Kia Ora...

When you're far from your kids, the last thing you want to get is the panicked, fear inducing messages. My youngest is developing a talent for this now that she's living on her own. Thankfully, none that have had me scrambling to find away to get to where she is. But there've been plenty of 'OMG I'm so drunk' ones at 2am...and the 'shit I don't remember getting home', but they're all trumped by the one I got from her this morning... 'I got concussion checked while playing volleyball' after she caught a wayward serve to the jaw that sent her sprawling. She passed the check, and doesn't seem to have any lingering after effects other than a rather sore neck. Yet that doesn't mean that I still didn't freak when I read the message.

The unpacking has hit the 'more empty boxes than full ones' stage. I even managed to find a whole lot of manga that I was stressing about in a box that wasn't labelled correctly...sigh. Packing everything up had been quite chaotic after all. I also now have my desk and two bookshelves set up in my office, I just need to clear it of the other boxes and get a chair before I can start to use it.

Updates

Naomi Aoki

• There are a couple of stories--amongst the long list waiting--that are demanding to be written. One is an FF Yakuza Trilogy, and the other is Escape (Smoke and Shadows 2) which so far only exists in the Dark Desires Anthology. Though I can't imagine that Crime Reports books will be happy being relegated back in the writing queue either... sigh.

Mandy Greenwood

• I am 6k and 4 chapters into Bishop (Crime Lords Five). I already can't wait to see what trouble these boys get themselves into, but I imagine a lot of it will involve blood, angst... and more grovelling.
• I am now halfway through the rewrite of Love You Forever, Dracye (Silverdale 3), and then once that's done I will release the first three plus in paperback.

MJ Green

• Love Unpicked (House of Bolton 6) is still with the proofreader.
• Ave F*cking Maria (House of Bolton Short) is sitting at around 7k. You will be able to read this in the O Deadly Night - An MM Dark Romance Anthology Vol.2. It can be preordered now, and will be available in paperback too.
• Defrocked (House of Bolton Novella) is currently at 10k words, but something is a little off with the pacing, so I've started rewriting it to see if I can figure out where the problem lies.

General Updates

• A new newsletter provider is at the top of my 'must do list'. I'm tired of having only a very small portion of my subscribers actually getting my newsletter. Plus I'm taking a part in biggish promotion during September, and I'd hate for people to miss out on it!
• I've started setting up my subscription site on Ream and I hope to launch it once I have a few more chapters of Bishop written. There will be several different tiers with a range of price points and I'll share more closer to the launch date.

Bookfunnel Promos

• FF Romance Promo
• Smashwords Summer Sale Promo (LGBTQIA)
• Dark MC Reads

Chapter Eighteen

“You do realise,” Mike said while trying to ignore the ache in his knee. “That my signing this contract doesn’t automatically mean my anxiety about stepping back into the bullpen has disappeared. Allowances will need to be made while I regain my confidence and find my footing in this new reality.”

Coach huffed, folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat. “I’m well aware of that… and I don’t expect anyone on my team to expect that of you either. All I want is a pitching coach who actually gives a damn about the health and well-being of my pitchers…especially our star pitcher.”

“Jordan…” Mike snorted and shook his head, a wry smile toying with his lips. “Well…at least you know I have experience in wrangling him into doing more than pitching balls during practices.

“But on a personal level… things aren’t completely sorted there either. And yes”—holding his hand up to stop Coach from commenting—“I’ll do my damnedest to keep those issues off the field which we managed to do well enough when Jordan and I were both playing. However, it has to be said that there will be times when our frustrations with each other off the field bled onto it.”

Unbeknownst to the coaching staff it had gone the other way when Mike had still played. Their disagreements on the field had often bled into their home life with pitch refusals leading to stony cold silences, heated arguments, and the slamming of doors. A hard fuck over the bonnet of the car in the garage wasn’t going to be the solution to their anger that it once was, and Mike didn’t know if that was going to be a good thing…or a bad one.

Coach nodded. “That’s understandable… now”—placing his hand on the table and rising to his feet—“do you want a tour of the facilities while most of the players are not here?”

Mike chuckled. “I think I still can find my way around, Coach.”

“I’m sure that you can, Mike, but that’s not what I’m offering. I thought you might appreciate the chance to wonder around the place without the added pressure of dealing with your former teammates… though I must admit they are all excited at the prospect of your returning to the team regardless of the capacity that’s in.”

His hands trembled with a mix of excitement and dread at the thought of meeting his former teammates again. Mike wasn’t sure how he’d handle it either…whether it was better to plaster on a fake smile that hid his nerves and pretend that nothing had changed asides from his ability to crouch behind home plate. He was afraid too that their purported excitement had merely been expresses for Coach and Jordan’s sake, and in truth they were pissed at the way he’d left…and for the hurt he’d caused Jordan. Anger Mike believed his former teammates entitled too and yet it wouldn’t help Mike reacclimatise to being a part of the time even if his role within it had changed.

“Okay…that ah”—scratching the back of his head—“makes a whole lot of sense.”

“Of course, it does. That’s why they made me the head coach,” Coach said with a laugh while gesturing at the door with his head.

