Page 63 of Stetson

Even the players on the Hellbenders started to give me dirty looks. The Thrashers held their own without me though and by the fifth inning, the game was tied. My feet seemed to drag in the dirt as I shuffled to home plate. Barrett attempted to meet my eyes, but I refused to look at him. I raised my bat, and it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I was only half paying attention to the pitcher as he threw the ball?—

And I swung too early.

“Stetson, what’s going on with you?” Barrett muttered, lobbing the ball back to center field.

I ignored him, readying myself for a second attempt.

“Strike two!”

Barrett spat a curse from behind me and after returning the ball, yanked off his mask and called for a time out. I dropped my bat and moved to walk away, just to have his hand stop me in my tracks. “You’re not going anywhere, Holloway.”

Both sets of coaches met us at home plate, along with the umpire. It was the Hellbenders’s head coach that spoke first. “What’s going on?”

Barrett was already dragging me toward one of the tunnels, away from the coaches and the cameras. “We need a minute!” he called over his shoulder, not giving anyone a chance to protest. The announcers cut to commercial, and the teams filtered into their respective dugouts for a much-needed break.

Barrett shoved me against the wall, and a surprised grunt forced its way out of my chest. “What the hell is going on with you?”

I squared my shoulders and held my chin high. It was pointless. I didn’t stand a chance when he went dominant. When he crooked a brow and crossed his arms over his chest, I shrunk back. The sleeves of his undershirt slid up, revealing his tattoos. He was forgoing anything professional and going full Sir on me, and it was working. When I spoke, my voice cracked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re playing like shit, Stetson.”

“Every player has bad days.”

Barrett’s eyes hardened. “You’re throwing the game, aren’t you?”

I squirmed. “I wanted to give you your win.”

Finally, the tough facade cracked. The ghost of a smile tugged at Barrett’s mouth, but he stifled it by biting his lip. “Stetson, that’s not how I want to get it.”

“But it’s your last cha?—”

Barrett took another step, closing the minimal distance between us. My breathing picked up, the rapid movements of my chest causing us to brush against each other. The heat of his body seeped through my clothes, seeming to course through my veins and warm me from the inside out. “You want me to have this?” Barrett asked, lips so close to mine that his hot breath washed over my skin. “You want me to win?”

It was all I could do to nod.

“Then the least you can do is give me a fair shot. I don’t want handouts, not even from my boyfriend.” His hand came up between us, his thumb and forefinger finding my chin and holding my attention on him. “Get back out on that field, and give me your worst. Let me earn that ring fair and square. Donotthrow this game on purpose. If I find out you did, there are going to be serious consequences. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal,” I croaked.

Barrett tightened his grip, the look in his eyes daring me to challenge him.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s better.” I wanted a kiss, desperately, but Barrett let go of me and took a step back before I could lean in. “Get out there and give me something to work for. Then you’ll get whatyouwant.”

Without another word, Barrett left the tunnel. I shook off the feeling and followed behind him on wobbly legs. One of my own coaches met me at the entrance to the tunnel. “You good, kid?”

Barrett peered over his shoulder, crooking that brow at me. A spark of electricity flickered in my gut. “All good here, Coach.”

The team returned to the field. I collected my bat from where it had hit the dirt and took my position. Barrett’s commanding presence behind me served as a reminder of what I was playing for. He had a point: I wouldn’t want him throwing the game for me either. I’d worked my ass off my entire life to get where I was. The next time I locked eyes with that pitcher, it was with fierce determination. The concrete surrounding my limbs had been blasted away, and I found my energy again.

Thecrackthat echoed through the stadium when my bat connected with the ball seemed to kickstart my heart, and the game was on.

My horrible playing would be chalked up to a fluke. Some Hellbenders fans would call it a trick. Whatever the reason, Stetson Holloway was back.

The end grew nearer, and my nerves heightened once more. It all came down to one run. Bottom of the ninth, we were tied. The Thrashers were at bat, and we had two outs. Harrison was on third. All I had to do was hit enough of a run to send him home, and the Thrashers would be world champions for the fifth time in history. The only thing I could hear as I stepped up to the plate was my heartbeat thudding in my ears. My hands tightened on the bat, and I locked eyes with the pitcher. My gaze zeroed in on that ball as if I had X-ray vision and could see straight through the guy’s mitt.

Then, the thing was flying at my face. Time slowed.

---