Page 58 of Stetson
The guy stepped up to bat, trying like hell not to make eye contact with me. He lost in the end, though, because he simply had no other choice. If he had any chance of taking this home for his team, hehadto look at me. Anyone else would have missed the signs, but I didn’t get to be the league’s top pick by being just anyone. I noticed. There was a slight tremble in his hands. He was unsteady in his stance and when our eyes met, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. I bit my tongue to keep myself from grinning.
I had this game in the bag.
Three strikes, and I was home free.
I inhaled deeply through my nose, wound up, and pitched.
Strike one.
The guy shook it off and returned to his position. The ball came back to me, and I watched closely for the catcher’s call. It was all I could do to keep myself from smirking.
Wind up, and pitch.
Strike two.
A chorus of groans from the Mayflowers’s fans echoed through the stadium. Thrashers fans began chanting, trying like hell to distract the poor guy in the batter’s box. The catcher called out, and I shook my head. That was way too easy.
But he was determined. He called for the same move, and I could see the annoyance in his posture. I gritted my teeth, considered it, then told him no again.
There was no way I’d strike the guy out with such an easy throw.
But when he directed for a third time, I knew I’d lost the battle. It was either give in, or hold up the game. I rotated the ball in my hand, meeting the batter’s eyes once more. My gut twisted. I knew this was a bad call. We still had room to work with if it ended in a hit, but we weresoclose.
Shaking it off, I wound up and pitched before I second-guessed myself too much.
And the crack of that bat made me feel sick.
The batter seemed frozen in place, almost as if he didn’texpectto hit it. It took more than a few shouts to get him moving.
I whipped around to see where the ball ended up: left field. The outfielder tossed it to second base, who sent it flying to first—a little too late.
The batter rounded first, beelining to second. The ball flew through the air, and I couldn’t bear to watch. I closed my eyes, losing myself to the roar of the crowd. The stadium fell quiet. Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes as the umpire studied their call. When nothing happened, I slowly pried my eyes open. Our second baseman crouched over the opposing team’s player. I couldn’t see anyone’s faces, only enough to notice that the batter had slid into second, but no one could be sure what happened—even the umpire.
My stomach sank as he called for a review. Our player helped the batter to his feet, and the umpire went to the sidelines to replay the cameras. I stood with bated breath, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. The announcers talked, but their voices were muffled in my ears.
Everything after that seemed to move in slow motion.
The umpire turned around and walked onto the field.
Was this taking as long as I thought it was?
He raised his arm, shoulder-height, and made a fist with his hand. I swayed, lightheaded.
Then he punched forward. “Out!”
The roar from the stands combined with the shouts from my teammates was deafening. I’d done it.We’ddone it. We were playing the fucking World Series. I found Levi behind home plate. He seemed to stand out in the crowd, brown eyes shining like diamonds. Those large hands clapped together, and a proud smile curled his lips.
I went through the obligatory celebrations with the team, but the only thing I truly wanted to do was call Barrett.
The energy in the place was something else. Some players swept tears away, pretending that they’d never been there in the first place. Others prayed, thanking their respective deities. I sat in my chair, leg bouncing a mile a minute. I was disgusting, in desperate need of a shower, but I was rooted to my spot. Typically, we’d be rushing to find the results of the other games. Either that, or the coaches would have come in and told us. But given the circumstances surrounding me and a certain catcher, no one did anything.
Surprisingly, outside of the quiet celebrations, it seemed to be like a typical game. Maybe for some of the more seasoned players, it was. But not for me. I felt like my heart was going to explode.
Finally, Levi walked through the doors. As usual, business came first when we were at work, and he made his rounds to congratulate his players. By the time he got to me, I was practically vibrating in my seat. Although instead of telling me what I wanted to know, he extended his hand. I didn’t hesitate to take it, but I wondered what the hell he was doing. “What’s?—”
“Shh.” Levi pressed a finger to my lips. “Just trust me.”
He tugged me to my feet, keeping quiet as we walked through the hall, passed under the tunnel, and back onto the field. Considering the noise that had been reverberating through the place all night, it was eerily quiet. The stands were nearly deserted. The only people to be found were the cleaners. Levi led me past home plate and to the middle of the field. On top of the pitcher’s mound, he gripped my jaw tight in both hands. “I am so fucking proud of you,” he said, right before crushing my lips in a toe-curling kiss.
