Chapter Four
Razor tugged the zipper up on her fleece jacket and shivered as a gust of wind blew past. Jonesboro in January was as pleasant as a ski resort without the fresh powder.
Ice covered more surfaces than snow. The wind dried out her eyes and bit into her skin, poking needles straight to the bone.
Luckily, no new ice was forecast for the week.
Razor thanked whatever Mother Nature was able to give as she shook off the chill and hauled her equipment bag from her truck.
The path from the parking lot wound down the left side of the field, toward the third base dugout.
Razor noticed the bullpen next to the dugout entrance, and it was full.
Nancy and Ashton stood at the gate, watching the players, pointing and talking about specific ones.
At one point they laughed, and Razor felt her own smile grow.
Three players stood to their left, going through stretches and warm-up drills, but one stood on the rubber ready to go.
Summer Storm. The name would’ve been funny if the woman behind it didn’t look so fierce.
She looked like a storm, ready to unleash her wrath against any batter that dared to step into the batter’s box.
Her long, auburn hair was in a braid draped over her right shoulder, and when she strode forward, it whipped around like a tornado.
She was intense, for sure. Razor dropped her bag and leaned on the fence, admiring the talent and willing her heart to calm at the prospect of working with her.
“You made it!”
Razor turned and saw Ashton’s smiling face as she perched next to her on the fence.
They stood silently and watched Summer go through her motions. Her thighs flexed as she bent low to the ground, which allowed her to generate power. She rose deliberately, stretching her arms above her head. Her left leg exploded forward and planted solidly in the dirt as she released the ball.
Razor heard a small whrring noise and pushed back from the fence, looking at Ashton, shocked.
“Did I just hear what I think I heard?”
Ashton nodded. “That would be the spin on the ball, my friend.”
Razor turned back in time to see another throw with the same result, the same sound.
“Wow.”
“Wow is right.”
They continued watching, Razor seeking any flaws and finding none. No hitch in her stride. Nothing. Summer floated across the dirt, and Razor felt a familiar stirring in her chest. She was anxious to get behind the plate and catch for this girl.
Feeling as if she was being watched, Razor turned and caught Ashton looking at her almost dreamily. Her skin tingled under the scrutiny, and it unnerved her.
“What?” she asked, startling Ashton out of her stupor.
“I’m just so happy you’re here,” she confessed.
Razor’s cheeks burned. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t agreed to this.”
Her blush subsided and embarrassment exploded in its place. “I only agreed to one practice, remember?”
Ashton shoved her arm. “The way you’re admiring Summer right now, I’d say you’re fully committed.” Razor opened her mouth to argue, but Ashton stopped her with a gentle hand. “But I won’t make any assumptions.”
“You already have.”
“Okay. I won’t make any more,” Ashton promised.
Razor nodded and hefted her bag onto her shoulder. “Then let’s get started. I’m late enough as it is.”
* * *
Ashton followed Razor down the dugout steps and watched her unpack her gear at the far end of the bench.
When Razor removed her jacket and revealed a fitted long-sleeve thermal shirt, she gawked.
The skintight shirt left nothing to the imagination, including the muscles in Razor’s shoulders and back.
Ashton had always been a sucker for muscle definition.
Forget breasts or legs—well, not entirely—she loved a beautifully toned back.
Her arm reached toward Razor, as if of its own volition, so she could feel those muscles move underneath her fingertips. The loud smack of sneakers against concrete stopped her as Courtney hopped down from the dugout fence and into her line of sight.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” Courtney said to Razor. “I know it’s a big ask.”
Razor pulled her chest guard over her head and turned around to reply but stopped.
“Ashton, you okay?” She looked genuinely concerned.
“I’m fine,” Ashton squeaked.
Courtney and Razor looked at each other and shrugged, but Ashton noticed Courtney biting her lip.
She’d been caught, and she did her best to glare at Courtney and silently tell her to keep her mouth shut.
To Ashton’s relief, Courtney made a key locking motion over her lips.
At least Ashton wouldn’t be embarrassed any further.
“All right! The pitcher whisperer is in the house.” Nancy’s voice reverberated down the concrete walls. A noticeable wince crossed Razor’s face. “Summer’s all warmed up and ready to go.”
Razor clipped the last strap across her leg and grabbed her helmet and glove from the bag. “Actually, if it’s okay with Coach Dyer, I’d like to practice with the team first.”
