“So much for the photo book.” Chase set it aside and hurried behind Emery, just as excited about taking a break from all the stress of the past few days. As he passed Mason, he felt a firm grip on his ass, then a squeeze. Chase turned to him, and they exchanged a look before he continued down the hall.
They nabbed Timmy and Dwayne before congregating in the front yard. Like the good old days, they used trees and the fire pit as bases. Mason stood at the imaginary pitcher’s mound with Dwayne using a patch of dirt in the grass as their imaginary home plate. Chase, Emery, and Timmy manned the outfield, wearing some old catcher’s mitts they’d played with when they were younger.
Dwayne hit the ball on Mason's first pitch, catching Emery by surprise so that she had to chase after the ball, but by the time she got the ball to Mason, Dwayne had only made it to second base.
“You're up, Chase,” Emery called.
He ran up to home plate and grabbed the bat, readying himself.
“You want me to throw it underhanded?” Mason teased, giving him a hard time.
“Shut the fuck up. You know how I want you to give it to me.”
Mason smirked, obviously pleased with how true he knew that was—outside of baseball.
He pitched. Chase missed the first one.
“Dammit,” he said as he retrieved the ball and threw it back to Mason.
“You sure you don't want it underhanded?”
“Just shut up and give me a good pitch.”
“Okay. Just know you've got one strike.”
“C'mon, Chase! You got this!” Emery called out, acting as his cheerleader, but he knew the moment he hit the ball, she would be the first to try and tag him out.
“Yeah, Chase, you're all over this,” Timmy shouted.
Chase hit the tip of the bat against the ground before returning to his batting position. It reminded him of how intense their games got when they were younger. It was like they were teenagers again and Mason was using the practice to prep for the season. But despite Mason’s passion for baseball, Chase always had a passion for winning and giving it his all, just like he had during those fifth grade soccer games.
As he became determined to hit the ball, his muscles tensed up.
Mason pitched again. Chase kept his gaze fixed on the ball, calculating just the right moment to swing before he hit a line-drive that zipped right past Mason, heading for Timmy.
Dwayne hollered with excitement as he ran to third base, rounded it, and headed home.
Chase made it to second, and as he saw Timmy snatch the ball off the ground and turn, he and Mason glanced at each other.
There it was: their competitive natures returning.
Chase knew it was risky, and silly as it was, in that moment, he felt like he had something to prove, like he had to show Mason that he was just as good at that shit as he was back in the day.
Mason called out, “I fucking dare you!”
But Chase had already made up his mind as he sprinted for the third base tree.
Pure exhilaration rushed through him, coursing through his veins as he raced across the yard, feeling like a kid all over again. He was totally uninhibited, just like those nights he'd shared with Mason.
Mason made it to third base when Chase saw the ball out of the corner of his eye.
He was close. Too fucking close to lose.
He slid into third just as Mason caught the ball.
Inadvertently, his foot slammed against Mason’s, and Mason tumbled down right on top of him.
“Fuck!” Chase called out as he was crushed beneath Mason’s weight—and not in the good way. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