Mike swallowed hard and stood up. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants before following after Coach as he headed down the hallway toward the team’s gym facilities. His footsteps didn’t drag however, they weren’t exactly speedy either. Next to the bullpen this had been the one room that Mike had spent a lot of time in during practice sessions. Weight training and cardio were an important of his training, both in his role as primary catcher and third batsman… almost more important than the hours Mike had spent crouched in the bullpen helping his pitchers refine their throws. Being a catcher wasn’t only about wearing a big mitt and catching the damn ball, he also needed to be able to fire the ball to first or second base before the runner reached it.

He paused outside the door and watched as Coach shouldered his way through the door. Catching sight of the familiar décor before the door swung started to close again, Mike took a deep breath and stopped it. Mike strode into the room, tears pricking his eyes as the memories of his time spent in this room rushed through his mind.

“You… you haven’t replaced or changed anything in here,” he quickly remarked, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “Surely there’s some new equipment that could’ve been introduced in the two years that I’ve been gone?” Mike struggled to take it all in and even more so when his gaze stuttered on the cracked mirror on the far side of the room. Cracked because Mike had slammed his fist into it after being told his career was over and the team were releasing him from his contract. “You could’ve at least have replaced that,” he said, gesturing at it while shame flooded his body.

Coach shrugged. “Management wanted too, but Jordan refused to let anyone do it.”

“Why? It’s a hazard…with all the broken glass that’s not yet fallen from its frame.”

“You’re not wrong… and that argument was made to Jordan too. But your husband is a stubborn man and argued that it served as reminder to the rest of the team as to how fragile their careers really were.”

“Really? Jordan said that?”

“He did. And no, no one bought it.” Coach glanced at the broken mirror one more time before turning on the balls of his feet and started to head back out of the gym. “I think Jordan was afraid that if we replaced it, then the team would forget about you… that it would be like you’d never existed.”

*

It had been the right decision, no matter how hard it had been, to tour the team’s facilities and take in all the changes that had occurred since Mike had last stepped inside the place. Walking through the place while his former teammates were present would’ve been far worse. His mind spinning on matters that didn’t involve whether the team added an ice bath to the post-game recovery routine or if the new physio was up to date with the latest in kinseo taping. Not that Mike would’ve realised if they were or not.

Memories assailed with every step he took, but it was those that hit Mike when he stepped out onto the baseball field that sent him crashing to his knees on home plate. For so long this had been his everything… his dreams, his life, his career and even his marriage had revolved around this sport. The diamond had been his domain, home plate the throne from which he’d ruled it all and had guided his team to successive championships. Not even his injury had stopped his team from continuing with their successes and had still taken out the title that season.

Already sinking into the dark spaces in his mind, watching his team win the championship without him had sent him crashing to the bottom. Insidious thoughts that Mike knew were nothing more than the whispers of depression had quickly invaded his mind and told him how worthless he’d really been… that it hadn’t been him who’d guided the team to all those wins… that they hadn’t need him… that no one had needed him. And for two years he’d let them dominate his mind…let their voices remain so loud that it was only when he drowned himself in alcohol that they were finally quietened. But even those moments of silence, Mikes lack of lucidity…of sobriety meant no other voice could work its way into his mind and argue against those dark thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Mike wiped away the tears that had fallen with hands coated in dirt leaving muddy streaks behind. He sat back on his haunches, painfully aware that Coach had watched his meltdown. Mike wasn’t sure whether to be ashamed of it or not. Then again it wasn’t as though he hadn’t made it specifically clear when he signed that his PTSD in all its forms was going to magically disappear, and this was just one of them. Though maybe it was better that it broken down in front of Coach instead of the rest of the team…might’ve proven harder to coach in the bullpen if everyone was looking at him as though he was something fragile.

“Feeling better?” Coach asked, breaking the awkward tension that had sprung up, but that might have only existed in Mike’s mind.

“Yeah. Sorry. Not very professional of me.”

Coach snorted. “No one gives a shit if you need to let your emotions out, Mike… no one blames you either. This place”—gesturing at the stadium—“was a big part of your life…and it will be again, just in a different way and far sooner than you’d expected.”

“Yeah.” Mike pushed himself off the ground and dusted off his pants as came to stand beside Coach. “I thought I’d still be a good six years from retiring when it happened.”

“And there’s a big difference between leaving on your own terms and having that choice ripped away from you.”

“There is… and I didn’t handle it very well. I was a leader, and I should’ve handled it with far more grace than I did.”

“Fuck, Mike… handling it with grace? I don’t think I know of any sports person who’s had their career cut short through injury to handle it well.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and expectant it lasted for several heartbeats before Coach spoke again. “But the team is glad to have you back, Mike…and if you want to model that leadership you spoke of…then make sure to attend every damn counselling session the team pays for.”

Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and gave a sharp nod of his head, choosing not to acknowledge Coach’s words verbally. He wasn’t sure he could without losing a hold of the calmness he’d just managed to grab hold of.

“So… for old time’s sake, do you want to crouch behind home plate and imagine that Jordan is getting ready to pitch?”

It was his turn to snort then. “Yeah… not happening. I know my limitations, Coach, and taking up my old position is one of them. Fucking up my knee again is not on the agenda.”

****

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