Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Olivia POV
I decided I didn't exactly care whether I was supposed to cheer or not. The press section and the scouting seats were largely empty. A true testament to the fact that the freshmen would be the ones carrying the team—sooner rather than later.
Schorr had been recruiting heavily since being back at the helm, and the proof was landing five of the top-ranked high schoolers, as well as Antonio from one of the IML Dominican academies.
Still, with only one member of the crop of newcomers guaranteed to take the field tonight, I couldn't lie, I was filled with doubts.
The starting pitcher took the mound. Rylander, a senior and a right-hander from Mississippi who didn't get many starts last year. He'd mainly taken on a long reliever role. But Eberhardt had been working with the pitching platoon, challenging the whole lot, trying them in different roles during fall ball.
But none of our pitching lineup were getting looks from the scouts. It was still early for the ‘fish’, but it was Rylander’s, Ryles’s, senior year—and he wasn't turning any heads.
He wound up and delivered a pitch over the plate. High and tight. Too high, ball one.
The Arizona U leadoff hitter stepped out of the batters’ box and took a practice swing. I glanced over at the home team dugout. Eberhardt leaned against the railing, observing Rylander's every move.
That's really where I need to be . At the bottom of the inning, I'd check to see if my press pass would get me there.
I’m sure my baseball boyfriend will be thrilled to see me. My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. I had plenty of friends inside that dugout. That’s all that matters.
“Take your base.” The umpire pointed at first.
I groaned. That, and getting a damned batter out. “Come on Rylander—throw some damned strikes!”
(Breslin)
The first game of the season always played rougher than the rest. I'd never sat out an exhibition game before, but this was definitely the pits. Rylander didn't make it two innings. Pretty sure he walked half the Arizona Black Bear roster, including gift wrapping and handing them a run in each of the two he “pitched”. I'd definitely use the term loosely if I were you .
“Geez, what a lousy start.” I shook my head and sat down on the bench.
“Yeah. He looked like a ghost out there. Not sure what the deal was, but I couldn't calm him down.” Jimenez ducked into the dugout. He set down his glove and mask, and made quick work of usdx.
The other team took the field as our dugout came alive: shuffling and grumbling, shucked gloves and tossed water bottles.
“We need our offense to catch on.”
“Yeah. I've heard that's how it all works.” Jimenez leaned against the rail.
“You're a real asshole.”
“Used to be nice. Then I started hanging around you.” He pointed at me. “Pretty sure if all the assholes in the world got together, they'd elect you king.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don't elect kings.” What a dick.
“Assholes would.”
“You’re just a wannabe asshole, then.” I tucked my hands behind my head.
“You gonna insult the guys who actually go on the field 'mano?” He frowned down at me. “Or you gonna do something to liven this place up?”
“Like what? I don't usually sit the bench.”
“You ever heard of, I dunno, cheering for your team? I think even an asshole can manage that.”
I stood up and took the spot next to him at the rail. “They have to do something worth cheering for.”
Crack! The ball sailed toward the right field fence. Jimenez nudged my shoulder. “Get out!” He yelled at the ball. It looked short of a home run, but I figured it didn't hurt.
“Come on, go!”
It hit off the top of the fence and bounced into play. Stanton took a wide turn at first base. He raced toward second. The right fielder heaved the ball at the cutoff man.
“Slide!” I yelled and half climbed the railing out onto the field.
Arizona's second baseman stepped off the base to catch the throw. He snagged it and swiped at Stanton. He slid under the tag. Safe.
“Yeah!” I clapped as Jimenez whistled.
A couple of other players joined us. The field lights blared overhead, turning a November evening practically into daytime. Crisp air bit my cheeks and slid down the back of my shirt. A lightness hummed in my abdomen, it felt warm and familiar.
“Hit him home, Fendleman!”
The line of us attached to the rail cheered. Stanton took a lead off second. The Arizona pitcher glanced over his right shoulder. He wound up. Stanton took another step toward third.
The whole stadium was practically silent while the pitcher delivered a curveball wide of the plate.
“That was a ball.” Rylander took up the piece of railing next to me. He looped his arms over the iron bar.
“You'll get 'em next time,” I said the words without looking at him. But I actually meant them.
“We gotta get out of the jam I got us into.” He breathed a heavy sigh.
“I'll let you in on a secret.”
“What's that?”
“We play something called a team sport. Because no one person loses or wins the game on their own.”
He scowled up at me. “Always knew you were a smartass Coop.”
I moved his hat around so it sat backwards on his head. “Shake it off Ryles. You'll have plenty of time to berate yourself when you're running laps for Coach come Monday. Maybe even after the game tonight.”
“Probably both. And he'll swing by the dorm to make me run extra tomorrow, too.”
I chuckled as the pitcher hurled another pitch. Fendleman swung, sending the ball into deep centerfield. Stanton tagged up, waited for the catch and easily waltzed into third.
We clapped as Fendleman ducked into the dugout. “Way to hit.”
