Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
She laughs and then sits down on the sofa. “Yeah, sit down and let me show you.”
I sit down next to her, and she pulls out her phone. She screen shares a video to the television. “This is you four years ago. Watch your arm.”
She shows a short video and then shows another. “This one is from three years ago.”
She then shows another. “Last year.”
I tune into the television, but I’m not seeing whatever it is she wants me to see. “What are you showing me?”
She gets up and moves to the television, sitting down in front of it. “Okay, watch and I’ll slow it down.” She points at my arm slot as she replays the video.
“Three years ago. Look at your arm. See how it doesn’t go back as far as the year before?”
She plays the two videos again, and I can barely notice it. “Okay, look close, here you are four years ago.” She plays it and then plays another video. “This is from this season. Look at your arm slot. You’ve been slowly losing flexibility in your arm. There’s a lot of reasons for this, but mostly it’s from overuse and lack of stretching. I’m going to record you throwing today, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to see a difference.”
I have her play the videos over again, and I see exactly what she’s talking about. How did I miss this? How did my trainers miss this?
We go outside, she sets up her camera, and after warming up, she wants me to throw to her from twenty feet away. “I can’t throw with you, Cat. I’ll hurt you.”
She rolls her eyes and shoves her fist into her pink glove. “It’s not like you’re pitching to me. We’re tossing the ball, just checking your arm out and seeing how it feels.”
We toss the ball back and forth, and as we throw, she slowly starts putting more distance between us. “How does it feel?”
I nod and throw it again. “Good. I feel good.”
“Good, now try and throw it a little harder.”
“I don’t—”
She puts her hand on her hip. “You’re not going to hurt me. Throw it, Holden.”
I pick up the speed, and we toss for a few more minutes. “Good, now let’s watch.”
Instead of going back inside, she grabs her phone and plays back the video. As she points at my arm, she cheers. “Yes, look at that, Holden. Look at your arm. The flexibility is there. How’s it feel?”
I roll my shoulder, and there’s absolutely no pain. “I feel good. Fuck, it feels really good.”
She jumps up and down. “All right, that’s it for throwing today.”
I point out at where we were standing. “But I could go—”
She laughs and takes my glove from me. “It’s a throwing plan, Holden. Can we do it my way? Don’t worry, we’re going to increase it, but this is good for today. Now let’s go and do some recovery.”
I want to push myself, but Cat has proven she knows what she’s doing. I’ve given her my all this past month, and I’m going to continue to do so. “Sure, let’s do it.”
I follow her back to the therapy room and mentally prepare myself for the torture that is coming. Her hands on me is torture, but it’s become an addiction.
14
CATHERINE
Sitting in the stands, waiting on Cole’s game to start, I’m surprised to see Holden talking to the coach by the dugout.
I wrap my arms around my knees and try to focus on the kids warming up on the field, but I can’t help but watch Holden. He stands out among all the men surrounding him.
There are other moms sitting close to me on the bleachers, and they’re whispering about “the new guy with the coach.” I don’t think any of them realize he’s Holden Gray, the catcher for the Jasper Bears.
I hear the words “hot,” “sexy,” “whose dad is that?” and “I’d like to take him home with me.”
Instantly, I feel anger and bitter jealousy rise inside me. It’s not like I have the right to be jealous. There’s nothing going on between Holden and me, and I have no claims to him whatsoever. Probably if he did know that I had even a hint of jealousy, he would fire me on the spot. So I sit here quietly and just let myself simmer.
I watch as Holden walks away from the coach. Two of the moms stop him at the bottom of the bleachers, and I barely resist rolling my eyes. I mean, can they be any more obvious? Their giggling and flirting carries across the stands for everyone to hear.
“Are you a new coach?” I hear Anita ask. “My son is Timmy, he plays short stop.”
“Nope, not a coach,” he says, giving away nothing.
Of course, Kylie is not having that. She’s the biggest gossip of all the moms, and she’ll sleuth out all the information she can so she can pass it around. “Are you the dad of one of the boys on the team?”