Page 54 of Fastball Fever
"And I love you just as much."Amy pulls back so she can admire the ring, her eyes wide and glistening."Charlie, it's perfect.The sapphires—they're Admirals blue."
"Yeah, I noticed."I smile and wink."What else would I give my fiancée?We're both baseball fanatics."
Just then, my phone alerts me to a new text.When I check it, the words on the screen leave me frozen in shock.
Amy grasps my arm."What's wrong?"
"Nothing.Nothing at all."I grin, raising my phone high."The Admirals are headed for the World Series!"
Suddenly, the stadium lights flash on, and cheers erupt from the tunnel.My family pours onto the field—not just Lauren and Doug, but my parents and grandmother too.Amy's mom is also here.Everyone rushes toward us with open arms and tearful smiles.We're celebrating more than my engagement but also the biggest moment in my professional career.
The World Series.
I whoop."Hot damn!We've made it!"
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The World Series, Pt.1
Today, I'm in the city of Aspen, Colorado, on the mound at Altitude Park, ready for the first game of the World Series.Naturally, the Assitudes were selected as our opponents.It's the culmination of everything we've fought for all season.The stands are packed with fans from both sides, a sea of Admirals blue clashing with the Altitude's forest green.The thin mountain air feels crisp in my lungs, different from the humid heat of Jacksonville.
I adjust my cap and dig my cleats into the red clay of the mound.The ball feels solid in my hand, the seams rough against my fingertips.I've thrown thousands of pitches in my career, but none as important as the ones I'll throw tonight.
Decker Johnson, the Altitude's star slugger, stands in the batter's box.We have history between us.Last season, he took me deep twice in one game, a memory that still burns.His self-assured smile tells me he remembers too.
"Just like old times, eh, Braddock?"he calls out, tapping his bat against home plate.
Something about his bat seems…different.Johnson taps home plate again.Is that…No, it can't be.But I'd swear he has…
A torpedo bat.
I'd recognize the bowling-pin profile of the torpedo bat anywhere.But this is the first time I've encountered one.The Altitude must be really worried about the Admirals trouncing them if they need to trot out a new weapon.I've heard a lot about torpedo bats, but I'm not sure I want to try it.Feels like cheating somehow.
No time to worry about that.The game has begun.
I narrow my gaze, blocking out the roar of the crowd.All that exists is this moment, this batter, this pitch.Coach Martinez gives me the sign from the dugout—fastball, high and inside.My specialty.I nod discreetly.Then I wind up, channeling all my focus into my grip.The pitch flies from my hand like a bullet, exactly where I want it.Decker swings—and misses.
Strike one.
Cheers erupt from the Admirals fans.First blood has been drawn.Decker must not have practiced enough with his torpedo bat.He's clever, though, and I'm sure he'll get up to speed quickly.
"Lucky pitch," Decker grumbles, but I can see the doubt creeping into his eyes.
I glance quickly toward our dugout and catch Tripp giving me a thumbs up.It's always good to know your teammates have your back.The catcher signals for another fastball, but I shake him off.Decker's expecting it now.I'll give him a change-up instead, strictly to mess with his timing.
I go into my windup again.The ball leaves my hand looking like heat but arrives fifteen miles per hour slower.Decker lunges forward, his weight shifting too early.
"Strike two!"The umpire's voice booms across the diamond.
Decker steps out of the box, frustration evident in the tight set of his shoulders.He takes a practice swing with that torpedo bat, the wood piercing the air with a distinctive whoosh.The altered barrel clearly gives it different aerodynamics.If he connects solidly, that thing could send the ball into orbit.
Focus, Charlie.Don't let fancy gear trip you up.
The catcher signals for a curveball, low and away.I nod, but my mind races with calculations.Decker's stance has shifted slightly.He's compensating for the bat's different weight distribution.Smart.I need to be smarter.
I wind up and release, watching the ball spin and break.For a heart-stopping moment, I think he's read my pitch.His eyes track the ball with laser focus, and the torpedo bat begins its arc.
But my curve breaks sharply at the last second, just beyond the reach of his swing.
