Page 22 of Force At Third

“He is.” I look around for him.

“Good, because you need some sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when that f-u-c-k-e-r is back behind bars.” I continue looking for him.

Marks messaged that he was here, that he’d be in the stands, and what Marks says, he does, but he didn’t.

“Danny also told Pope he said something that clearly upset you. He feels bad. He knows you’re?—”

“It’s all good.” I feel a hand grip my shoulder from behind and look back.

“Jesus, York, you look like hell. You need some sleep.”

“I need new friends. You’re all S-H-I-T for my confidence,” I jab back.

Marks nods once. “You ride my ass about sleep, I’m giving it back to you. You’re sleeping tonight.”

“You need it just as?—”

“I just had six hours solid,” he cuts me off. “I’m good to go.” He holds out his hands for Chase, who dives for him.

I glance back at the twins. “One of you on each arm. I can’t walk in there alone.”

Gregory takes my left, and Grant takes my right.

“See, Nora, I told you Aunt Gwen likes the boys better than us.” Bianca fake-pouts. “Toxic masculinity,” she mutters under her breath, undoubtedly something she picked up from her Mom– or her Dad.

“She painted baseballs on yours and Nora’s nails,” Grant reminds her in his pissy little way that is so freaking adorable.

“She’d have done yours, too,” Bianca tosses back at him.

“All right, team, leave your bad vibes at the gate and pull it together. The Jags need a W.”

Gregory looks up at me. “Dad and Locke said they’re not retiring and moving back to Walton until they have rings on their fingers.”

“Oh yeah?”

Grant pipes in, “I told him they both better pray they get traded to the Rangers, or they’d be using their canes as bats.”

“Now that’s a craptastic attitude.” I laugh.

“I’m a realist,” he deadpans.

I glance at Whitley, and she makes the choice to ignore him, giving nothing more than a slight roll of her eyes as evidence she heard the little turd.

Unprimed

5

Wednesday / Thursday

Standing under the scalding hot water, I’m pissed off that we lost, but more pissed that that fucker slid into third, nailing my ankle and boasting, “Made it to third, bitch.”

I would have questioned the little show fate gave me earlier—the one with Gwendolyn York being next door—had the umpire not yelled, “You’re out!” at the same time.

Twice, he got to third. Both times, he slid in purposely, hitting my damn ankle. Have to give him an A for the effort he put in trying to get me to drop the ball, but what I didn’t have to give him was the ability to score … just like last night.

“Need a minute before you head to press,” Coach calls in.

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