Chapter Twenty-four
Looking forward to seeing you.
Razor’s heart swelled at the simple, yet tender words on her screen.
They had talked every day Ashton was away, texting about panels they liked and disliked.
Ashton never brought up Summer’s visit again, thank goodness.
Every conversation started with real-time back-and-forth about the conference speakers but transitioned into joking and flirting.
By the end of the conference, Razor realized she didn’t just miss her girlfriend. She missed her best friend.
Razor sent a reply: Ten hours to go, and you’ll be home. Then she tucked her phone away.
She loved this time before a game. Her excitement and anticipation were slowly simmering, as was her feeling like she was the only person in the world.
The only vehicles in the parking lot belonged to the groundskeepers and other stadium crew.
As she passed a black SUV, she heard the squeak of a door hinge.
Then gruff male voice called out, “Whoa, darlin’. What’s the rush? Stay awhile and let me check you out.”
She flinched at the innuendo and turned around.
If there was a picture next to the definition of sexual predator in the dictionary, he’d be a contender.
His thinning hair was slicked back with sweat, and he sported two days’ worth of scruff on his face.
There were pit stains on his shirt, even at this early hour.
And his teeth looked like they hadn’t seen a toothbrush in a few days.
“Whaddaya say, darlin’? Can I check you out?” He leered at her, a sleazy smile widening his lips.
Razor flexed her hands. She wanted to fidget. She wanted to fight. But any retaliation would play right into his hands.
“It’s not a hard question, sugar. Come on. I’ll make it worth your while.”
His hand moved toward his crotch. Razor turned and walked away, not wanting to see any of that.
“Hey. I asked you a question. Don’t you walk away from me!”
His meaty paw grabbed her left wrist and swung her around, and a fuse was lit. She shoved him squarely in the chest and yelled, “Keep your fucking hands off me!”
The shove didn’t deter him. All it did was make him laugh.
“Well, well. Looks like I got a fighter on my hands.”
He stalked toward her. Razor dropped her bag and put up her fists. He just laughed and quickened his pace, but before he reached her, a lawn mower started up. They both turned and saw the grounds crew in the outfield. Razor had never been so happy or relieved to see them.
The man looked undeterred, yet he retreated in the direction of his car.
“Looks like our time will have to wait.”
She could hear his mocking laughter as he climbed into his SUV and drove off.
The adrenaline spike that had accompanied the encounter crashed as the crisis ended, and Razor crumpled to the ground.
She breathed fully, deeply. In. Out. It’s over.
He’s gone. She looked up at the sky and exhaled in dismay.
* * *
By the time pregame started, Razor had compartmentalized the incident into a box and was focused on her routine.
She noticed the physical change in Summer as soon as she saw her.
The dark circles under her eyes were gone, and the way she devoured two granola bars before warm-ups told of a healthy appetite.
Based on the way Harper stood nearby, observing and smiling, those two had made up.
But Summer still seemed nervous, and the nerves were telegraphed by her pitching.
A curveball went wide left. The drop ball went high and forced Razor out of her stance. The next pitch went so far right, Razor didn’t even attempt to catch it. Instead, she jogged out to have a little chat with her pitcher.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re all over the place. Your arm is crooked, and your hand is too angular. What’s up? You’ve never been this erratic.”
Summer sighed and whispered, “My dad is here.”
“Okay.” Razor drew out the word. This wasn’t news to her. Bill always showed up for the Saturday home games.
“And so is Harper.”
Summer tilted her head toward the fence. Harper continued to look on, only now she was biting her lip and…Was she blushing? Razor looked back at Summer, who sported a similar smile, and it hit her.
“Oh.”
Summer nodded.
“So, does this mean that…”
“Yes. Tonight I plan to tell my dad about Harper and introduce her as my girlfriend.”
“Why now?” Summer looked confused, so Razor clarified, “What I mean is, you were so scared to tell me. What made you decide to tell your dad?”
“The other night, Harper and I talked. Like really talked. I confessed my fears about being outed. She apologized for her reaction in Henderson. And, just, the more we talked, the more I realized how much I care about her. How much I could possibly…love her.”
Emotion swelled in Razor, and she clasped Summer’s hand. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Now you understand why I’m so distracted.”
Razor swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I do. But we have a game to win, and I need you here. Focused. Ready to do your job. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, I can do that.”
As they resumed, their talk appeared to have worked.
Summer’s pitches were more accurate. Apparently, all she’d needed was a little reassurance that she was going to be okay.
When they took the field a few minutes later, Razor approached the home plate umpire and introduced herself.
She stuck out her hand and stopped in her tracks, stunned.
The asshole from the parking lot stood in front of her, dressed in a light blue polo shirt with black pants, wearing black protective gear. She immediately tensed up.
“Razor? What’s wrong?” Summer yelled from the circle.
She shook off the tension.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Summer eyed her warily but waited for Razor to take position. The umpire laughed and loomed over her.
“You’re not part of the umpire crew for this weekend. I recognized all the names.”
