Page 1 of Grand Slam

CHAPTER ONE

Kelton

“James.”I hear my last name being called out across the field right before the sounds of a ball cracking against a bat. Diesel, or as most know him Damien Donovan, our first baseman, hits one in my direction. He stands smiling wide in that cocky way of his and I know the game. He does this to me often, doing his best to catch me off guard so he can spend the rest of the week heckling me about the burn.

It’s a game I don’t want to play this week. Fuck that, last time I heard about that shit for days, the entire team joined in on giving me hell.

Flipping down my shades, I watch the ball soar through the open sky, floating above, getting closer and closer. Moving a little to the left, I know at this point everyone has stopped what they are doing so they can witness the disaster or triumph. Assholes are all most likely placing bets already.

With a step forward, then another to the left, I smack my hand into my glove and just as it drops, I have to dive to close the deal. The sting against my fingers makes me smile to myself as I lay on the ground. Everyone is still waiting I know but I take a moment to myself.

Baseball is who I am. It’s who I’ve always been. My mom used to say that when I was young I wanted nothing to do with anything that wasn’t related to the game. She was my biggest cheerleader, always in the stands cheering louder than anyone else in my family. The pride in her eyes, it made me feel so alive.

Losing her was a low time in my life, the lowest.

But now, as I lay on the grass in the outfield of the Tennessee Terrors stadium looking up, I take in a deep breath and feel like she’s there. Still watching, still cheering.

“Did you break a nail, Kelton?” Suddenly the sun is blocked by Jake Reynolds our center fielder as he hovers above. He has a smirk on his face. I’m sure it’s because he’s close enough to see the ball in my glove. “You gonna keep them all on their toes?”

“I said last time he burned me, it would be the last time.” And with that I raise my hand in the air, holding the ball high. Collective groans mixed with cheers ring out around the field.

“You bet against me?” I ask Jake as I finally take his outstretched hand and allow him to pull me up. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ve seen you all day looking at where he moves around the field. You’ve been watching his every step, I was on team Kelton today.” He slaps my back walking away.

Donovan gives me a middle finger salute, I return the gesture with a laugh, before throwing the ball back in field.

This is my second year with the Terrors. Before that I was back home in Chicago, playing for a team I hated. But in Tennessee I feel like I’m home. These guys, they are my brothers. We fight, we bicker, but at the end of the day they are my family.

I tossmy keys onto the small table just inside my front door. They skid to the edge, almost falling, barely hanging off the ledge. When I first rented this place I said it was only a pit stop. A place to lay my head while looking for my home. The walls are bare, there’s a large couch in the center of the sunken living room with a television large enough that I can feel like I’m sitting in the stands while watching sports games. I don’t need fancy, it’s only me, but every time I walk in I’ll admit I feel the stale, uninviting feeling.

I should take my youngest sister up on her offer to decorate my place but why, when I don’t want to be here forever?

My phone rings and I fish it out of my bag.

Speak of the devil.

“Were your ears ringing?” I say in greeting, as I tap the speaker button and set it down on the counter.

“Awe, were you talking about me?” Alizabeth says and I can sense her smiling. She is the youngest of the three kids. I’mtwenty-six. Brigette came along only eleven months later. She and I aren’t close. She lives a spoiled life in Virginia with her surgeon husband and the only time I hear from her is if her husband wants to show off for his friends and get the VIP box for a game. Hell he has the money. The asshole can pay for that shit himself.

Then there is our baby sister, Alizabeth. She’s twenty-two and the spitting image of our mom. She’s like her in every sense of the word; attitude, compassionate. It’s weird but she’s one of my best friends. Her and Granny June, they are the joy in my life. There is never a dull moment with them.

“Just thinking I really need to find myself a place so that you can come visit and decorate for me.”

“Really?”

“You’ve offered, and walking into this apartment today it hit me. I swear it’s like a surgical floor at a hospital. Everything is so sterile.” She laughs. “I think the only color I have in this place is the random candle holder you left here on your last trip. Like a yellow beacon in the middle of the lost sea.”

“Have you looked at any of the places I sent you?”

“I don’t have time to sift through those listings.” She sends four or five a day it feels like. “I told you, it’s easy. Find me a place with solitude, a space big enough I can put in my own ball field if I want, and if I want to swim naked in a pool or lay in a hot tub under the stars I don’t have my neighbors snapping photos for TMZ.”

“You are so basic.” She laughs harder. “No stipulations on bedrooms or details about the home. You just want the freedom to walk around nude?”

“You got it.”

CHAPTER TWO

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