around his bicep and squeezed. “Seriously, Pike, it’s not that bad, is it? I thought it was just a minor thing, and you’d be back on the mound in a week or two.”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he said, surprised to find his chest loosening as the words came out. It felt good to finally say what his trainer and therapist had been dancing around for weeks. “It’s definitely better, but it’s not good enough, you know? My doctor wants to give it another week or two, and if I’m still not snapping back, she thinks surgery might be the only option.”
“Shit,” Mia said. “That sucks.”
“It’s okay. I mean I always thought it would be my shoulder or my elbow that took me out of the game, but…” Pike shrugged. “At least I’ve had a good run.”
Mia tucked her arm more tightly through his. “Don’t talk like that. Surgery doesn’t mean the end. Lots of athletes come back after surgery. And you’re tougher than all of those losers.”
Pike smiled. “Thanks, sis.”
“You’re welcome.” Mia slowed, pulling them both to a stop. “You think you might be up for dinner now? Everything’s out of the oven and the sooner we eat, the sooner we can leave.”
“We don’t have to rush on my account.” Pike turned, heading back toward the house, feeling calmer after only a few minutes in the woods. It wasn’t Montana, but it was definitely far more peaceful here than in his apartment in St. Louis. “I know Mom wants to catch up, and you love dessert.”