“Nope.” Brayden held up a brand-new ball. “I brought a pearl.”
Gunner smirked and held out his mitt.
Brayden shook his head. “I wanna see your grip for a cutter.”
Gunner leaned back on his leg, lifting one shoulder. “Man, give it up.”
“No. Because you’re going to learn to throw a cutter. I have one job on this team, and that is to take your sorry butt and turn it into a pitcher. Now, if Coach says you have to have a cutter, then you have to have a cutter.”
“Pft,Coach.”
Brayden had had enough of the un-earned arrogance. “Look. You’re a Redrock now. You don’t get to cop the attitude. We don’t do that here.”
“So trade me.”
“We would, but no one would take you.”
“Right.”
Brayden locked eyes with Gunner. It was time for a little cold, hard truth. “No one. You have promise, but do you think a team’s going to take a kid that has promise over someone like Montello?”
Gunner glared. “You don’t think I can out-throw Montello?”
“I know you can’t out-throw him, because you don’t have a cutter!” Brayden’s yell filled the room, bouncing off the concrete. “Now show me your darn grip.” He squeezed the ball in his hand, the seams pressing into his flesh.
Gunner cursed. He ripped the ball from Brayden’s fingers and set up for a four-seam fastball, sliding his top fingers over a couple seams and tucking his thumb under the ball.
“Well, I think we found the problem.”
“What? Riverez does this.” Gunner’s chin jutted forward.
“Right, but Riverez has spider-leg fingers. He can wrap around that ball way more than you can with your little stubbies there.”
“Ha ha.”
“Try holding a two-seam fastball grip, your thumb still tucked, and I want you to pull your pointer finger a quarter inch back so the knuckle pops off the ball.” Brayden demonstrated. It wasn’t the grip he used; his was with a flat pointer finger. “You should feel like you’re holding only half the ball.”
Gunner shook his head, but he copied the grip on his own ball. “I feel like it’s going to slip right out of my hand if I put any heat on it.” He twisted his wrist around.
“It’s leather, not butter. You’ll be fine.” Brayden stepped away from the practice mound and gave Gunner some space to work. His heart was beating fast, like it was him out there, trying a new grip, figuring out a trick that would give him an edge. Man! What a rush.
Gunner wound up and threw an easy one, testing his release. The ball bounced four feet in front of the catcher, who caught it on the way up. He lifted an eyebrow at Brayden.
Brayden scoffed. “And I guess you threw 95 miles per hour the first time too.”
“Shut up.” Gunner caught the return from Newton and worked his hand over the ball, getting the grip just right. It would take a lot of practice before he could do that in a game while hiding the ball in his mitt. If it were Brayden, he’d carry a ball around with him, sliding between a fastball grip and a cutter grip. They had a few days before Gunner would relieve, but still, this needed to work. There was a lot riding on Gunner’s ability to learn this.
“So there’s this cute girl that works here.” Gunner threw the ball with the same result.
“Lighten up on the pressure with your middle finger.”
Gunner shook his head, telling Brayden with a look that he was already as light as he dared go. Brayden let the silence answer for him.
“Anyway. I met her the other day. Tilly?” He lifted his gaze from the ball to Brayden’s face.
Brayden’s jaws snapped together as if he’d taken the bait.
“I heard you two used to go out.”
