Page 55 of Stetson

Damn. I’d sure as hell try. As Barrett talked, my eyes had begun to burn. When he asked me to move, my legs turned to jelly. He was really going to stand up in front of the whole sports community and claimme?

Levi gave me a gentle nudge, and I took a few steps forward. I toppled into Barrett’s left side, and Levi stood to his right. Instinctively, Levi put a possessive hand on Barrett’s back. I didn’t move—I couldn’t. My hands were frozen in my pockets. I’d been to dozens of press conferences. Hell, being in the spotlight was my thing. But this felt different. It felt like I’d been ripped open and put on display for the world, and every single pair of eyes was zeroed in on me.

I didn’t get too much time to panic though, because Barrett’s arm snaked around mine, and he tugged my hand free. Our fingers laced together, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Finally, I turned toward the sea of cameras and plastered on my classic Stetson Holloway smile. Only this time, I meant it. My cheeks had to be bright red, but I didn’t care. Barrett tugged me closer and wrapped his arm around my waist. I curled into his side, accepting the kiss he pressed to my hair. “You all right?” he whispered in my ear.

“Perfect.”

The reporters started with their flurry of questions, and Barrett faced them yet again. He singled out a single person in the middle of the crowd. A woman with curly red hair. “The World Series is right around the corner,” she stated, as if anyone who knew anything about baseball wasn’t already aware. “How do you see your relationship affecting your ability to perform on the field?”

Before I could even think about getting defensive, Barrett had a response ready. “I don’t,” he answered, sure of his words. “Stetson’s more than earned his place in the majors. If we’re both lucky enough to make it into the World Series, I’ll shake his hand and wish him the best just as I would anyone else.”

“What if the Thrashers win?” another voice called.

“Then I’ll shake his hand andcongratulatehim,” Barrett said, a little more firmly. “Let’s get one thing straight: my relationship with Stetson Holloway has nothing to do with what happens when we step foot on that field. Up to this point, we’ve kept the game separate from our private life and I intend to keep it that way. The fact that someone else felt they were privy to that information doesn’t change a thing. May the best team win.”

28

BARRETT

September

Things had been much easiersince the press conference. They weren’t perfect, but the amount of insults hurled my way had gradually decreased. My teammates were less hostile toward me as well. A couple of the more relaxed ones still picked at me, but it was all easy jealousy. They didn’t mean any of it.

With the drama out of the way, it was finally time to focus on the playoffs. Even though our few days’ break was filled with tension, it was still nice to get some rest before the Division round began.

The playoffs were divided into a bracket-type system. The Wildcard Round—the one we got to bypass—was a series of four games, and the two winners were pushed through to the Division Series. Those games were a best three out of five and lasted only a few days. The winners from the Division Series went to the Championship Round, which was best four out of seven, spanning over ten days. Those games dwindled it down to the best of the best: the two teams that would face off in the World Series.

It was best four out of seven, with the home field advantage going to the team with the best season record, regardless of the playoff games.

It had been a few years since the Hellbenders had even made it to the playoffs, much less a World Series. I’d played one myself, and the loss was soul-crushing.

Which is why this would be the last time I would ever do it.

I was more than ready to sit on the sidelines for a change, cheering on Stetson while he led his team to victory. Until then, I was going to give the game everything I had.

I was just as invested in Stetson’s progress as I was my own. Every time I stepped off the field, he was the first person on my mind. If he couldn’t give me an update himself, I’d call Levi. Since the Thrashers held the best season record, they had home field advantage. Levi offered to split his time between Atlanta and New York, but I talked him out of it every time. The plane tickets would add up and it would take too much time to fly back and forth. Besides, I would be meeting both of them in Georgia one way or another.

Between games, the clubhouse was eerily quiet. “Nervous” wasn’t the word I would use, but the air was definitely charged. Typically, the clubhouse was buzzing. Music could be heard or the sound of a TV, or the clacking of pool balls from a game going on in the corner.

However, once we got through the Division Series, all of it stopped. It was like the only thing we could stand to do was… sit. TVs went silent, no one played music out loud. The balls on the pool table lay dormant, waiting for someone to strike them.

It was the final game of the Championship Series. We were tied with the Rhode Island Harlequins and tonight, we’d either sink or swim. Everyone had their way of preparing, and mine was cooking. Even if no one ate anything, I filled the clubhouse kitchen with whatever I could. Our diets typically consisted of high protein and high carbs, but that didn’t stop me from plating up a tray of cupcakes. Sometimes you just need a little bit of comfort food.

As I suspected, few came forward to pick at the trays. Others eyed them longingly but if the hornets in their stomachs were anything like mine, they would admire from afar.

A somber undertone was the only thing to press through the evident nerves. My team was already well aware that this would be the last championship I would ever play. To be honest, I felt it too. I scanned the clubhouse. When I’d first started, it was nothing more than some couches surrounding a flat screen TV. Over the years, the league made more improvements. TVs got nicer, the house itself was expanded to include the full kitchen. More space was made for the pool table and instead of benches, we got luxurious leather chairs that was like something straight out ofThe Godfather. And the team? God, the team. We’d become as close as a group of men could be. Awkward silences turned into a steady hum of conversation that you missed when it was gone—like now. When you spent so much time in a place like this, you couldn’t help but think of it as your home away from home.

Though my true home called to my heart more than New York ever did. It was time for me to return to it.

As we walked to the field, I thought my heart would burst out of my chest. I’d made my decision, but it wasn’t until that moment that the weight of it all hit me. Tonight’s game was it. Either this would be the last time I would walk through that tunnel, or we would go on to play as one of the two best teams in theworld.

I paused behind home plate, pretending to stretch my muscles when in reality, I was taking in the crowd. There wasn’t an empty seat in the place. Even if half of them were there to root against us, I had to admit that it was impressive. My mouth dried out. It wasn’t like me to be so nervous.

The visiting team always batted first, so I suited up in my catcher’s gear and took my position. The first batter approached, and his walkup music sounded muffled in my ears. I couldn’t have told you what the song was if you paid me. After a moment of thought, I made my call. Our pitcher readied himself, wound up, and pitched.

The crack of that bat against the ball would echo through my ears for all eternity.

Show time.

---