Kia Ora...

This week I decided to be social... well, kind of social. I'd seen that a couple of the national art organisations were running a breakfast talk to discuss the importance of art and it's impacts upon the community. It was quite interesting to listen to different members of the wider community discuss the impact art in all its forms had on them, and for some their art then impacted upon others.It ranged from ones connection to culture, to evoking political change that rectified wrongs from the past. The social part came when I spoke to two people whom I'd never spoken to or had even met before... for me these days that is a big thing.

I have also tried to connect with other authors based here through the local writers group, but it appears it may have been a victim of Covid as I haven't heard anything back from my enquiries as to when they met up.

Updates

Naomi Aoki

• Devotion (Nagoya Crimes 3) is in the final chapters. It's currently sitting at just over 47k, and it should have about 5-7k left to write.

Mandy Greenwood

• The rewrite of A Baby for Albie (Silverdale City 2) is currently on hold while I get Devotion finished up. I will get stuck back into it while I'm waiting for the proofing to be finished.
• I'm also reworking many of the graphics for the Silverdale series and The Moutrams.

MJ Green

• Love Unpicked (House of Bolton 6) is next up on the writing schedule.
• Have jotted down a few new scenes for All That Glitters (House of Bolton 7)
• I also have two anthology pieces to write this year under this name - one will be less than 15k words, and the other about 19k. I have scenes jotted down for both already even though they aren't due until the end of the year.

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Chapter Eleven

Ten more pitches…

Thirty in total…

And Jordan still couldn’t satisfy Mike with the way he was pitching… or at least with the way the pitch appeared to land in the catcher’s mitt at the other end of the bullpen.

Not that there was anything actually wrong with Jordan’s pitching action. Well, not beyond him throwing it a little slower than normal, though even Mike would’ve expected that when Jordan was recovering from a shoulder strain.

But everything Mike was seeing…or thought he was seeing, was nothing more than a carefully orchestrated ruse by Jordan and Ito. It hadn’t been hard to organise either once Jordan made it known that Coach’s preferred person for the role of pitching coach was Mike. They’d all worked with him before his injury…looked up to him and respected the advice he’d given while in the bullpen. There was no one better than their former starting catcher to fill the role in all of their eyes.

And Ito had only been too happy to partake in the planned ruse. Both of them knew that Mike’s attention would be focused on Jordan and not the catcher, especially if that catcher was one whom Mike had personally guided when they’d joined the Switch Hitters team. That lack of attention Ito’s way meant that he could frame the pitches a little off centre and make it appear as though they were travelling on a strange trajectory.

The hoped by deliberately setting up this situation, they would frustrate Mike enough that he’d be forced out from behind the computer screen and down to the bullpen. Jordan absolutely certain that once his husband stood on familiar ground, surrounded by familiar people and sights, that all his fears and anxiety would disappear. Everything would magically right itself once Mike realised that this was the place he was supposed to be.

Jordan swallowed back a frustrated sigh. “So… is it looking any better?”

Mike’s frustration at the lack of improvement despite the little tweaks he was getting Jordan to make was clearly evident with the way Mike rubbed hard at his jaw. In the past, frustrating his husband like this…infuriating him with his refusal to listen to Mike’s direction during training, would’ve resulted in a good hard fucking once they got home—if their teammates were lucky.

That wasn’t an option…for now, but Jordan hoped that one day that it would be once more. Then again, there was a difference in pissing off the man who caught your catches and the one who determined whether you started in a game or not. Jordan didn’t believe that Mike would ever do anything so petty as to deny him game time simply because he’d pissed Mike off… but he couldn’t deny that if Mike did find the strength to step into the role as pitching coach, that his husband would take the role very seriously. Maybe aiming to deliberately piss Mike off once he’d taken up the position wouldn’t be a smart idea..

“No. No, it isn’t.”

“Then what am I doing wrong?”

“Look… I don’t have an answer for you. I’m limited by the angles of camera setup… and short of coming down there—”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?”

Jordan rolled his eyes and huffed. “Then why don’t you come down to the bullpen, Mike, and see it for yourself.”

“No,” Mike said bluntly.

“Why the fuck not?” Jordan replied, not bothering to hide his frustration at Mike’s response.

“Don’t push it, Jordan,” Mike growled. “I can’t do that… I just can’t,” he said with a voice shot through with pain, ending the call before Jordan had a chance to argue back.

*

Mike closed the lid of his laptop and released a shaky sigh. He blinked back the tears sliding down his cheeks while the dark voice he’d pushed aside once more roared back with glee, not hesitating to remind Mike how broken he was. Stepping inside the stadium simply to watch a game was hard enough to do… the idea of standing back in those familiar places like the bullpen remained an impossible task.

He wanted to though.

Mike wanted to get back the life he’d lost because of his career ending injury, and the grief-laden depression that had come with it. Not the exact same life, obviously, Mike would never crouch behind homeplate to receive one of Jordan’s pitches in a game again.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t watch his husband pitch at all.

The road wouldn’t be easy, something his counsellors had repeatedly told Mike, even when he hadn’t wanted to hear it. Time, patience, and determination was all it would take. Mike had never been motivated to put in the effort before, but now… everything had changed. He wanted to try on both accounts to recover a little of what he’d lost… from baseball and his marriage.

Mike: I’ll try to make it to the next game you’re pitching in.

He hoped the message would show Jordan that he was trying.

Jordan: I’d love that.

Jordan: Maybe we could have dinner afterward?

Mike breathed deep and stared at the question filled with hopeful longing. Sharing a meal with Jordan again…he definitely wanted that. But it was the specifics around the sharing of a meal that had Mike’s anxiety flaring in his veins. Did Jordan want to come back to his apartment for the meal? Or was Mike expected to go to Jordan’s house—their old house—for it? Or worse than that… was Jordan expecting them to eat at a restaurant where they public could see them.

Returning to his apartment was doable. More than doable.

Returning to their old house was less so. To many memories, good and bad were tied up in the place that they’d both called home.

Eating at a restaurant… that was unthinkable. He didn’t want to deal with the general public let alone the media circus that would quickly come with it. The endless rumours about his and Jordan’s relationship status…the speculation over where he’d been, his ability to play, or anything at all regarding his involvement with baseball. It didn’t matter that he and Jordan had once been considered the media’s darlings and poster boys of the leagues drive for inclusivity… Mike knew that adoration could quickly sour.

Mike: I don’t know. Maybe not this time. Next time if I’m feeling up to it after the game.

He fired it off and hoped that Jordan didn’t take it the wrong way. Mike wasn’t trying to avoid Jordan… he was simply being realistic. Sitting through five innings had been a struggle… nine would be even more of a challenge let alone adding on the extra pressure of spending time in someone’s company afterward. Husband or not, Jordan would simply have to accept the limitations Mike’s life came with right now.

Jordan: I can work with that.

Mike doubted that Jordan could. His husband, despite his assurances otherwise, and still failed to comprehend how crippling his anxiety was. It wasn’t something that could be gotten over simply because someone had demanded Mike do so. And even if he did manage to step foot back inside the Switch Hitters’ training facilities, that didn’t mean Mike was cured… panic attacks were still possible and could happen at the most unexpected times.

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