Wild Card by Ashley Munoz

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Didyou grab me any donuts from that one spot?” Marcus asked while wiping his face and neck with a towel. He’d just run eight miles and was curious about donuts. He would be my best friend for that reason alone, aside from being a kickass roommate and all around decent human.

I pulled the small bag out of my bag and tossed it over to him.

“Sweet.”

He chewed a few bites while I tried not to shift uncomfortably. The school gym was shitty in comparison to our team workout facility, but sometimes it was just easier to pop in over here versus driving across campus. Marcus and I had both been given special release to live outside of the team house. He’d never told me exactly what provisions he was allowed to leave on, saying it wasn’t his story to tell, but I was grateful to have a roommate who understood the pressures of being on that team.

“So, how did the appointment go?”

I resisted the urge to run my hands through my hair and let out an annoyed sigh. My day had been fucking long as ever.

“Good. Really good actually.”

“Will they let her refinance?” he asked hesitantly.

I nodded my head. “It almost seemed like they weren’t going to at first, but I don’t know. Someone made a call and an assessor is going out to the house next week, but they gave her the green light.” It felt like a burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I knew it didn’t fix all the problems, but it was a step in the right direction. “Either way it will buy her time. I’ll be graduated by then, and I can move back home, maybe take up Dad’s landscaping business.”

I considered again the idea of doing that instead of pursuing something that might make me more money, or even baseball. But I’d been injured for over a year, so there were no scouts looking at me; I’d be lucky to land in Triple-A ball, if anything, but I wasn’t sure that was even something I wanted anymore. The more I thought of taking over my dad’s business and settling down, the more calm I became. That had to point toward something, right?

Marcus shook his head, snapping his jaw closed. “You don’t want to do that, man. I know it. I hate that you’re just accepting that you can’t play ball. How did your last physical therapy appointment go?”

I let out a heavy sigh, feeling a little too mothered by him. “It went fine.” I was on the cusp of being completely finished with therapy appointments. Just a few more months.

“Does he think you can play professionally?” Marcus sounded hopeful, and if I had been a better friend, I’d have felt happy in that hope. I’d have been grateful for a friend who cared about me the way he did. I also wouldn’t have lied to him.

I shrugged, hands deep in my pockets. “They said it’s too soon to tell.”

The way his head lowered and the pensive look on his face told me he didn’t believe me.

“What about your other therapist?” He grabbed his water bottle and took a large drink, keeping his calculating gaze on me.

He knew I wasn’t telling my therapist shit. Why even bother asking?

“Good…yeah.” I nodded. “Real good.”

“So, you talked to your therapist about the game then?”

“Yeah. She knows I can’t pitch.”

“I’m not talking about baseball, man—I’m talking about the card game, and Mallory. There’s another game this Friday night.”

“I know. I heard about it.” I glanced around, curious who else might be listening to our conversation. There was always someone listening.

“The fact that Elias keeps having meetings while you can’t attend or moving them so they’re not anywhere near the team house is total bullshit. I know Coach doesn’t know he’s doing that.” He scoffed, rubbing his chin.

“You know I don’t care. I don’t want to go anyway, but Mallory wants to.” Marcus had met her a few times, and he liked her, but he was also wary of her because she was technically a reporter.

“Mallory wants to go?” He reared back like he was shocked.

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“You mean you don’t know?” He stood, watching me like I was a zoo exhibit.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He let out a sigh and rubbed his neck. “I would have said something, but you keep going over to her house. I haven’t seen you in days.”

“Just tell me, Marcus.” I was getting irritated that he wouldn’t just cut to the chase.

“It’s been leaked she was the one in that room instead of Taylor Beck. It’s also been leaked that she’s writing an article about the team.”

My stomach dropped out. If that were true…if they knew it was Mallory, then…

“Who else knows?”

Marcus watched me for a second before shaking his head. “Everyone knows, man. They know she’s after the story she isn’t authorized to write. They’re going to shut her down.”

My mind raced while I tore through the options available to me. I didn’t think they’d hurt her, but they would make it to where she couldn’t write her article. Fuck. I had to try to fix this.