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“All right,” Brooke said. “I’ll float some ideas when I have them.”
“Great.” In the meantime, Jon would line up his changeup coach.
Jon hung up the phone.
He drove home and just slept, as long as he needed to, which, thankfully coincided with the crack of dawn. When he got up, he cooked himself a big breakfast: eggs, toast, bacon, orange juice, coffee. He made an early phone call, checked the internet and, in the process, tracked down the one man in Boston—the pitching wizard—he could trust to help him add a changeup pitch to his repertoire.
That was all Jon had in his power to focus on at the moment. Yeah, his day of “not helping” other people, just himself, was starting off fine. Coach Duffy—his high school mentor—still lived nearby. Now, all these years later, he worked at a local college with a top baseball program. Not Jon’s alma mater, but that worked out for the best. His “changeup” project needed to be top-secret in order to get him anywhere.
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