Air floods my lungs as I draw in a breath, waiting for the final play of the game. The screaming crowd fades to a dull roar as I zone in on the batter, readying myself for the last pitch of the night.
If he hits it within my territory, I won’t let it hit the ground.
We’re up a four-three lead on the Crowns. The New York based team hasn’t made it to the league championships in nearly thirty years, and they’re walking around our stadium like this is finally their year—like the World Series is already theirs.
It’s still early in the season, but they’re undefeated, and their stats are inflating their egos fuller than a balloon on the verge of popping. Beating the Bears would make their heads so big they could catch a lift on a stiff wind, but it’s not going to happen.
Not today.
Not on my watch.
With a runner on third, and this being the last batter up, the Bears have to work together to ensure our win. My eyes meet the catcher’s briefly, then I glance at Austin Cooper, our pitcher, but he’s laser-focused.
Drawing his arm back, his lips purse together, and he lets it fly.
The sharp crack of the ball slamming against the metal rattles through the air. The runner on third pushes off the base.
My eyes track the ball, and within seconds it slaps into my mitt with force.
The batter’s out, but I’m not done yet. With precision, I sidestep and tap the player who was on third, tagging him out too before the crowd can even react.
Then, the stadium explodes.
People are on their feet, cheering, screaming.
The sportscaster announces our victory.
My teammates plow into me, clapping my shoulder as a collective eruption of excitement overtakes the field.
A smile widens across my face, but my eyes sweep in the direction of the VIP box in the stands. Scanning the group of familiar faces—family and friends of my teammates—I search for the one person I hoped would show up.
Distinct pink hair.
Ocean blue eyes.
But she’s not there. She never is.
Instead, I’m met with the friendly smile of her brother. My best friend Dylan has his fist thrust in the air, mouth open with a cheer ringing through his vocal cords. I can’t hear him, but I feel it all the same.
A rough hand pounds onto my shoulder, pulling my attention back to the field and squeezing the muscle tightly. I glance over and see that it’s Austin.
“Drinks at the pub?” he asks, waggling his brows.
“I don’t know. I’m pretty beat.”Plus Dylan’s here, and he’ll want to go grab a bite.I don’t say it out loud, but I don’t think I have the energy for both of their personalities right now. “Plus I have to head out to the ranch in a couple hours.”
My parents own Fox Den Ranch out in Deerbrook Valley, which is about an hour away from Bridge Point. I told them I’d go out and check on the property once or twice for them since they’re in Colorado visiting our extended family. They have staff who’s there regularly, maintaining it and taking care of the horses, but the ranch isn’t their main house, and they’re diligent in making sure someone is out there a few times a month to oversee the property.
Aside from that, it just sits until me or my brother feels like heading up for a little R and R, but with Cody’s wife being sick, and having a three-year-old to care for, weekends at the ranch aren’t high on his priority list.
Twenty minutes later, I’m showered, dressed, and saying goodbye to my teammates as I walk through the locker room with my duffle slung over my shoulder, still riding the high of another Bears win.
The air changes the moment I push open the door, hot and humid disappearing to fresh and cool. Dylan’s standing just beyond the threshold waiting for me with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Dude, you and those freaking catches, I swear.” We clasp hands and pull each other into a bro-hug. “Good game, man.”
“Thanks for being there.”
We fall into step as we weave our way through the corridor. The stadium has emptied significantly, but as always, hundreds of people linger, hoping to catch a glimpse of the players as they leave.
