Page 50 of The Battery
“Focus on me,” Leo suggested right before we had to part. “No one else out here but us. Got it?”
“Yessir,” I said and bumped his fist.
He must have known I was nervous. On my way to the mound, he did it again.
“Fastball, fastball, cur-cur-curveball,” came over the PitchCom receiver in my hat. I burst into laughter, as did Freddie and Romo in the outfield. Leo only sent it once, but it was enough to remind me to loosen up.
The booming jeers of the crowd, the flashing lights of the jumbotron finding new and inventive ways to make fun of both Leo and myself… all of it sent to the background. I tunneled my vision. Leo, kneeling behind home plate, covered in his gear. I couldn’t see his face behind that mask. But I saw the tattoos of his exposed arms, the ink on his knuckles and the backs of his hands. He was there. I was there.
Quinn stepped up with the cockiest of walks. Then, he stepped back out again. Already with the antics. He adjusted his gloves.
When he went back in, I threw a fastball, high and inside. Quinn barely got his bat out, fouling it back. I got the ball back and Quinn stepped outside to, yet again, adjust his batting gloves. He took five seconds to do so. The pitch clock was ticking away. Leo had already sent the call so I was ready.
The moment he re-entered the box, I sent a slider. Quinn put his soul into the swing, as if hoping for a homer. But he missed and we got our first strike.
Yet again—again!—he stepped out. This time, however, the umpire issued a warning and Quinn stepped back in with a venomous glare at me. Leo had already called for a fastball precisely on the black, which I nailed. Quinn swung and it made contact, but it was a pop-up. Leo was on his feet, ripping off his mask in a heartbeat while Quinn pounded sand toward first. I watched Leo track the thing. Then, he held out his glove.Smack.Perfect catch.
Quinn was out.
The crowdreallydid not enjoy that. Apparently, the man was their hero. He was all smack talk and harmless poison as he made his way back to their dugout. I kept my face as neutral as I could, looking to Leo for inspiration. He didn’t seem to care.
The second batter got on base with a single after fouling several pitches. When the third batter came up, Leo forewent the use of PitchCom and flashed me a hand signal. He didn’t send a call for the pitch because when I wound up to throw, the man on first stole for second. I was ready, thanks to Leo. I rotated and threw to second for an easy out.
The last hitter? Well.
Swing and a miss on my high-and-away fastball. My changeup dropped out of the zone at the last millisecond foranother swing and a miss. It was like mopping an easy spill off of the floor. Third throw was another fastball. And another swing and a miss.
The booing was at a deafening decibel as we left the field. I could only imagine what the people were saying about me. I was done for the night. Our setup man would go in for the eighth and then our closer for the ninth. In truth, I didn’t exactly want to go back to the bullpen to deal with the awful people hovering over us.
So I stayed with Leo in the dugout, tucked into the corner where he liked to watch the game. I was cognizant of the cameras that could be on us, so I didn’t act terribly obvious. I did slap his shoulder as I crashed down onto the bench next to him.
“You’re killin’ it out there, Hill,” he told me. He had his cap off, running his hands through his hair. I wanted to do it for him. I noticed his beard was shorter than usual. I’d have to ask about that later.
“Same to you,” I said. “If not a little distracting,” I said, breathy and quiet.
At that he cleared his throat. “Preaching to the choir,” he responded just as quietly. I suppressed a grin.
Then, he surprised me. “Hey,” he said quietly and actually turned toward me. “When we’re back from Ottawa, why don’t you come over for dinner. Just you and me.” I stared blankly. I had been over to his place a few times for dinner, the last one shared with his uncle. Did he mean…
Even quieter, he said, “Bring some candles.”
Oh.
I adjusted my hat. Blushed. Looked away. He already knew my answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Leo
Late enough tobe tired but too early to sleep. The hour and a half flight from New York to Ottawa created a purgatorial atmosphere—a waiting game for sleep. The plane stayed quiet, at least the players packed in the front of the plane on the oversized, cushioned seats. Toward the back, the support staff toiled away as they sorted through the list of needs for when we landed.
Absently, I sent a hope and a wish and a prayer into the firmament that we’d experience another hotel snafu and Cody got to bunk with me again.
I sat at the usual four-seater with a table between. Rome was usually there but absent this time, rounded out by our first baseman and the manager. We had been discussing the previous Brawlers game, which we won, when Romo lumbered up the aisle and gave me a “what’s up” look that clearly meant he wanted to talk. I unbuckled and excused myself from the group and stood to speak with our captain.
His head practically hit the ceiling. The sweatpants he wore must have been custom made to fit his long frame. Even his t-shirt seemed a bit small. “Got a sec to chat?” he asked.
“Sure thing, boss.”
