Once they’ve both sat back down, the judge continues. Lydia fiddles with the hem of her flowy dress but doesn’t bounce her leg again. She’s scared, but I have her trust, which I refuse to break with the disappointment of losing this case. I’m going to take care of this, and her family, and leave Kevin as nothing more than a dead rodent on the road behind her.
This is what Rowena saw in me years ago. One look and she knew that I was going to be someone who would stop at nothing to win in this court. I poured blood, sweat, buckets of tears, and countless lost hours of sleep into this so that I can sit right here, beside people like Lydia, and know that I’m the right person to help them.
It’s because of my ruthlessness and ability to break a man down bit by bit that I am where I am. Yes, those same attributes are why I’m still single and in such desperate need of help from my best friend, but I wouldn’t change myself for anything.
Not for a date or even besting Spencer in his ridiculous obsession with my love life.
Nothing is more important to me than this right here, and that won’t ever change.
12
I listen to Wes’pitch call play in my ear and nod. The sixth hitter in the San Diego lineup gets into position at the plate and eyes me carefully. After swinging and missing a low ball and fouling off another, he’s feeling the pressure the Havoc have been applying so far tonight.
Up by a single and the only run in the game, we’re in a tight position heading into the bottom of the seventh. I need to keep from getting a San Diego hitter on base this inning. I’ve been successful up to now, but the moment I get cocky, I know karma’s going to bite me in the ass.
My desire to play the best games of my career always seems to revolve around Aubrey’s presence. There’s something about having her watching me here in our stadium that jacks up my confidence while fueling my need to win. I know she watches most of our games at home when she’s not here physically, but it’s different like this. Despite her being nowhere close to me out here on the mound, I feel her presence as if she were at my side.
Back when we were kids, she’d be at every single one of my Little League games, and once I started playing seriously, she’d do her homework in the stands just so she didn’t miss more thana handful per season. Until she started at the firm she’s at now, even her work schedule revolved around mine.
I hope she knows how grateful I am for her support, even when I get too damn busy to remind her.
Zoning back in, I adjust my grip on the ball inside my glove and blow out a prepping breath. When I move, the air stills around me in preparation for either the familiar crack of a bat for a hit or the whoosh of a strike. Rarely, the hitter will make a ball call, but again, I’m really damn good when Aubrey’s here.
Fatigue is settling into my muscles as Wes stands from his position and throws the ball he caught back to me. It’s not too hard to handle, so I ignore it and lift my glove, feeling the ball hit it a beat later.
The crowd’s screams are white noise as I set up again and listen to Wes’ call. Rodrigues, the batter in front of me, stretches his shoulders and does a few practice swings on the plate before giving the go-ahead. I eye the pitch clock out of habit and dry my palm on my thigh before repeating my motions again. This time, Wes calls for something else, and I adjust my fingers on the ball, stroking the familiar and comforting stitching a single time.
In a blink, it’s cutting through the air and curving away from the batter. It looks like it’s heading for the dirt, but it falls into Wes’ glove instead. The moving bat doesn’t faze me because I already know it isn’t going to make contact.
Wes raises his hand a beat later, and I punch the air, grinning. “That’s right!”
The crowd cheers as we finish the inning, and I add another to tonight’s stats. Jett comes up from behind me and slaps my back while the basemen follow suit. The only player who doesn’t try to come anywhere close to us is Asher. He comes in from centre field and offers me a lukewarm look that I assume is supposed to be appreciation before jogging to the dugout.
“Good shit tonight, Finn,” Jett cheers, his grin electric before dipping slightly when he looks at Asher. “We’ve still got to work on that.”
“Go for it, Dad. I doubt he’s going to want to open up to me.”
“Are we talking about Asher?” Wes asks, joining us. With a rough shake of my shoulder, he adds, “It’s your game, man. You’ve been a force out here.”
I grin, letting the praise soak in. “Got the best catcher in the lead with me. I can’t exactly let you down, can I?”
“You make me look good,” he says while still accepting the well-deserved compliment.
There’s a reason the Havoc pay him as much as they do and why they’ve had to fend off trade offers left and right over the last three seasons. Wes is an integral part of this team, and I, for one, never want to see him leave.
Trailing after Asher, the three of us fall into a brisk pace, side by side. I tug my glove off and stretch my sweaty fingers. Jett follows suit but uses his to pluck the hat off his head and mess up his hair.
“Aubrey’s here,” Jett says bluntly.
I blink, surprised by the sudden info drop. “Yes, she is. And you’re using her as a human lie-detector machine for your new nanny.”
“That’s not what I’m getting at.”
I step ahead of both my teammates and enter the dugout first. Wes moves around us and slaps hands with one of the other players while Jett drops a hand to my shoulder and turns me around. The tightness in his expression worries me enough that I don’t tease him about being so handsy.
“Asher likes Aubs. Maybe she could talk to him,” he says, dropping his voice so we’re not overheard.
“By like, you mean he can stand to speak more than ten words to her in one sitting.”
