Page 87 of Renegade Rift
At least it won’t be a shutout.
Etchers passes me on my way to the plate, and gives me a swift pat on the back. “Show 'em who we are, McCoy.”
“Renegades, baby,” I mutter, but inside me it’s a battle cry.
Because I’m the tying run.
There’s something about the batter's box that sets a fire under every player's ass, and it’s no different when I step in and take my stance. Inhaling deep, I twist my hands on the grip of the bat. I start my exhale as the pitcher winds up and releases it.
The pitch is shit. Far and outside.
Ball one.
Again, I center myself and wait. Stone and Kiefer both lead off and the Aviator’s pitcher, I think his name is Jacobs, sends the ball low and inside. It’s called a strike, which is bullshit, but I’m not about to argue with the ump.
I reset, digging my cleats into the dirt.
Breathe.
Connect.
The pitch is perfect. Right down the middle and a little on the outside. I snap my hips and swing, my bat reverberating with a crack as wood meets leather.
I know it’s out of the park long before the ball sails over the left field wall and into the crowd—who goes absolutely wild as the score ticks up, and I round the bases. None of them thought we’d be in it—hell, I was ready to call it—but here we are making the kind of comeback that only happens once every blue moon.
Stone and Kiefer are waiting for me, cheering as soon as I slam my cleat on home plate. The celebration continues in the dugout, but it’s brief as we watch our second baseman, Russel Brooks, step up to the box. He strikes out as does our designated hitter, Francisco Sharpe.
It’s up to Bishop.
He steps into the box and looks up at the owner's suite, and I swear his thoughts are written all over his face.
This one’s for Willow.
And damn if he doesn’t deliver.
Where I knocked it to left, he matches it to right.
The crowd loses it.
The team goes fucking insane.
All of us flood the field and cheer him on as he rounds the bases. It doesn’t matter that there is still one more out to be made. The game is over. We won. There is no comeback opportunity for the Aviators.
In the midst of all the chaos, I mimic Bishop’s actions and look up at the owner's suite. I can’t make heads or tails who’s who, but I know, right then and there, an addition I want to that suite.
Two more dates.
My heart soars as a Renegades chant echoes through the stadium.
This is what being on a team is all about.
This is why I can see myself staying in New York for the rest of my career.
Because magic like this doesn’t happen on every field.
Now all I need to do is convince Juliet to make magic with me off the field.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
