Page 65 of Switch Pitching

Ashley smirks with a knowing spark in her eyes. “Hey, it benefits the team, too. We won’t have to fork out to give you separate rooms next season.”

Ethan and I exchange a glance. “Next season?” I ask.

Smiling politely, Ashley continues. “It’s just something to keep in mind. There’s nothing official yet.”

We exchange a few more words, and then we’re out in the hallway, the door to the PR office shutting softly behind us. I glance at Ethan, who’s a little less tense now, his shoulders more relaxed.

Ethan takes a deep breath. “Wow, that went better than expected.”

Smiling, I stop and turn to face him. “Yeah. It feels good to have it out there.”

“Do you think…” Ethan trails off, fixing me with a curious look. “Do you think you want to tell the team?”

“Kind of? I mean, I’m not ready to make a big announcement or anything, but I was thinking we could be ourselves and then let the others assume whatever they want.”

Ethan steps closer and brushes against my knuckles. Instinctively, I spread my fingers and wrap them around his hand, squeezing tightly. Ethan’s face softens into a warm smile, and we continue our walk out of the ballpark.

“We’ll take it one day at a time. We’ll be private, but not a secret,” I say.

“That sounds good to me,” he replies, still holding my hand.

25

ETHAN

I’m disgusting and sweaty. We went into extra innings and we’re tied with Dallas. Every swing they take feels like it could be the moment that decides the game. My eyes stay focused on James as he stands on the mound, ready to deliver. It’s been a few weeks since we told PR about our relationship, and other than Will and Ashley, nobody else on the team knows or suspects anything.

James nods at the catcher, winds up, and releases a perfect fastball, right on the edge of the strike zone. The batter swings late, barely making contact. It’s a foul.

Rubbing the ball between his fingers, James sets his stance again.

He throws another fastball, this one higher than the last. The batter fouls it off again, sending it into the stands. We’re close, but we aren’t there yet.

James takes a deep breath, winds up for the next pitch, and then everything slows down. I watch as the ball leaves his hand, curving in toward the plate, and the batter’s ready this time. He swings and connects.

The ball shoots right at the mound like a bullet. I don’t have time to react as I watch a streak of white slam into James’s rightshoulder. I can’t see his expression from here, but damn, that’s gotta hurt.

Then I see James reaching out with his left hand, stretching up toward the ball that bounced off his shoulder. He catches it. Then he loses his balance.

He goes down hard.

We’re changing over now, and I rush to the mound right as the medics get there.

“James,” I say, my voice tight. “Are you okay?”

His breaths rasp as he meets my stare. “I think so,” he manages. “I’ll be fine.”

The pained expression on his face tells me that he’s anythingbutfine.

I get called back to the dugout, and I tear myself away. The medics are all over him, checking his injuries and trying to assess the damage.

“Hang in there,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I watch James get loaded onto a stretcher.

The game isn’t over. I know that. But as I stand at the edge of the dugout, it’s hard to focus on anything else. I want to see James, talk to him, and know if he’s okay, but I can’t. Stupid game.

Then I get the call. I’m up to bat.

Snapping back to reality, the sounds of the ballpark rush in all at once. The stands are still buzzing, but all I can think about is ending this. Dave made it to second, and if I can get a solid hit, we can make it.

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