He glanced up and met my gaze. Dark eyebrows pinched into a frown. A weighted knot formed in my stomach. Come on, Fendleman. Gimme a fuckin break.
The corner of his mouth curved, and he held up his hand. I high-fived him, and he wedged in next to me. Ryles moved a bit further down. Fendleman put a hand on the pitcher's back, turning his head to speak in a low tone. I caught Ryles nodding, eyes down. Then he lifted his chin. “Thanks, man.”
Jimenez moved. “I'm on deck.” He grabbed his bat and a helmet and climbed the steps to the field.
Dereks dug in at the plate. He held his bat out and then pulled it to his shoulder. Stanton took his lead off of third. The Arizona pitcher glanced at him. He didn't like having the runner at the corner, threatening a run.
A run we needed.
One out, runner in scoring position, Dereks just had to hit it away from third base—right field, right base line, deep center. Another sac fly wouldn't be ideal, but it'd work. A hit to get on base would be even better. With a bit of aggressive baserunning, he could take second and be in position to score when Jimenez came up.
Just don't strikeout. Come on. Out loud I yelled: “You've got this.” Fendleman and Ryles whooped. Jimenez took practice swings in the on deck circle.
The pitcher wound up and delivered. Dereks swung. Strike. Dammit. Now he was behind in the count. Stanton took a wider lead off third. The pitcher turned. Stanton darted back toward the bag.
Bottom of the second, down two to nothing wasn't the end of the world. But if we couldn't mount some offense here, if we couldn't get Stanton over the plate, the momentum shift our team needed would slip through our fingers.
The pitch. Dereks swung. The ping of the ball off his bat. It shot over the head of the pitcher, straight up the line toward second. The pitcher leapt for it, but the ball flew into shallow centerfield. Stanton had to tag up. The opposing team's outfielder raced forward, trying to catch the ball before it hit the ground. Dereks tore down the baseline toward first.
Arizona's centerfielder dove for the ball, but he couldn't come up with it. Stanton took off. Dereks tagged first. The whole line of us howled for our teammate as he crossed home.
I let out a sharp breath. High fived several of my team on the sidelines. Adrenaline charged my system and we all swatted our appreciation at Stanton's shoulder as he made it back to the bench. Kinsley hopped up. He grabbed his gear, then headed out to the on deck circle.
Jimenez was up. A runner on base. Two outs left for the inning. He tapped his bat on his cleats and made the sign of the cross before stepping into the box.
I swear, if you hit into a double-play, I'm going to punch you.
The pitcher threw high and inside. Jimenez jerked out of the way to avoid getting hit. He stepped back, outside the box. The pitcher received the ball back from the catcher. He glanced at first and threw to the infielder. Dereks slid into the bag. Safe.
I turned and caught sight of Meyers. Baseball gripped in his left hand, he stretched his arm, then flexed. He glanced up, shot me a glare, then returned to his exercises.
That knotted up feeling returned. But . . . We needed him.
I sat a full person-length away from him. “How’s the arm?”
“I wasn't aware I'd won the consolation prize. Coop suddenly gives a shit how I’m doing?”
“Nope, just the arm.” I studied my hands.
He let out a huff with a small curve of his mouth. “More like it.”
A cheer rose from the crowd. Someone yelled: “Get out! Come on!”
Then a loud “awww.” As the ball went foul.
“I'm not used to this reliever shit.”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “What’s the difference?”
“Control of the game. Walking in with two runs already on the board. When you start, they’re your runs. You know the pitches that put them there. Now, I feel blind and behind.” He pulled off his hat and ran a hand over his hair. “Long reliever's a joke.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, you’re an asshole.”
I chuckled. “I’ve heard. Anyway, if you’re done whining like we’re back in little league and you didn’t get your favorite snow cone flavor after the game?—”
“Let me guess: suck it up, buttercup?” He sneered.
“Close. Either figure it out or tell coach you’re not capable of the mental control it takes to clean up messes.” It took everything I had not to grin. “You’re either a reliever or you’re not. Most of the time relievers are brought in to clean up messes. That's the job.” I stood and crossed my arms over my chest. “So decide what you’re gonna be, suck it up, and be that. No excuses. No apologies.”
“I’ll make you choke on those words.” He seethed.
Like taking candy from a baby. I had no doubt he’d be laser focused when he went back out there. Just to prove me wrong.
I stared at the front of the dugout and the slice of baseball field beyond. Looks like Jimenez made it to first, and Dereks is on second. I cast a glance back at Meyers, but he was fixated at some point over in the far corner. I followed his gaze to see a woman’s form.
Dark-colored fabric hugged her hips, a maroon jacket dripped from her left shoulder. She knelt on one knee, blond hair up in a ponytail, her camera covered her features. But I'd know her anywhere.
Milline. I shook my head. I should’ve asked for something better in exchange for that press pass.
I can ask my girlfriend later. Since I’m no longer on rest. I shook my head, shoving the non-baseball thoughts aside and took up my spot at the rail. We were still short a run. And it took every member of the team to win.