“I got a call last night saying they needed a replacement for today. Something about food poisoning.”
Razor needed to stay focused on the game. She heard shoes scuff the dirt, and then his hot, disgusting breath was in her ear.
“Bet you’re wishing you took my offer now, huh?”
She ignored him and his snide laughter, but she did take a little delight when the ball popped her glove and forced him to step back.
She didn’t react when he yelled, “Play ball!” nor did she register the approach of the first batter. For the first time in her life, she hoped for a quick game.
* * *
Razor’s hope died quickly. Every borderline pitch was called a ball. She swore the umpire started saying the word before the ball even reached the plate. Granted, Razor knew some umpires had tight strike zones, but this guy intentionally did it to piss her off.
Despite his bad calls, the Hornets were still in the game.
Emery had hit a solo home run in the third inning and put them within two.
Tori followed it up with a two-run double in the fifth for a tie.
In the top of the sixth, Summer issued her career-high fifth walk of the game, and the runner came around and scored.
When they came up to bat in the bottom of the inning, they took a one run lead courtesy of a leadoff double, a wild pitch, and a sacrifice fly, before the Commodores shut them down.
Now they were in the top of the seventh with two outs. All they needed was one more.
Razor crouched low behind the plate and advised Summer to pitch inside.
When the ball left Summer’s hand, the batter ran forward but pulled the bat back at the last second. The ball popped in the back of Razor’s glove, clipping the corner of the strike zone at knee height. She knew it was a strike. Summer knew it. The batter even knew it by her expression.
“Ball.”
The only one who didn’t know it was the umpire.
Boos and profanity rose up from the stands. Razor gritted her teeth and called the next pitch. This one was closer to the center of the plate, but it was recorded as another ball. Four straight pitches, four straight balls. The runner jogged to first, and Razor needed to talk to her team.
“Can I get a time-out?” she asked.
No response. The umpire glared at her, his beefy arms crossed, a smirk on his lips.
“Please?”
He waved his arms to signal a time-out, and Razor called the infield in.
“What is this guy’s problem? He hasn’t called anything right,” Emery growled.
“No kidding,” Sabrina said. “Hard enough to play the other team. Now we also have to play the umpires.”
“Not all of them. Just the home plate umpire,” Summer said. “It’s like no matter what, he refuses to call a strike.”
Mental exhaustion was settling in, and that worried Razor.
“I’ll admit the umpire has been putting the screws to us today. But guess what? This won’t be the last time it happens. We need to play our game, execute our defense, and we’ll win. Okay?”
Everyone nodded.
“Emery, she’s going to try to steal second. Be ready. I’ll get the ball to you.” Emery nodded her understanding. “Okay. Now let’s go win this thing.”
They sent up a little rally cry and headed back to their positions.
“Do you really think your little pep talk will help you win?” the umpire said.
Razor didn’t acknowledge him at all. She put all her focus on Summer while tracking the runner out of her peripheral. Suddenly, she felt fingers slide underneath the strap of her chest guard and start a slow caress up and down. She tried to shake it off, but the touch moved lower.
“I’ll make sure you lose this game one way or another.” He pulled the strap. “Ah, the silent treatment. I guess I was wrong about you. Your pitcher is pretty hot. Maybe I should ask her to join me after the game. She looks like she’d take it all the—”
The runner took off from first, and Razor popped up and cocked her arm back. A sharp pain radiated through her elbow, but she ignored it and released the ball. Emery came across second base and applied the tag on the runner’s leg.
“Out!”
The crowd erupted. The Hornets threw their gloves up and celebrated.
Razor sighed in relief. She turned to address the umpire, but he was bent over, blood streaming from his nose.
Silent satisfaction went through her, and she smirked.
He straightened and held his head back. The on-site medics made their way toward the field, and Razor took advantage of the little time she had.
“Don’t ever talk about my pitcher or my team like that again.”
The umpire dipped his head forward, rage in his eyes. “That’s it, 3-2. You’re gone!”
“For what?”
“You intentionally touched an official in the middle of a game. That’s grounds for disqualification.”
Razor rolled her eyes. “You were standing too close.”
By then the EMS crew had arrived, and they tended to his injury. She watched, not moving.
“I’m not kidding, 3-2. Get off the field.”
Razor picked up her mask and marched toward the dugout, mumbling, “Fucking asshole.”
“What did you say, 3-2?”
She turned and bumped his chest. The EMTs pushed her away.
“I called you a fucking asshole. If I’m getting ejected, I want it to be for something that I did do.”
She stormed off the field, past Courtney, the other coaches, and the players. Everyone was supportive, telling her it was okay. Even Nancy pulled her into an uncharacteristic embrace and whispered, “You need to shake it off, Razor. Forget that guy and focus on yourself. Get your head on straight.”
Razor pushed past and marched to the locker room, ripping off her gear and slamming it in her locker.
She slumped onto the bench and breathed.
But no matter how deep or how long each breath was, she couldn’t stop the rage she felt, nor the shaking in her hands because of one man who felt he could take whatever he wanted.