Play for Me by Libby Hubscher EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Authors: Libby Hubscher
- Language: English
- Genre: Romantic Comedy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I lost everything I loved in the span of twenty-four hours. Well, nearly
everything, since Dad was still safely tucked away in Sommerset
Meadows, but that’s a different story. Heartbreak comes in all forms.
For me, baseball went first.
My home in Boston and cannoli from Vitales in the North End quickly
followed.
I was eating my feelings in the form of a chocolate chip cannoli when a
man holding a sheet cake paused to look me over, and upon recognizing me,
he promptly spit in my face. He was wearing an autographed Big Papi
jersey and an expression that can only be described as murderous. They say
hell hath no fury like a woman scorned . . . well, a woman scorned has
nothing on a Red Sox fan who just stumbled upon the trainer responsible
for ruining the team’s World Series run stuffing her face with pastry.
“That’s for benching Iwasaki!” he hollered. “You cost us the series!”
The rabid fan couldn’t have known that only two hours earlier I’d been
forced to resign in front of a room full of middle-aged men in ill-fitting polo
shirts. He wouldn’t have seen me sitting on the T next to a cardboard box
full of my things, willing myself not to cry. And he definitely had no earthly
notion that I’d arrived home to find the rest of my worldly possessions
packed away in a matching luggage set my boyfriend, Patrick, had
originally bought for me to use on our trip to Zurich in January. As the team
doctor, he hadn’t taken kindly to me calling his medical judgment into
question. He’d carved me out of our shared brownstone and his life with
speed and surgical precision.
I didn’t fault any of them for being angry, even this guy. I was a Red Sox
fan, after all, one who grew up watching every home game while my dad
worked as a custodian in Fenway; the agony of defeat had rocked me to my
core more than once. But I wasn’t at my best, and my cheek was damp with
spittle, which is probably why I exploded out of my chair, knocked the cake
box out of the man’s hand, and smashed my half-eaten cannoli into his face.
“I’d do it again!” I yelled. Cake splattered on the floor around us. It was
completely out of character—the aggression, I mean, not the thing that had
brought me to that moment; still, I meant what I said. At only twenty-two,
Iwasaki was already the kind of pitcher that comes along once every
hundred years. He’d had an ulnar collateral ligament sprain that the medical
team had been treating with stem cells and plasma injections, but his body
wasn’t ready. I could see it in his face, the way he grimaced and guarded his
arm when no one else was looking. Just hours before the game, he’d been
drenched with sweat after throwing a couple of easy pitches.
“How bad is it?” I’d asked him.
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