Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Breslin POV
J imenez turned his hat inside out and threw it on backwards. Yeah, eighth inning and we still needed a run. Meyers had kept the other team scoreless for six, despite all his prima donna whining.
I glanced around. That jerk needs to be over here supporting his team. So where is he? It'd been a little . . . awkward at first. Trying to lighten up, open my mouth, maybe even have a little fun.
It'd occurred to me, somewhere in the middle innings, that I'd been missing a sense of gratitude. Missing out on the opportunities in front of me. Missing . . . the player that I was. Had always been.
When have I ever been the guy sulking in the back of the room? In high school, I'd been team captain, leading by example. Picking up my teammates when they were down.
It sucked having all that taken away. Having to start over. Climbing up from a bottom rung I'd never had to start from before. I'd earned a starting role just by playing, by being who I was.
And I'd been so buried in grief and anger, I hadn't been me in . . . so long.
A cheer rose from the crowd. I dragged my attention back to the field. Light sparked in my eyes. Wavered. My head throbbed. I shut my eyes and held onto the rail.
“Hey, you ok?” Jimenez's voice hissed near my ear.
“Fine.”
“You sure? Maybe you should sit down. Take it easy.”
I frowned at the dirt outside the dugout. “You've been hanging out with that wannabe doctor.”
“Hilda, my goddess. Just remember this: if you fall down and land on your head, I’ll just step over your carcass on my way to the field. Cause I'm playing in the actual game .”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Fendleman came by and grabbed my hat, turned it inside out and slapped it back on my head. A little too hard. Lights swam in front of my eyes for an instant. I was fine, though. Just needed more sleep.
He settled next to me. Met my gaze and raised his chin. “Be ready.”
I huffed. “Sure.” Yeah, right. No way coach puts me in. But at least I was here. And even though I'd spent so much of the past eight months bitter and angry that my life hadn't turned out differently . . . The chat I'd had with him before the game, actually gave me some hope.
Sitting on the bench, Fendleman pulled his shoes from his bag. Untied the laces. He worked quietly, eyes cast down. I got the impression he was thinking.
“Saw you at baseball camp.”
I shrugged. “Think we've all done our time in camp.”
“National camp. Before your senior year.”
Oh. “That whole summer's a blur.” I leaned against the rail, my back facing the field. “Things were pretty bad at home.”
“Yeah, tough break.” He bent to tie his cleat. Knotted the laces and righted himself. “My dad took off when I was fifteen. Didn't come back.” He worked the knot out of his other shoe. “It's not exactly the same as you, but the upheaval, the loss. I get it.”
I nodded. What could I say to that?
“You're a hell of a third baseman, though. I think you prefer centerfield. But coming from a third baseman. You were something to watch.” He glanced up as he finished tying his shoe.
I kicked at some dirt. “You're right, I prefer center.”
“Man, the way you drilled that ball to first base, on one knee. I could see why you were going pro. I know it was a downer to get ousted from the draft, but you can be a real leader here. When me and Dereks and Kins graduate, you fish are the future of the team. No junior and only a couple of sophomores could step in and take the captain title.”
Strange fizzy bubbles churned inside. I took in a breath.
“Honestly, man, the way you've been acting, it's not gonna be you. But it could be. I remember who you were then. And that something, it's still in there. I know it. We just gotta reignite it.” He stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I wanna see you on third base next year. But you're gonna have to earn it.”
I pressed my lips together. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be here next year, but I knew better than to say that.
“So, from here on out, I'm gonna kick your ass every day until you get it together,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You get me?”
I rubbed the back of my head. “Is this how you make friends?”
“No, it's how you make friends. I'm speaking your language right now. I'm meeting you where you're at. You've been a real asshole. I'll be a bigger one until you get your shit together.”
I found Meyers on the back bench. “You done?”
“I can go.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Your tells are all there. You're done.”
He opened his eyes and scowled at me. “I'll go.”
“We may need a right-hander. You've done a hell of a job. Might be a reliever after all.”
“Bite me. And fuck off.” He seethed. “I don't need your pep talk. Just go back to being the self-absorbed tool you've always been. What do you want anyway?”
“You've got your hat on the wrong way.” I grabbed his cap from his head, turned it inside out and handed it back. He gave me a tired look and put it over the loose strands of sweat-slicked hair. “Come on. Be part of the team. You're done for the night.”
“I told you I can still go, asshole.”
I shrugged. “Right now, It's rally time. We need runs.”
Bottom of the eighth. One out. The top of the order came up again. Azocar held out his bat and dug into his stance at the plate.
The Arizona pitcher wound up and threw. His motion consistent, but not as sharp as earlier in the game. Ball one. A smattering of claps and cheers. “Way to watch, way to watch.”
