Maverick cringed at TS’s question. He hated that he continued to let everyone believe his pitching issues were physical. He knew better. Positive he’d be discovered when they’d had enough of his excuses and made him prove his supposed muscle weakness.
Hell, he didn’t know how he was going to dig himself out of the hole he’d created, hell it was turning more into a canyon, but right now he had one pressing issue—finding out what TS had on his mind and would he walk out of this office as a player for the Outlaws?
Breaking the uncomfortable silence, he said, “TS, thanks for including me last night. I know you didn’t have to invite me, and I really appreciate it.”
“No problem. Even though you’re on the disabled list, you’re still my number one pitcher.”
Mav’s heart jumped at the news but in the next second as saw kindness flash on the owner’s face, his stomach dropped. He felt like a heel for keeping the truth from the man who could easily void his contract. He knew he was getting special treatment, but the real question was, why?
He tamped down his warring thoughts and forced himself to smile. “Well, I think Yagasaki would take issue with that statement, but I appreciate the confidence you have in me.”
TS leaned back in his chair and looked him in the eye, holding his gaze, as if daring Maverick to look away. “So, since we’re done with the bullshit niceties, how about you tell me about the video?”
And there was the other shoe dropping like an anvil. What could he say, if anything, that would satisfy the man sitting across from him?
“So, you’ve seen it?” Mav asked.
“I wouldn’t waste my time bringing you in here on a Sunday if I hadn’t. What I really want to know is… do you still think that way?”
Dammit, Mav couldn’t get a read on what TS was really thinking. He’d walked in here fully prepared to be traded or bought out, but TS’s stoic face gave nothing away.
Maverick’s hope of remaining an active player in the USBL began to unravel. Years of work and sacrifice had been compromised by one night of drinking and running his mouth off like a stupid rookie. Twelve years of busting his ass, rising to the top of his profession, gone in one fateful moment.
Flashing back to another night where poor choices had altered his life and his brother’s. Cooper had been so excited to drive the sports car Mav had bought him. But an evening spent enjoying his new ride was cut short when an 18-wheeler had crossed the median and slammed into the driver’s side of the car. Mav had been thrown clear, but not his baby brother.
He’d refused to leave his brother’s side, even when the responding officers tried to physically move him. When the EMTs arrived they too gave up and let him remain next to Cooper as they tried and failed to find a pulse, to revive the son his parents were so damn proud of—who’d just graduated from Princeton, and was set to follow in their father’s footsteps.
He relived the accident in his nightmares. The blank, lifeless stare on Cooper’s face, blood trickling from his ears and then a disembodied voice screaming Cooper’s name over and over. His. And no matter how hard Mav tried, the dream always played out, ended the same damn way.
“Maverick? Hey, man, where’d you go?” TS’s raised voice finally penetrated through the fog of memories.
Blinking several times, TS’s face came back into focus. “I’m sorry, I . . . could you repeat that?”
But instead of doing so, TS sat back in his chair, crossed an ankle over his knee, and not speaking for the longest thirty seconds of Mav’s life.
“I’m going to cut you a break today. And it’s going to be the only one I give you. I’m not going to ride your ass for the video, because you’re being persecuted enough by the media and if that doesn’t cure you, nothing will. However, I’m handing this problem, your problem, to a public relations consultant I’ve hired. So, right now, I’d like to discuss the arm.”
This he could answer. He had his speech down pat whenever anyone asked him about it. “It’s improving. Manny has been working with me since I arrived. He’s done some new therapy and I think—”
“Look, don’t bullshit me, Maverick. I can see that there’s something else going on and we both know it’s not physical. Right?”
Fuck. He should have known better. TS didn’t achieve all of his success by being oblivious to others’ weak points. No, from everything he and his teammates had heard since it was announced that the man staring him down would be their new owner. He was a pit bull in the conference room and expected everyone who worked for him to perform with all cylinders firing.
Who was he kidding? He needed someone on his side right now and who better than TS? Pretending to be injured when he wasn’t had been eating at him for weeks. It was time to be honest.
“Okay, okay…I’ll cut the crap. The arm, my elbow, was a hundred percent a while ago. I can’t really explain why I can’t toss the curve and the cut ball like I did before the accident. I just . . . can’t.”
There it was out on the table for TS to accept—or not. Maverick really had no clue why he could no longer pitch like he used to. It was frustrating and demoralizing. The harder he focused on it and the more time passed, the worse it got. Hell, he might as well quit now and get it over with.
Blowing out a long breath, Mav confessed. “I knew I should have been upfront with the trainer—Ace and Blake. And you. It’s something I’ve known for a while.”
“What if I told you I’ve suspected that very thing?”
Releasing a shaky laugh, Mav said, “I’d say, is there anything you don’t know? You’re like an all-knowing deity who everyone around here scrambles to do their best to impress. So yeah, it’s not much of a stretch to believe you’ve known all along.”
TS grabbed a baseball-imprinted stress ball emblazoned with the Outlaws logo, tossing it to Mav.
Catching it with ease, he turned it over and over in his pitching hand, staring at it like it held all the secrets to the universe. The team’s logo, a bandanna-masked face over the outline of the state of Idaho in the background, mocked him.
“Here’s another question for you. Actually, two, since you’re dealing with a public issue and a private one. With regard to the first problem, I’m not giving you a choice. You will work with the consultant effective today.”
“Sure, no problem. I can handle a guy sending out press releases for me, I guess. So, what’s the second?” he replied.
“Would you be willing to talk to someone who can help you figure out the pitching stuff?” TS asked.
“What, like a shrink? Hell, no.” Pushing his chair back from the walnut desk, he paced the room. “There’s nothing wrong with my head, TS I know the mechanics of throwing the ball. Hell, I can do it blindfolded. There’s nothing in my head that’s keeping me from remembering how to pitch.”
“But what if there is?” TS asked.
“There’s not,” Maverick shot back.
“Did your brother play baseball?”
“What?” Mav took the hit of grief, then pushed it down.
“Cooper, your younger brother, did he play ball?”
“Sure, but only through high school. He didn’t have the drive to make a career out of it like I did . . . do.” Mav stopped pacing, placed his hands on his hips and demanded. “What’s with the third degree about my brother?”