Rundown (Curveball Book 2) Read Online Free

future.   To use a
baseball term, I’m in a rundown.
    As
we approach the arrival section again, I make eye contact with the
driver in the rear-view mirror.  He seems too nervous to ask if
I’ll be getting out this time, and I’m not in a place to speak,
so I simply nod.  He pulls up next to the curb and puts the car
in park.  Everyone in this car is waiting for me to get out, but
my feet won’t move. 
    “ It’s
now or never, Drew.  We can’t circle this place all day. 
Either you go or you stay,” Agent O’Conner chides.
    I
continue drumming my fingers against the windowsill of the car.
 Agent O’Conner smacks his hand on my knee, causing me to
flinch.  “My father once told me that a champion was someone
who got up when he couldn’t,” he pauses.  “I’d really
like to see you get up, Drew.”
      I
turn my gaze on Agent O’Conner, surprised by his words.  Not
because this motivational speech strongly contrasts his normal surly
demeanor, but because those words actually have meaning to me. 
    ‘ A
champion is someone who get’s up when he can’t. ’  It’s
a quote by heavyweight champion, Jack Dempsey; words that have
mentally saved me both on and off the field.   
    The
first time I heard the saying, I was ten years old.   It
wasn’t a deeply profound moment.  I was pitching in a little
league game and took a line drive straight to the ‘boys’.  Being
ten, and thinking I knew everything, I had refused to wear a
protective cup, because I knew that a real man wouldn’t wear one,
and obviously, I was a real man.  Lying on the mound, clutching
my balls and fighting back tears, however, didn’t make me feel so
tough. 
    My
coach, who was beyond rough around the edges, showed no sympathy for
me.  In fact, I’m positive he called me a pussy.  He
grabbed me by the back of my jersey and pulled me upright, got in my
face and told me to shake it off, quit my crying and act like there
was something between my legs for that baseball to have hit. 
Being a ten-year-old boy, I struggled with doing what he said and not
running off the field to my mom.  When I started walking off the
mound, I heard my teammates grumble.  My coach put his hand on
my shoulder and told me that if I walked off the field I’d lose an
opportunity to show everyone at the game, including my parents, that
I had the strength to be a champion…because champions get up then
they can’t.   I don’t know that I really got it at the
time, but I stayed in the game.  Even though we lost, I could
tell my coach was proud of me.  I was proud of me. 
From that point forward I committed to myself that I would always do
whatever I had to do to get back up.
    I
remember replaying the quote in my head several times when I tore my
UCL, pushing myself through rehab even though everyone thought my
career was over.  I said them again when Amber, my girlfriend of
several years, left me because of my injury, making me more
determined than ever.  My goal wasn’t to win her back.  It
was to prove that I was someone worth believing in.  It wasn’t
the purest of reasons for getting better, but it worked. 
    ‘ Getting
up’ was the last thing I wanted to do when my sister died.  It
was the worst pain I had ever felt.  Alexis wasn’t just my
sister, she was my best friend.  She was strong, smart and above
all things, she was loyal…and I had let her down.  I should
have been there for her when she needed me, and I wasn’t.  I
didn’t make time for her because I thought her and I had plenty of
time left.  Unfortunately, I was wrong, and there isn’t a day
that goes by that I don’t wish I’d acted differently.  
    I
forced myself to stop wallowing in self-pity and told myself that
Alexis needed me; needed me to be there so she wasn’t alone, even
though she was gone; needed me to be strong for my parents who
couldn’t cope with the reality of the situation; needed me to get
up and continue to live because she