Page 82 of Stealing Second

“Jesus ain’t gonna help you. You’re going down swinging, just like Locke,” the catcher taunts.

I don’t reply. I maintain focus and keep my eyes on the pitcher.

I let the first pitch go by with purpose. I want him to think he’s got me figured out.

“Strike one!” the umpire calls.

“One down, two to go!” the catcher says before throwing the ball back to the pitcher.

The next pitch isn’t as good, but I know I can get a piece of it and put it between second and first.

That’s exactly what I do. I feel the impact of the wood against the ball and take off.

The crowd roars, and I know Steel has made it home. I hit first by the skin of my teeth.

“Solid hit, kid.” The first-base coach slaps my hand.

I didn’t get Vander home, but he made it to third. It’s now up to Nour.

He hits it, and he hits it good.

I’m on third when it finally gets thrown in to the pitcher. I’m not sure what happened in the outfield, but I do know they fucked up, and I can’t wait to see it on the highlights tonight.

Blaze is up next, and all I know is I need to make it home so we can head into the ninth ahead.

And that’s just what we do.

The top of the ninth, Blaze strikes out the first batter, walks the second. The third makes it to first, and the fourth hits it right to Steel, who scoops it up, tosses it to me for the second out, and I rocket it to first for a double play.

The game ends—Jags 10, Mavericks 6.

* * *

After a shower, I check my messages.

Hudson

O’Donnell’s for one.

Me

Not sure.

Hudson

Do you see a question mark in that text? Me neither. One.

Me

One. <—period.

“O’Donnell’s?” AJ asks as he tosses his towel in the hamper.

“We won, didn’t we?” I laugh to myself, knowing damn well that it wouldn’t matter because if my family was home and Red was next door, that’s where I’d be headed.

“Fuck yeah, Hart’s in!” he yells to Nour.

“I’m catching a ride with you, Hart,” someone says, passing behind me.

---