Courtney nodded. “Works for me. I’ll call everyone in and make introductions.”
“But Summer is ready now,” Nancy said as Courtney passed. “She’s going to get cold.”
Ashton felt the growing tension and immediately stepped in.
“Actually, it’s good for Razor to learn about the team first. After all, if she decides to stay, she and Summer are going to spend a lot of time together. Plus, this will help Summer learn patience. That she can’t always dictate the pace.”
Nancy plastered on a sickly sweet smile and glared at Courtney. “Whatever the coach wants. Let us know when you’re ready.”
Nancy returned to the bullpen to placate a confused and aggravated Summer, who stood near the gate. The power play reminded Ashton of Razor’s phrase the night before, and she hoped this didn’t foreshadow the tension to come.
“Listen up, team,” Courtney shouted, bringing down the volume when everyone huddled closer.
“I know the last two days have been a whirlwind with the loss of Taylor. I’m sure you have questions, and I’ll do my best to answer them once practice concludes.
But right now, we need to focus on the upcoming season.
You’ve all made vast improvement, and we all want that to continue. ”
Ashton saw the hand of their center fielder, Tori, shoot up from the back.
No surprise. Tori was always the first to ask questions of any kind, always wanting to be informed.
Her dark features were pinched, confusion evident, before her eyes shifted over to Razor.
She popped her hip out and narrowed her eyes.
“Yes, Tori?”
“What are we going to do about a catcher?” Tori asked.
Courtney smiled and patted Razor’s shoulder, then pulled her forward. “This is my old friend and teammate from college, Razor Mitchell. She’s agreed to help us out today.”
Snickering flowed through the group.
“Who names their kid Razor?”
Ashton recognized the voice of shortstop Emery Dillon, their only senior and resident sass mogul. She opened her mouth to call her out, but Razor beat her to it.
“It’s the nickname your team gives you when you show up to first practice with a razor cut.”
The snickering stopped. “Are you serious?” Emery asked.
Razor shrugged. “Maybe. Shall we get started?”
Ashton bit back a laugh, but Courtney had no qualms and chuckled loudly. “This is going to be fun. Everyone in position. Let’s make Razor’s visit worth the trip.”
The team dispersed to their positions, and for the next thirty minutes, Ashton watched in awe as Razor didn’t miss a beat with her catching, throwing, and tag drills.
The poise and precision were reminiscent of when they were back at San Diego State.
Only now, Ashton openly admired Razor because she could.
Nothing stood between them. Well, almost nothing.
* * *
Razor panted as she pulled the helmet, now slick with sweat, off her head.
The cold she’d been cursing nearly an hour ago was a relief to her heated, sweaty skin.
The wet strands sticking to her neck cooled as she gulped greedily from the water bottle.
She’d kept herself in pretty good shape the last few years, but her stamina had waned and needed to be rebuilt.
“You were pretty impressive out there.”
Razor turned and saw three players walking toward her, recognizing them as the third baseman, shortstop, and center fielder, though she couldn’t remember their names.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Emery,” the blonde said and stuck out her hand. “I play shortstop.”
Razor accepted the handshake. Emery seemed nice enough, and she was skilled with her reaction time. The firmness of her handshake told Razor she wasn’t some frail princess. She was an athletic warrior.
“Nice to meet you.” She turned her attention to the woman next to Emery. “And you’re the third baseman, right?”
She took Razor’s hand, her expression guarded.
“Sabrina Hernandez.”
Razor nodded and smiled.
With a stern glare that sized Razor up with uncertainty, it was obvious Sabrina was fiercely protective of her team, and trust would not be given easily.
However, the smirk playing around her lips told Razor she was impressed with Razor’s skill set.
That boded well, should she decide to continue this journey.
“And you’re Tori, correct?”
The tall Black woman nodded and gave a handshake as well.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Razor said. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Emery turned to Sabrina and Tori before asking, “We just wanted to introduce ourselves properly, and—”
“And we want to know the real reason why you’re here,” Tori said.
Razor sighed. She did her best to come up with a satisfying explanation without circumventing Courtney’s authority.
“Courtney asked me to fill in while she figured out how to replace your catcher.”
“Yeah, we got that,” Sabrina said. “But we have alternates for a reason.”
“And Harper has been bullpen catching for Summer since the start of the semester,” Emery added.