CHAPTER 57
Dust coats my tongue. Salty ocean breeze chills the sweat clinging to my skin. Stadium lights beat down cold and hard while pennant flags flap around the perimeter. The air smells like popcorn, grass, and fried food, with the cleansing scent of the Pacific floating beneath it all. Fans pound their feet into the concrete, wave foam fingers, chant, and shout.
I stand on the mound in the ninth inning of the seventh game of my first World Series and take it all in.
Three months ago, I would have had a panic attack and run off the field. One month ago, I would have taken one look at Williams behind the plate and let myself believe that I couldn’t do this without Reyes. Today, I glance over my shoulder at the man that I’m pretty sure I love, take a deep breath, and tune everything out.
Williams catches my attention with a flash of his fingers and the bright yellow nail stickers he’s finally conceded to wear. He gives me a call that I actually agree with, for once. Some other time, I might wonder what’s gotten him the past few weeks to dial his asshole behavior down a few notches. For now, I give him one quick, curt nod and wind up.
Three outs. That’s all I need, and this game is ours.
Nine pitches, and Reyes might finally win his coveted Series ring.
One last inning to prove that I belong here on my own merit. Not as a publicity stunt. Not because of Reyes.
I strike the first batter out with two changeups and a slider, and the crowd goes wild. I strike the second batter out and chance another glance over my shoulder.
Just looking at him makes my entire body ache from within. Even with baseball to distract me and my mothers traveling from series to series to keep me company, I have missed him so badly that I have no idea what I’ll do if I have to face the off-season without him.
I shake my head, roll my shoulders, and take a deep breath. That is a thought for after the game. Tonight, is for baseball. And, hopefully, tonight is for celebrating.
The next batter hits a line drive that should get him on base. I got enough hell the last time I caught a ball coming straight at me to know better.
But if there’s any time to take the risk, this is it. The ball nails me in the side at what’s got to be a hundred miles per hour and feels like more. Every breath I’ve ever taken is knocked from my lungs, and my vision swims with countless tiny bursts of light. But somehow, through the adrenaline and the pain, I manage to get my glove around the ball and hold on as I fall on my ass in the dirt.
Through the blood pounding in my ears, I hear the umpire call the final out of the game. It hasn’t quite registered that we won yet; it’s hard to think of much when I’m fighting the urge to hurl the pre-game spread on another team’s field.
The entire team swarms me, and the team physician has to shout and push his way through to check on me. The last thing I want is to be dragged off the field to spend this moment alone with a doctor instead of celebrating with my team, so I force myself to my feet, brush the dirt from my ass, and command my face not to betray me.
Rough hands cup my cheeks, but the thumbs are gentle as they brush away tears that I didn’t realize I had spilled. Palms I know so well after such little time tilt my face until I meet the concern in his eyes, and Mateo glances over me, searching for signs of harm.
“I’m fine,” I half-whisper, half-wheeze. “It hurts like a bitch, but I’m fine. Better than fine. Holy shit, it doesn’t feel real yet–”
“We couldn’t have done this without you,” he says.
He speaks, and everyone else fades from my awareness. His dark eyes burn with a feverish intensity, and for a moment, I’m positive he’s going to kiss me. Hold me. Claim me. Right here, in the middle of the field, with our team, sold-out stands, and rolling cameras all watching.
Maybe he would have if Yamada didn’t grab him from behind, lift him off his feet, and spin them both in a circle while whooping and hollering in victory. Maybe if he had, I would have found a way to tell him all the things I need to say.
Maybe if I weren’t so preoccupied watching him, I would have seen the five-gallon ice water shower coming.