Gunner chewed on the information. He glanced up. “Show me the stupid grip.”
Brayden jogged over, too excited for this to happen to care if he should be running yet.
Gunner glared. “Before you get allField of Dreamson me, I’m only doing this because Tilly said my fingers were short.”
Brayden paused. “Honestly, she’s too much woman for you. She’d eat you alive.”
Gunner swore. “Shut up and show me what you’re talking about.”
Brayden showed him how to move his finger over the laces, just enough to give him more leverage with his middle finger when he threw. “Pronate that finger and you’re golden.”
“Get out of my way, old man.” Gunner set, waiting for the Newton to take his place. He threw, and the result was a beautiful cutter that sank over the back corner of the plate.
“Strike!” yelled Brayden.
Gunner smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.” Brayden bobbed his head. “Now throw twenty more.”
That night, Gunner took the mound in the top of the seventh with the Redrocks behind by two. The Colorado players and fans were ready for the game to end. There was a steady stream headed up the stairs and to the parking lot.
Brayden was in the bullpen, in the red uniform he loved, watching from under a lowered brim.
Gunner twisted his hat and set it square on his head. He took the sign from Barns with a nod. He went into the windup and threw a fastball. The batter let it go. He stepped out of the box, reset, and stepped back in. Gunner wound up and threw a cutter that would make angels cry. The batter swung and missed. Strike two. Gunner threw another cutter and earned the third strike.
Dustin smacked Brayden on the back. “Good job, Coach.”
Brayden couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his cheeks. He glanced up in time to see Gunner tip his hat towards the dugout. Brayden nodded in response.
Gunner’s performance and confidence on the mound changed the momentum for the game and the rest of the series. The Redrocks swept Colorado. Brayden took it as a sign. He was only down by two pitches with Tilly. He could do this.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tilly
Tilly checked her harness one more time for any sign of red. Red is dead. The carabiner was locked tight. She was as safe as she could be while scaling a cliff face. Her fingers itched to grip rock.
The September morning was warm enough that she didn’t need a jacket. All she had on was her climbing shirt, the one Brayden had bought her for her birthday. She’d pulled it out of the closet and smiled at the memory of that day. He’d been so sweet, waking her up with a tray of pancakes covered in whipped cream, strawberries, and nuts—even though he hated nuts in his food. He downed eggs while she made a small dent in the pancake tower. Then he left while she got dressed, and they headed up to Zion to spend the morning hiking and kissing. He’d packed lunch, but they had to be back for a game, so they ate the sandwiches in the car on the ride home. When she dropped him at the stadium, he’d kissed her slow, drawing out the goodbye until her foot popped up and she never wanted to let go.
Floating on the memory of Brayden’s arms around her, she started the climb. After Brayden had broken up with her, she’d slammed the door on the good times as a way to survive. She couldn’t look back without a giant sense of loss.
A third of the way up, her hand slipped and she concentrated on getting her handholds once again. This climb wasn’t about getting over Brayden; it was about checking in with her heart. Out here, under the sun, with the grit against her fingers and the rock under her toes, things came into focus.
She wanted to climb, wanted it to be a part of her life. She and Brayden had planned out the hard climbs, working up to those that would have them featured in magazines. She’d even talked about going pro. The drive for that life had evaporated out of her skin as she’d stared at Brayden on the canyon floor, his neck at an odd angle. But there would always be a part of her that needed to climb. Not push, push, push to the next level, but climb for the sake of climbing. To climb to feed her soul.
The Redrocks’ private plane had landed in Vegas an hour ago. Brayden would be home within the half hour. Not seeing him for four days had given her some much-needed breathing room. They had a game tonight, and she was working the A-list section. It was highly likely that she’d run into him. If the daily flowers were any indication, he was thinking about her quite a bit while out of town. He didn’t call or text—for that, she was grateful. She wasn’t sure what she’d say to him if he did call. The part of her that wanted to rail at him was shrinking.
She paused to catch her breath and check her progress. Halfway to the top. This was the point where she needed to evaluate her body. Did she have enough juice? Some of the hardest parts of the climb were still ahead of her. In some ways, she felt the same way about her and Brayden.
Tipping her chin up, she looked for the lip of the rock and couldn’t see it from where she was. Did that mean she needed to quit? No. She knew the edge was there, that if she pressed forward, she’d reach the summit and have one of the best views in the entire world. She’d feel the sunshine on her face and the wind at her back.
With a grunt, she half jumped, half flew to the next hold. She would see the climb through. And she’d see things through with Brayden. No matter how it turned out. There was no quitting.
Tilly’s arms ached in the best way possible. When she wasn’t helping a guest order food on the Redrocks’ app or finding the cotton candy vendor for the darling three-year-old in pigtails, she massaged her triceps. The crowd was happy to welcome home their winning team. The Redrocks were officially on a winning streak.
The media loved it. They had fallen for the underdogs of baseball, claiming that they had finally risen to their potential. Coach Wolfe got the lion’s share of credit. He deserved it. Brayden had told Tilly about their previous coach—he had a way of tearing down the guys and not building them back up. None of the players had been friends outside of the dugout—and even then, it was forced. The Redrocks family had become an official thing. There were even T-shirts that said “Member of the Redrocks Family” in the fan store.
The season was winding down, and it was great to go out on a high note. They had three games left, and then the stadium would be a ghost town. There were whispers of trades and bringing in new guys. Tilly tried not to pay too much attention to it all. If Brayden was still playing, then she’d be right in the thick of it. That had been the one drawback to dating a baseball player—he could be traded at any time and she’d have to pick up and move. But it was nice knowing that he wasn’t going anywhere.
