Page 50 of Renegade Rift

I shake my head. At least I can count on some things staying the same. Like baseball players and their superstitions.

“What do you mean they don’t make the green balls anymore?” Pure panic fills my teammate’s voice.

Those damn candies are going to be the death of him. Of all of us really. It’s the most random superstition, but Espinoza swears he has to buy this specific brand of candy balls—the green ones only—during airport visits if he is pitching the next day. Then he has to keep one under his tongue during takeoff and landing. If he doesn’t, he can’t pitch for shit.

Make it make sense.

I’ve watched this grown ass man hold the plane while he leaves our private terminal and searches the entire airport for those damn balls. At this point, you’d think the team would have a stock of them to make sure they are at every airport.

That won’t help us now though.

“I can check in the main terminal, but I’m fairly certain the company stopped making them.” The cashier is trying to be helpful. She picks up a bag of assorted colored candy balls. “You could get the mixed pack and pick out the green ones.”

“Pick out the—” Espinoza’s voice goes high and he throws up his hands. “I’m going to suck tomorrow. I can’t pitch without my balls.”

Smitty lifts a hand and fake whispers behind it. “He knows how that sounds right?”

“I don’t think he can see past losing his balls,” I snort.

“Will he really pitch like crap tomorrow if he doesn’t have them?”

“I mean, would you be okay if someone took away your lucky socks?”

Smitty reaches for his carry-on duffel and opens the zipper to the outside pocket, fingering the worn fabric of the baseball snowmen socks his mother got for him before his first minor league game. “Point taken.”

“We each have our thing.” I shrug and grab nine bags of the assorted balls and place them on the counter. “I’ll help you sort them.”

Espinoza’s gaze darts over the candy. “Nine bags?”

I nod. “To match the number on the back of your uniform.”

The fear in his eyes eases and he nods, understanding the momentous occasion that just took place.

We just started a new away game superstition tradition.

He presses his lips together. “Thank you, hermano.”

“De nada.”

Espinoza chuckles at my terrible attempt at Spanish as I hand the cashier my card. He’s been trying to teach me the basics but it’s slow going.

As I’m signing the receipt, a hint of orange catches my eye behind the counter.

“You going to get one of those fancy rocks for your…what is she? Friend? Sister? Girlfriend?”

I roll my eyes. He knows damn well. “She’s my friend.”

“Uh-huh.” Espinoza grabs the bags of candy and holds them tight against his chest. “You’ve canceled a month’s worth of team Dungeons and Dragons to keep that apartment of yours clean. And we both know you never gave a shit before.”

“I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“Or keeping it clean so Etta can see how tidy you are now.”

“I couldn’t exactly DM with one hand,” I say, lifting my now cast-free hand.

Smitty wiggles his eyebrows. “You can do a lot of things with one hand.”

“It’s not like that.” Though, I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.

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