Page 81 of Baseball and Shifters

“I said what I said.” Trent spits in the dirt as if he didn’t just threaten the mate of the biggest predator on campus. “You think your daddy makes you untouchable Ashford? Well think again. You’re not, none of you are. People like me, well, let’s just say we’ve got options.”

The ump, sensing the danger that Trent’s oblivious to, claps his hands together drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright boys, enough jawin’, play ball or get off the field!”

I step back on the mound, rolling my shoulders again, trying to shake off the chill creeping down my spine. Trent’s always been an asshole, but this, this feels different. This feels cold and calculated like he might actually be a bigger threat than we realized.

Derrick crouches back in his spot behind home plate and signals for a fastball low and outside. I give him a small nod before winding up and hurling the pitch like I’m throwing it right through Trent’s smug face.

The batter swings and misses for the third time, a satisfying thwack sounds as the ball hits Derrick’s glove.

“Two out, one to go,” D says, tossing the ball back to me.

The next batter is able to get a hit, but Lucas catches it, giving the Obsidian Hollow Shadows their third out. We file into the dugout in silence, the entire team on edge after Trent’s comments. Coach barks orders at us, trying to get us out of our heads and back in the game. Without a word, I know the four of us are on the same page. We’ll find out what Trent’s up to. But right now, we have a game to win. We won’t let him distract us. Instead, we’ll take the building rage and channel it to defeat the Shadows. We find our rhythm, D and I syncing up like we are one person instead of two. Bas or Lucas catch nearly every ball that the batters are able to hit. But no matter how hard we attempt to lock in, I can still feel it.

Trent’s threat hangs over us, like a looming storm cloud, ready to downpour on us and ruin our day at any moment.

Between innings I glance up to the box and wonder what Rachel is doing right now. I imagine she’s sitting with Helene, watching the game, and discussing her favorite desserts because Helene is one hell of a baker. Whatever she’s doing up there, she’s completely unaware of the target Trent’s just painted on her back. But he won’t be getting to our mate, not on my watch.

This game may be all about the points and wins on paper, but the game Trent tried to play today? That’s personal.

And if Trent wants to play dirty, he better be ready for what happens when our pack bites back.

The game ends in a landslide win. We kept the other team to zero while managing to bring at least one player home every inning. The scoreboard flashes and the crowd erupts, my body buzzes with a mix of adrenalin and rage. We pulled it off despite Trent’s attempt to throw our best players off their game.

Inside the locker room, the energy is loud and chaotic. Lockers bang open, bags thud as they hit the benches, and the hum of the showers filters over everything. Bas tosses his gloves into his locker with a vicious grin.

“That was one hell of a win, even with Howie Mandel-lite over there running his mouth,” Bas says, dropping down on the bench between Derrick and Lucas.

Lucas snorts. “Can’t believe he had the audacity to try rattling us considering he didn’t even make it to second base once.”

“He couldn’t even make it to first,” Derrick says, dragging a towel over his face. “Both literally and figuratively.”

I toss my cleats in my locker and join them on the bench. “Yeah, well, if he doesn’t stop talking about our mate, he’ll have a whole lot more to worry about than strike-outs and super-glued brows.”

As if summoned by my words, or maybe fate, the locker room door swings open to reveal a very pissed off looking Coach Mace followed by a stone faced Dean Harold. They stride forward with purpose stopping directly in front of where Trent sits staring at the floor like it’s offended him.

“Trent Hopper,” Dean Harold’s tone makes the room go silent. “We need to speak with you.”

Trent straightens up, standing and puffing out his chest like he’s prepared to fight.

“What now?” he asks, disdain dripping from his words.

“You’re being benched and suspended from all team activities, effective immediately,” Dean Harold says.

A collective gasp sounds off around the room, followed by a small chorus of ‘oohs’ more fitting for a group of schoolchildren than a college baseball team.

Coach Mace shoots a glare around the room, effectively silencing it once more.

“As I was saying,” Dean Harold continues. “You are benched for the foreseeable future due to allegations of sexual harassment. There will be a formal investigation and pending the results, you will either be reinstated or expelled.”

“This is a fucking joke, right?” Trent laughs, actually laughs right in their faces. “You’re telling me you’re going to believe some over dramatic little c-”

Coach Mace cuts him off with a deep, guttural growl. “Choose your next words very, very carefully, Hopper. If what you are accused of is found to be true it may be up to the very person you’re insulting how far this follows you. You could be not only expelled but in serious legal trouble if you’re brought before the Tribunal.”

Trent’s eyes dart around, looking for any kind of backup. But the room is ice. Not a single player moves an inch or says a single word to support him.

“You’ll clean out your locker and turn in your equipment immediately,” Dean Harold adds. “You’ll be notified of next steps as the inquiry continues. But I must warn you, even one report during the timeline of the investigation and you will be expelled immediately without warning.”

“You’re seriously going to ruin my life over some bitch’s lies?” Trent shouts.

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