Page 6 of Switch Pitching

“Whenever I need you, buddy.”

Messing around with my friends like this has always been fun, and I’m glad that Ethan and I hit it off so quickly. He might be quiet, but at least we share the same sense of humor.

The next few days are a blur of early mornings and long practices. Ethan and I don’t see too much of each other, given that our positions are different, but I glance over every so often to catch his moves. The guy has some serious skills.

Then, out of nowhere, we get hit with a team dinner at some fancy Italian place downtown. Everyone’s supposed to dress up, which I don’t mind, but I’m still more of a jeans and t-shirt guy.

When we arrive, I spot Ethan across the room, and damn, the guy cleans up well. His light brown hair looks freshly cut, neatly framing his face, and he’s in a fitted button-down that hugs his broad shoulders. It’s a change from our usual baseball gear, and it trips me up for a second. If he wasn’t so quiet, I’m sure he’d turn a lot more heads.

We end up sitting next to each other, and I catch myself stealing glances at him as he scans the menu. I lean back in my chair, itching to break the silence and see if he’s as quiet here as he is on the field. “So, Ethan,” I start, leaning back in my chair, “what do you think of this place?”

He takes a sip of water before answering. “It’s nice,” he says. “Haven’t been to a restaurant like this in a while.”

“Yeah, this isn’t exactly my scene either, but hey, it’s free.”

“For sure. I’m a little more low-key, but I guess this is how they roll in the big leagues.”

“Yeah, seriously, if this is the kind of spot we go to now, imagine where the team is gonna take us when we win the World Series.”

Ethan chuckles softly, humor glinting in his green eyes. “Let’s focus on surviving spring training first.”

Will, sitting across from us, leans in with a grin. “I don’t want to jinx it, but it’d be awesome if the two of you win with us in your first season,” he says, just loud enough for us to hear.

Ethan blushes a little, which seems to happen a lot. It’s honestly kind of endearing, seeing his usual game face slip, and that makes me smile wider.

I grin back at Will. “We’ll see about that! I might end up scaring Ethan off before we even make it to the playoffs.”

The three of us laugh, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Ethan and I are chilling, and I can’t see anything getting in between us.

3

ETHAN

Deep breath in.

Let it out.

It’s my first exhibition game of spring training, and I can do this. I’ve been waiting forever to prove myself, and now I finally have that chance.

A warm, soothing glow settles over the open-air ballpark as the day fades, but the air is still thick with humidity. Washington’s in town, and even though it’s an exhibition game, I’m still fighting off jitters. James stands next to me in the clubhouse, stretching his arm and going through a series of light exercises like he’s been doing all afternoon. He looks determined. I catch his eye, and he sends me an upward nod.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of excitement.

“I guess so.” I clasp my hands together. “What about you?”

“Oh yeah, I’m so ready.” He flashes a bright smile at me and my nerves loosen a little. “We’ve got this.”

Washington is no joke. Over the last few seasons, they’ve built a reputation for being intense, and they’re not here to mess around. Their pitchers are all terrifying, their defense is solid, and our video session this morning sure didn’t inspire confidence.

Before I know it, the game starts. Washington’s pitcher is sharp right from the start, but we adapt. We’re hanging in, trading outs and hits, but it’s way too close. Every at-bat is a battle, and every play on the field happens at light speed. My heart pounds, facing the pressure.

It’s the top of the fifth inning, and I’m out in center field when Washington’s next batter steps up. Our starting pitcher winds up, and on the second pitch, the ball flies off the bat, heading straight toward me.

Running backward, I keep my eyes focused on the ball that’s coming down like a missile. It’s coming in fast, and I extend my arm?—

I misjudge the drop.

The ball grazes off my glove and skids across the field behind me. A sinking pit forms in my stomach as the runner rounds first. By the time I scoop it up and throw it back, he’s safe on third.

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