Page 42 of Chasing Headlines

“Try making a friend. Or giving someone a hug. A handshake. Touch deprivation is real and you've become . . . solitary. It's not unusual when someone is grieving, but you're the one that has to take steps to change it. If you promise to do those things, I'll leave our frequency at biweekly for now.”

“Make a friend or hug someone?” Was she an alien from another planet?

“Even just a friendly touch, skin to skin. But, your choice.”

Who the hell—? Didn't matter. “Fine, whatever. I'll figure it out.”

“Great. See you in two weeks.”

Chapter Eleven

Breslin POV

Baseball practice was the antidote to my helpful “mental health” sessions. It was the only thing that helped me recalibrate. I could just block everything else out, focus on the fundamentals.

Leather ball gripped in my hand. The stitches rubbing against my fingertips. Line up to my target, body tight. Throw, extend. Ball in the glove.

There was something soothing about playing catch—the rhythm, the motion. It was all so ingrained, the process was almost as natural as walking. Every so often, I'd look up at the sky and just feel . . .

The way the baseball fit in my hand. The sound of it hitting the pocket of a glove. The light breeze brushing my hair. I glanced at my intended target standing several yards away. Jimenez grinned like he'd just won a state championship ring.

“Your arm works better than both your legs.” His dark eyebrows pinched together and turned his expression into a menacing look.

I grumbled under my breath.Prick.

“You're that pissed I beat you?”

“Wasn't a race.” I threw the ball again. His glove tipped and snagged it out of the air. “Couldn't care less.”

“So, what, it's not personal? You just don't talk while you warm up?” He hurled the ball back at me. I caught it, and pulled the baseball into my right hand.

“No, I don't.” I gunned it back.

“Seriously? How can you just not talk? I think I'd die if I had to stand here and look all stone-faced and sullen like your ugly assed mug.” He threw again. “Baseball is fun, man! And this is the next best thing to getting paid to play. We get free room and board. Meals. Rides to the game.”

I caught his throw. “Do you ever shut the hell up?” I considered launching the ball at his face.

“Not really. This is the best. Warming up with my new best friends. My team! The Texas State Tech hawk things.”

Hawk things?What the hell was he smoking? I lobbed the ball back at him.Idiot.

“Strikers.” He caught the ball. “Hah. Yeah, we're gonna strike'em all out. And strike 'em again with our bats. Woo! I can'twaitto take the field. Our uniforms are so sweet, man.” He tossed the ball at my glove. I hardly had to move it.

Could I get away with duffing him upside the head? Meh. I'm sure Eberhardt would reprimand me. It'd go on my report to the deputy and Dr. Feel Good—who would no doubt move me up to weekly. For my 'issues'. It wasn't a good plan even if it was somewhat amusing to consider.

I had to find someone else to warm up with. Maybe even someone I didn't feel like strangling. Surely there was someone on this team that fit the description.

“All right. Enough warm up. Let's go.” Coach called us in. He motioned to the various stations for batting practice. “Everyone should be good and warmed up. Going forward, we'll post practice schedules in advance, but for today, let's split into threegroups: I need one group hitting on the field, one on defense, one in the cages.”

“Finally, 'mano. I've been itching for some batting practice something fierce.” Jimenez clapped his hands together and headed off toward the cages. I moved the opposite direction—toward the field.

Hell yeah.Hated to break it to Dr. Hamer, but crushing the ball was the only therapy I needed. Although the idea of being skin to skin with Rally Girl . . . Nope. Batting practice.

My muscles twitched in anticipation as I stood along the fence line with the others. Waiting. I'd stretched again. Did jumping jacks. Jogged to the dugout to get a drink. Picked a bat and swung it a few times. Stretched again.

Finally, I was on deck. I pulled on my batting glove, grabbed a couple of bats, and took warm up swings.

Now that freshman baseball camp was over, we'd settle into a routine. Every practice during 'fall ball' was like a tryout. Or so the scouts had explained.