Minor Leagues

The lead AJ took off of first base was significant. With his status as the leading base stealer in all of Triple-A Baseball, it was no surprise the pitcher could barely concentrate on his pitching because he kept stopping to throw back to first. AJ was just a few more steals away from breaking the record for most bases stolen in a regular season. Once again the pitcher spun around and threw to first, making for a dramatic and dusty dive back into first because AJ’s lead had been that big.

“That’s right,” the first baseman Higman said as AJ squinted and spit dirt out of his mouth. “Get your ass back on base, bitch.”

AJ stood up, dusting himself off, refusing to look at the guy. Readjusting his helmet, he took a deep breath, remembering his brother’s words. He would not get baited so easily anymore. It was fucking infuriating. Instead of progressing in conquering the fire that ignited so easily in him, he’d deviated in the opposite direction. With so many using his temper against him, his reputation as one of the hottest hotheads in the league preceded him now. Some critics even suggested it was what would ultimately be his doom if he ever made it to the big leagues. Even his brothers agreed, especially Isaiah, who insisted it didn’t matter that some of the players like this asshole were just as heavily criticized for being instigators.

With the ball back in the pitcher’s hand, AJ began taking his lead off the base, jumping back once when the pitcher spun around but didn’t throw. The crowd booed at the pitcher. Others cheered, urging AJ to steal that base. He took the lead once again, this time getting a little braver, going even further than he did the last time.

One look at the third base coach and he got the go-ahead to run the moment the ball left the pitcher’s hand. He took an even farther more dangerous lead, and the pitcher spun around suddenly and threw a missile to first. For a second, he thought about diving back, but he was too far and knew he wouldn’t make it, so he decided to chance it and fake trying to make it to second. After just a few steps, he turned around because he knew by then the ball was already headed to second. He was still closer to first, so he shot back.

The crowd went nuts as his adrenaline pummeled through him. He could do this, damn it. He dove into first just as the ball zoomed by his head and hit Higman’s glove but bounced out. Lucky for Higman, the pitcher was already behind him and recovered, so in no way could AJ get up and take off to second.

He exhaled, holding on to the base for dear life for a moment. It wasn’t pretty, but at least he hadn’t blown it. The crowd, of course, had gone wild and was already chanting the nickname he’d been dubbed with for over a year. The same one Isaiah hated with such passion. “Rage! Rage! Rage!”

The local paper had commented more than once about “Romero’s rage,” and soon afterward he’d become Rage. “Who’s the bitch now?” he asked with a smirk but didn’t bother looking up at Higman, who he was sure was glaring at him as AJ dusted himself off again.

As expected, butterfingers didn’t have much to say now. Over the next several pitches, AJ managed to steal second and third, only to be left stranded at third when the batter finally struck out. It was a pisser, but he was damn proud of himself that he hadn’t let Higman win.

Headed slowly back to the dugout, he could hear some of the people in the stands yelling out for him. Many chanted for him to break the record today. He hadn’t even noticed Higman so close to him when he heard the comment.

“Baby sister’s not such a baby anymore.”

AJ looked up in time to see Higman and another player on the opposing team smiling big as they gazed up into the stands. Curiously, he glanced up just as Higman responded to the other guy’s comment. “Yeah, I’d tap that sweet thing in a heartbeat.”

The instant he saw Emi holding up her homemade poster that read “Break that record, big brother! Romero #9,” he knew who Higman was talking about. She was shaking her hips along with the sign, looking far more womanly than her eighteen years. Even then, he still would’ve kept his cool, too, if he’d just done the right thing and ignored Higman and his asshole friend. He shouldn’t have even glimpsed their way, but he did just in time to see Higman rub his dick over his pants and squeeze. He was still looking up at the stands.

“Damn! The junk in that trunk. What I wouldn’t give to get my cock into that ass.”

The fucker would’ve likely gone on to say more, but AJ tackled him before he could, and it was on. Another bench-clearing brawl ensued with the crowd going wild, chanting his nickname over and over.

AJ had actually been a little surprised when Isaiah hadn’t protested too much after he’d been ejected from the game. He’d told him why he tackled Higman. Isaiah just shook his head, but AJ got the feeling his brother was likely thinking he would’ve done the same because he’d been spared the usual lecture. The only thing he did say was, “Yeah, well there’s only two games left in the regular season, AJ. You get ejected next game, and they may sit you out the last one. There goes your chance of breaking that record.”

The next game AJ checked one more thing off his list. He broke that record. Once the season was over, he checked off another. He signed a major league contract with the San Diego Padres. He’d already been called up a few times to stand in for the injured catcher. Only with their regular catcher expected to be out for most of the season, AJ would likely be their starting catcher until their regular was back. Check!

Chapter 1

AJ

Throughout his young career AJ owed a lot of people for his success. First and foremost was his entire family for their love and support as he continued to follow his dream. Many coaches along the way made an impact on his game and his confidence—his ability to continue to believe in himself as a leader, even when things got tough. One of the coaches that made the biggest impact on him was a relatively new coach to him: Coach Lara, his major league team’s catching coach. The man was a former major league catcher himself, recently inducted into the Hall of Fame and wise beyond anyone AJ had ever known.

He also had the patience of a saint. When AJ came into the majors, everyone already knew about his legendary temper. It’d been well-documented and discussed by sportscasters even before he moved up from the minors and even more so his first few years in the big leagues. Lara had told AJ from the moment he took him under his wing just over a year ago that it didn’t have to be that way. He could use that anger as energy—use it as a driving force to push his passion for the game and make it work for him, not against him.

Up until AJ met Lara, it’d been suggested that he attend anger-management classes on more than one occasion. In some cases, it’d been mandatory after some of his worst explosive moments on the field. The classes were always lame. AJ never got anything out of them. Maybe if he had, he might’ve done so with more enthusiasm. He wanted to be able to conquer that part of him. It always felt like a weakness.

Lara, however, suggested other forms of mental training. He said lack of mental training was the number-one cause of underperformance, and he’d been right. AJ had attended and done all the training Lara had suggested.

After the first three years of AJ’s career in the big leagues, he was finally making some major progress, and it was even noted by the press. His first year he’d been a mess: bringing on the attention and reinforcing his nickname in the media, something that exasperated his brothers.