Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
JOSH
I brushed the locket beneath my shirt as I stepped into the box.
Last at-bat.
I let it settle in my chest. Erika was right—tonight was a gift.
Maybe this would be the last time I’d play ball at this level, under the lights, and with something real on the line.
Most of these guys were chasing the majors, hoping for a call, a contract, and a crack at the minors. The odds were brutal.
I already knew mine.
I was the old man out here. All I could hope for was to play again.
Terror hummed under my skin, but I buried it. Cleared my head. This is a gift.
The pitcher was barely twenty, all confidence and heat, throwing ninety-something like he was trying out for the Yankees. No one else had touched his throws.
I would.
I dug in, a ghost of a grin pulling at my mouth. This moment right here was mine. I’d beaten the hell out of my pitching machine getting ready for this. If machines had feelings, it would’ve filed a complaint.
The noises of players and spectators dissolved into a distant hum.
The world narrowed to a tunnel. Just me and the pitcher on opposite ends of it.
My brain stopped churning and simply knew the exact path the ball would take.
The tilt of his shoulders, the whip of his arm—instinct took over.
I could see the pitch before it even left his hand.
I made contact, dropped the bat, and ran.
The contact felt good. It’d go far, maybe be caught, but I’d learned long ago you don’t watch the ball. You run.
As I rounded first, I tried to estimate where the ball was but didn’t see it. The base coach yelled, “Home run! Keep going!”
I barely felt my feet hit each base as I rounded them, the cheering noise swelling into something wild and thunderous.
People were shouting, hands were slapping mine, but everything was a blur.
It wasn’t until the sixth high-five stung my palm that I realized I was smiling—really smiling—like something cracked open inside me.
And then I looked for her.
Erika stood, eyes wide and shining, clapping like she couldn’t stop herself.
She was cheering for me. In that instant, every beat of my heart felt like fire.
Her expression wasn’t polite or restrained.
It was raw and proud. In that moment, the rest of the world vanished.
It was just her and the way she looked at me, like I was someone worth believing in.
I caught her gaze and winked.
She laughed, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what I’d just done. But I understood the message written all over her face. That was incredible. It was redemption. It was salvation. Proof that after all the years and all the doubt, I still had what it took.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it.
Twenty minutes later, I was back behind the plate, catching. Last inning. We were up one, and they were threatening.
I stood and waved everyone in. Tension everywhere—old grudges ruling two of the basemen, a rattled pitcher, and a limping first baseman.
“You want to make this team?” I asked.
Every head nodded.
“Then listen. We need three outs—now.”
I pointed. “Brian throw your fastball. Kaleb, the batter will pop it—he always does. I’ll get you the ball, you get the out at third. Then fire to second. Gene, sell nothing and be ready.”
Gloves met mine.
My heart slammed as I dropped back into position. The pitch came hot. The swing…
Straight up.
I ripped off my mask, tracked the ball, caught it clean, and fired it to Kaleb. Out. He snapped it to second. Gene caught it and tagged the runner before he could blink.
Game over.
For one perfect moment, everyone shut up and played ball—and it worked.
Brian, the pitcher, pointed at me. “How’d you know that play would work?”
I shrugged. Deep inside, I’d just known.
The other players on the infield were all fist-bumping and yelling, each high on adrenaline after that play that gave us the win.
I dusted off my helmet and stood at the home plate, taking in the manicured field and the boys so pumped up on victory. I’d missed this far more than I realized.
In the dugout, the coach came over. Reno said, “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Once in a lifetime triple out. Pretty great.” I smiled as I packed up.
“I don’t get how the hell you coordinated that.” Reno scratched his head and stared at the infield.
“I had a hunch the batter would pop fly it.”
The coach put his back to the other guys and spoke low. “Those infielders on your team are decent ball players, but whatever you said got them to step it up to the next level.”
When I exited the dugout Vinny was there jumping up and down, talking fast. “Then you threw it and BAM, out! Then bam, out again! That was some real ball. I think I want to be a catcher. Will you teach me how to do that?”
“Sure.” My gaze met Erika’s over his head when he resumed babbling.
“That was a pretty good play, Coach,” she said softly.
“Yeah. It was. I’m glad you made me do this.”
“I know.” I didn’t even resent her smug smile. “They do a picnic after the practices. We’re going.”
“I don’t know. Might be awkward.”
“Sure might. We’re still going.”
* * *
“The burgers are overcooked, but the potato salad is good,” Reno said as he sat next to me at the wooden picnic table. “Gene will tell you he made the potato salad, but this here is Bojangles’ best.”
I chuckled.
“You look like you stay in shape,” Reno said, cryptically.
“Yeah. I hit almost every night. I run several times a week for cardio and lift every day.”
“Hell, you’re in better shape than half the people on this team.” Reno sipped yellow soda from a plastic cup.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“The catcher spot is yours, if you want it.” Reno stared into his cup like the answer didn’t matter.
My chest went tight. “Thank you. I need to look over the schedule first.” I wanted it. Bad. But want didn’t magically make time. “I coach the kids’ team in Vision. I’m on call a lot.”
“I need an answer by Friday,” Reno said, and walked off.
“What’d he say?” Erika slid onto the bench and bumped her shoulder into mine.
“He wants me.”
She smiled like it was obvious. “Of course he does. You’re the best catcher in the state. Diarrhea stains and all.”
I choked on my drink, soda burning my nose as I laughed. When I could breathe again, I said, “I might not be able to do this. But—”
I looked at her. Really looked.
This woman was my always. I didn’t want to call her my whenever. She was my forever.
“If I can get my shot,” I said, “then we’re getting you yours too. Let’s start figuring out the hospital build.”