Page 93 of The Battery
“You’re ready,” Leo said not as a question, but as a command. It set a fire in me as my body came alive with nerves and anticipation. For a moment I thought it fluttered around me like a swarm of bees, a fear on display for everyone to see. But my teammates cheered me on. The skipper gave me a quick, upbeat pep talk as I ascended the steps to take the field.
It was awash in fire. Bright orange and red LEDs from the jumbotron set the green diamond ablaze. On the screen, the anthropomorphic phoenix screamed mightily at the camera while giving a strong manpower pose. The cartoon Spartan joined him as Leo and I jogged out onto the field. The crowd had erupted in such a roar that I actually slowed my pace to turn and face them. Leo slowed down, too. He gave me a curious look. We shouldn’t just stand there…
I pounded my chest and the protective gear beneath my jersey that everyone now knew I wore. Then I pointed at the crowd. As if they couldn’t get any louder, they had to prove me wrong. A gave a wry smile, almost devious. They had been with me when I almost died. Now they were vested in my rise from the ashes. How could I rob them of showing the story of my rebirth?
I had a game to deliver. For them. For Leo. For Uncle Andy.
For me.
All I had to do was prevent Austin from scoring a run.
I bumped fists with Leo. “Let’s get Uncle Andy that pennant, Leonidas,” I said.
“Damn right.”
Leo called for a fastball inside by the time I reached the mound. With my foot on the rubber, I adjusted the nicotine pouch under my lip as the first batter walked up. I blinked against the blaring lights of the stadium. Pushed out the roar of the crowd. Zeroed in on Leo. Then I threw.
The hitter fouled off for strike one. I pitched a slider that missed low for ball one. Leo called for a curveball next and the hitter singled on it.
Dammit.Runner on first.
Leo called for a changeup, which was taken for ball one. A fastball caught the corner for strike one. Then, a slider grounded to Freddie, who threw to first for the first out. But the runner on first had advanced to second. One step closer.
The third runner stepped up. A hulking man bigger than Leo. He was a well-known powerhouse, always chasing behind Rome’s homer count. We’d have to be cautious with this one, but I put all my trust in Leo. The man could read batters like a fortune teller with tea leaves.
I threw a fastball high, which was called for a ball. Curveball next, fouled off for strike one. Slider for my third throw, missedoutside for ball two. Then a fastball, taken for ball three. Another fastball… and another case of mistaken identity by a blind umpire. Ball four. The batter advanced to first base while the runner stayed on second. I could feel his itch to steal for third as if he screamed his intentions for all to hear. Again, I put my trust in Leo to let me know when to take action. For now, I had to focus on my target.
Batter four was up next. Leo called for a fastball that I sent to the edge. Strike one. Changeup next, swing and a miss for strike two. I wiped sweat from my forehead. Adjusted the nicotine pouch for the hundredth time. Leo sent his next call—a slider. I sent it his way. The hitter swung wildly for a sharp foul pop fly. Leo ripped his mask off and adjusted his stance as his eyes tracked the ball where it ascended, peaked, then glided down into his mitt. Out. Only one more to go.
Batter five. A pipsqueak of a man but wickedly fast. He had hair as red as Freddie’s. The fucker singled on my first throw, as fastball outside. In the blink of an eye, the bases were loaded. First, second, third, all occupied by the enemy, all gunning for a run.
The sixth batter stepped up to the plate.
A moment of clarity hit me as he walked up. I couldn’t see Leo’s eyes, but I couldfeelhim. His presence. Like we stood in the dark next to each other. All I had to do was reach out for comfort. He was there. Urging me to stay strong. I rolled my neck and felt a few things pop. Relief flooded my system. I tasted the cinnamon on my tongue. The sweat on my upper lip.
Fastball high, Leo said, so I sent him the best damned fastball I knew.
Ball one.
Curveball next. Caught the bottom of the zone. Strike one.
Slider. Fouled off. Striketwo.
Fastball, missing the outside. Ball two.
Changeup. Blind-ass-mother-fucking umpire called ball three.
My heart about beat out of its protective casing. Three balls. Two strikes. Bases loaded. I braced myself for whatever pitch Leo would call. Probably a fastball, if I—
Knuckleball.
It took everything in my power to not visibly react. In a game where microexpressions mattered, I felt like I deserved an Oscar for keeping a straight face.
I sent back my own command.Fastball.
Almost as quickly as I sent it, Leo commanded back.Knuckleball. Knuckleball. Knuckleball.
I hadn’t thrown one at the level of majors. Ever. The only time I did was in the minors when I was having fun. Carefree and enjoying life.
