I shook my head as I washed my hair. We had a game today, and I needed to get focused. Granted, Houston’s team wasn’t having a great season, but you couldn’t walk into a series thinking like that. Every team had off days, and anyone might get shoved down the rankings if they let down their guard. As the first baseman, it was my job to end runs, especially early in the game. The pressure fueled me, reminding why I’d fought so hard for my spot on the field.
Most days before a game, I spent time alone, maybe in the gym to warm up my muscles. I never hooked up with anyone the night before a game. I’d done it once in college and played the worst game of my life, and I swore I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
But once again, when Brianna’s hazel eyes met mine, allcommon sense escaped me. I lost myself in her, trading my focus to see the smile light up her face.
The smart move would’ve been to forget about Brianna, pretend I’d never noticed her list.Focus on baseball, move on to more faceless one-night stands. Less messy.I stepped out of the shower, and the evidence of our night together met my gaze—nail marks down my chest, fingertip bruises from where Brianna clung to me as she came undone. My hands traced over each one, and I knew there was no going back, at least not yet. I’d been in the game for too long to let a woman distract me, and yet, the idea of walking away from my arrangement with Brianna made me pause. She’d already clawed her way under my skin, and I’d be damned if I was the one who blinked first.
Now was the time I’d normally try to redraw the lines between us, to take us back into that safe and comfortable no-strings attached zone. But my instincts screamed at me to do the opposite, to pull Brianna in close instead of pushing her away.
After getting dressed, I grabbed my phone, seeing a message waiting for me from Parker.
Parker: Ollie’s bringing Bri to the game today. Told me to give you a heads up, even though she wouldn’t tell me why.
A wide smile filled my face, grateful for the devious little matchmaker. The rules might have said Brianna and I could only be together in secret, but I couldn’t deny the spark that burrowed in my chest, knowing she’d be out in the stands, cheering me on.
Damien: Ok.
Parker: Ok? That’s all you’re going to give me?
With a smirk on my face, I dropped my phone into the bag, feeling a lot more confident about the game this afternoon.
Glaring up at the scoreboard,I stretched my arms out, trying to focus as the batter stepped up to the plate. Tied. Fucking tied. Not the way any of us wanted to start off the series. Playing at home was a different beast, and tonight was no exception. When the Hawks first joined the league three years ago, no one knew if the fans would show up for us. There were already several legacy teams in the Northeast, teams that frequently ended up making it to the championship rounds. They had a wicked fanbase—fierce and loyal, no matter how their teams performed.
But Erie City shocked everyone by showing up for our team almost from the start. After last year, when we made it to the final rounds, the stands were filled to the max, and more fans seemed to root for our team every night.
However, with the stadium packed tonight, even more pressure weighed on our shoulders, especially mine. As one of the most veteran players, the media loved to focus on my game and use it as a barometer of our team’s performance. If this were ten years ago, it’d fuck with my head. My rookie season was with the New York Rebels, one of the oldest teams in the country. Their legacy was fierce, but their fans were even fiercer. Over the eight years I spent with them, I learned to tune out the outside noise, only listening to my teammates and coaches. You’d never make everyone happy; someone was always on the sidelines, waiting for you to fail.
The only thing you could count on was yourself, and I made it my mission to leave everything on the fieldeach game.
Houston’s batter approached the plate and looked right at me with a sly smirk. I’d already stopped two of the players this inning, and I was determined to end it before they got any more runs. Blocking out all the surrounding noise, I focused on the ball, watching as the pitcher wound up and threw it with all his might. The batter swung, but the ball soared past him into the catcher’s glove. He cursed as the board lit up with the strike animation, but I blocked it out, focusing on the man’s mannerisms.
After so many years on the field, a lot of the newer players bled together, but they all had one thing in common: the drive to prove themselves. So many times, it painted a target on my back, especially when I was up at bat. They wanted to be the ones to strike out a seasoned player, and I couldn’t fault them for it.
But I also wouldn’t make it easy for them.
My eyes never strayed from the ball as it hurled through the air yet again, but this time, it collided with the batter’s swing. The ball glided through the air, over our second baseman’s head and into the outfield. As the batter took off running in my direction, Cam did the same, his gloved hand outstretched to catch the fly ball. He did so with ease, twisting before the ball careened in my direction.
Fuck. It was too high. My arm stretched, screaming in resistance as I forced my frame to make up the difference. Muscles twinged and twisted, but I refused to back down, not when the ball was just out of reach. It tried to fly past me, but it hit the edge of my glove, dropping into the pocket. As if someone suddenly hit the play button, my body dropped ungraciously next to the base, only milliseconds before the runner slid into the bag.
“Out!” the base umpire called.
A smile ticked up the corners of my mouth as the inningended, in desperate need of a drink and a couple of minutes out of the blaring heat. As I stretched out my glove, my arm still ached, muscles sore and spent after pushing past their limits. I shook it off, hoping it wasn’t anything serious. In the past, these aches would be gone by the time I reached the dugout, but now, it was getting harder to shake off. There’d been plenty of horror stories over the years. One wrong move, and guys’ long careers were over, trading in their uniforms for surgical gowns and practice for physical therapy.
“Fuck,” Cam breathed heavily as he came up to my side. “That guy was too goddamn fast. Didn’t think we’d pull that one off.”
“Have some faith, kid,” I chuckled, trying to stretch out my shoulder. “He was too hungry for the run. Should have waited a little longer for a better pitch.”
Cam frowned as he watched my movements. “You good, D?”
“Yeah, just a twinge in my shoulder.”
“Shit,” he said, stepping closer. “You want me to call someone over?”
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I snapped before shaking my head. “Sorry, Seda. It’s nothing to worry about. Just focus on getting a good hit.”
His eyes darted up to the outfield, smirking when he spotted someone waiting for him. “Gotta. Promised my girls I’d get a run in for them. If I don’t, they’re never gonna let me live it down.”
I followed his eye-line, finding Hadley, wrapped around his seven-year-old daughter, Emilia. The little girl was a spitfire, much like Cam’s better half, and she had no problem calling him out if he made a bad play. After growing up on the baseball field,Emilia knew more about the game than most of the rookie players. I’d tried to get some of that love of the game to rub off on my nieces during playdates and family day, but none of them had any sort of interest.
