Page 3 of Convincing the Catcher

I give Gigi a sign for a rise ball and flash her my mitt before I put my glove in the dirt. Just like thousands of times before, I raise it when it’s time to catch the ball, once again loving the feeling and the sound it brings when it hits the leather.

The sun is going down, and practice is almost over. I’m tired, but I also don’t want it to end.

Man, I love this game.

CANE

“This is a stupid fucking idea,” I growl, standing by the fence as a few of my teammates spray-paint shit on our rival’s dugout. “Let’s go. I thought you were just going to take a picture of you pissing on their grass or some shit. This is too far.”

“Hey, they started it,” my teammate, Liam, yells, his voice slurring from the few drinks he had.

I grind my back teeth, turning away from them. “I’m out of here. Find your own ride home.”

As I stalk toward my truck, I don’t even have the driver’s door open before they are all barreling toward it. Liam climbs into the back while Huck throws an empty can of spray paint at the dugout and opens the passenger door.

“Roll out, Cap!” Huck yells, and I stomp on the gas, driving out of the dark parking lot.

“That’s not what the fuck I brought you here for!” I growl at them, smashing my hand against the steering wheel. “What happened to you wearing a stupid fucking mask and sending them a video of you pissing on their field?”

Both are quiet for a moment, but eventually, Liam sighs. “I got here, and I just got mad. I mean, they put their trash all through our dugout the other night. Fuck is that about?”

“It’s trash, dipshit! Not fucking spray paint!” I yell, getting angrier by the second because with shit like this, the truth always comes out. And I was here with them. How the hell is that going to look?

Maybe reality hits them that they took it too far because the ride home is quiet. And somehow, deep in my stomach, I know this is going to be bad for us.

Really fucking bad.

TWO

HARLEY

I shoot my mom a message, asking how my father is doing today, before I slip my phone back into my pocket.

“Did you hear about some of the baseball team?” Haven asks me as we get our coffees at Coffee Hut.

“No, what?” I say, grabbing my cup as the barista slides it across.

With our coffees in hand, we head toward a table in the corner.

“You know how Casco Bay put trash all through the baseball team’s dugout a few weeks ago?” she whispers, and I nod. “Well, apparently, some of the guys from the team went out there and fucked with them back. Only … way worse. They spray-painted their whole dugout.” She looks around, her eyes widening. “They may be kicked off the team, I guess.”

“That’s such a stupid thing to do. Like, why?” I take a sip of coffee. “Are we not adults, playing college ball? This is why the female species is the intelligent one …”

“Word,” she agrees with a nod.

I hear the door opening but don’t bother turning around to see who it is. But Haven widening her eyes tells me that maybe I should.

“Speak of the devil,” she mutters, looking down.

Glancing over my shoulder, I take in the sight of Cane Hale walking up to the counter.

“Him?” I gasp. “Are you serious?”

“Word around campus is, he was definitely there. No one is sure yet on who actually committed the crime though.” She pauses. “He has a huge following on social media, and let me tell you, people are going to rip him apart on there.” She shakes her head. “Such a waste of a hot, talented man to be that stupid.”

I look from her to NEU’s star pitcher and back again, wondering how in the world someone with so much talent could make a mistake like that. Then again, his stepfather is a retired NHL player and now an assistant coach for the hockey team here at NEU. Obviously, he’s not thinking about how much money those dugouts costs. Casco Bay is a nice college, and I know because I read an article online that they’d just had new dugouts built last spring.

Strewing trash everywhere is bad enough, but using literal spray paint? Why would anyone think that was a good idea?