“Good eye.”
“Come on Azo!”
I liked to watch the pitcher. Helped me understand their delivery when I was at the plate. It also helped me know how to time my baserunning, when I was already onboard.
Pitchers were creatures of habit. They had to be. Needed to be able to deliver the exact same pitch in the exact same spot in the exact same way. They were also superstitious.
This guy rocked back and forth three times on the pitching rubber before he went into his wind up. He sent a change up over the plate, but it dropped too low. Azo held up his swing, ball two.
“He may be done,” I muttered over my shoulder at Meyers.
“He's dog assed tired. That's a Texas term.” He nodded with a hint of a smile.
“Wonder how long they'll leave him.”
He squinted one eye. “Part of a new pitching platoon. They're still testing his limits.”
Pain shot through my head, behind the bridge of my nose. I closed my eyes and gritted out: “Good for us.”
“Better be. I did my job.”
I let out a sigh. Always been a prima donna. No doubt always will be.
“You know I heard this rumor.” Fendleman swiped at Meyers' cap, turning it backwards on his head. Hair everywhere, he pulled the thing off. He shot the captain a scowl after tucking his flow back in his collar.
“Yeah?” Meyers grumbled. “What's that?”
“It's called a team sport because none of us win or lose on our own.”
“Up yours Fens.”
“You sound just like this asshole,” Ryles said and jerked his thumb at me.
Pretty sure the whole team had called me an asshole at this point. Maybe there was a reason.
Maybe they were right.
The stadium crowd grew lively. Azocar jogged to first base on ball four.
“Woo, Azo!” Jimenez moved and tossed a baserunning helmet to Nevins, the first base coach. Azocar swapped out his gear. Scuffed his cleat against the bag, then took his lead off the base. Pitcher looked his way. Azo leapt back to first. This was it, the start of our rally.
I could feel it.
The crowd continued to cheer as Kinsley, centerfielder, walked up to the plate. Kins swung the bat low, back and forth a couple of times before raring back into his stance. A curveball caught the low outside corner for strike one. He worked out his arms and then drew his arms back, keeping the bat a bit lower than shoulder height. The next pitch, if I had the sequence down, would be a breaking ball.
“Shouldn't throw it.” I mumbled at Meyers.
“Which one?”
“He hasn't been able to get his breaking ball to stay in the strike zone. He misses high and Kinsley'd better shove it down his throat.”
Meyers grinned.
The Arizona pitcher wound up. Arms up near his head, his leg kicked up and forward. He stretched, arm extending to deliver the pitch. The breaking ball stayed high and outside. Kins swung!
He crushed the ball in a long line drive to left center. Arizona's centerfielder raced back, catching the bounce off the fence. He heaved a throw toward the short stop in shallow center. Azocar trucked through second and headed for third.
The stands jumped and cheered. Eberhardt held Azo at third. Kins rounded first, as if making a break for second, then retreated back to the bag. Triumphant music erupted from the loudspeaker.
Ninety feet. Azocar was ninety feet from tying up this game. With Kinsley on base and only one out against us, this was our time to strike.
Sound echoed in my head. A strange warble. I blinked and everything came back into focus.
Just in time to see the Arizona third baseman jogging backward, stop. He caught the fly ball, forcing Azo and Kinsley to tag up. Chessup was out—our right fielder. He usually carried a hefty bat and heftier batting average, but this pitcher had had his number all night. One pitch, one swing, a second out. I could've clobbered him. Make him pitch to you. Wear him down if nothing else. I sighed.
Galena the DH was up to bat. Man, we couldn't strand our runners here. Not now.
Galena swung on the first pitch. He hit a high chopper to short, and we were out of the eighth. Dammit!
Meyers let out a long breath.
“I think you're done.”
“I think you're a dick.” He grabbed his glove. “I say when I'm done.”
“Don't give me that 'watch me rise' crap again. I will use it against you if you go out there and flub.”
“Then watch this rise.” Meyers held up his middle finger.
“I'd rather watch your MPH rise, but I'm not holding my breath.”
“It'd give you some wicked flow, though man. Really brush it back and away from your pretty boy face.” Jimenez made a show like he had long flowing hair, instead of the Brillo pad that laid on top of his head.
I chuckled.
“Just go play human backstop.” Meyers groused.
“Like a champ.” Jimenez saluted.
I wanted to be out there. I ached to play. Every muscle in my body felt cramped and bored and on edge. I caught a glimpse of Milline bending down again. That nice round rear of hers filling out her yoga pants in ways that made me want to invite her back to my dorm after the game.
Certainly my “girlfriend” should put in regular appearances there? Just in case?