Page 74 of Tastes Like Watermelon Moonshine
“Austin. How long?” I’m shocked. Don’t men always act like things are worse than they really are? Women are the ones that brush off the pain, labeling it as nothing.
“It started shortly after I joined the Silver Spurs. It’s not a big deal. I’ll be fine. I probably just need to stretch more, lift less. Something like that.” He brushes a hand over his right shoulder, acting like it’s nothing.
“You’re certain that it’s nothing? Have you had a doctor check it?” I keep my tone gentle and even, I don’t need to go into mom or big sister mode again. But I would love to ask a million more questions and make some suggestions.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he pleads with me. “Please, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
I sigh and open my mouth. But I don’t want to argue, so I close it and reach for the cinnamon canister to check how much is left.
“You know my stats, I’ve been playing well. I’m catching grounders just fine, catching pop flys, batting above average. I’m fine, Rae. Promise. If it gets worse, I’ll tell the trainers.” He makes an X over his heart, a puppy dog look entering his eyes. “Oh, and Josh knows, so he’ll keep tabs on me.”
I blow out a big breath. I’ll drop it for now, but I’m going to be watching him closely from now on. “Okay, I’m glad he knows. So, what else is going on?”
We talk for a while longer before saying I love you and goodbye. As I finish inventorying the spices, I ask God to show Austin and I what’s next for our life.
Chapter 36
Austin - The Present
Anticipationworksitswaythrough my body in the form of a shiver. Starting in my neck and tumbling downward. My walk-up song, “UP!” by Forrest Frank fades. I squint my eyes and narrow in on the pitcher, who is finally entering his windup. As much as I know pitchers hate the pitching clock, I like that it keeps them from making us batters wait forever.
A droplet of sweat clings to the end of my nose. My hands itch with the urge to wipe it away. It’s quite the distraction and it distorts my view of the pitcher’s mound.Eyes on the ball. Focus. This could be home run number sixteen,I tell myself. If it is home run number sixteen… I’d have the most home runs in Double-A all throughout the league.
I lower my shoulders and square up, settling into my stance, thinking only of the ball, and how far I can send it. I’m so focused that I can hear the groan the pitcher makes as he releases the pitch, his left leg settling back down on the mound.
Time moves, slow motion, as I shift. My arms moved forward, the bat swinging in a perfect angle. Then, time resumes its normal pace. The ball flies the opposite direction, having slammed into the bat and changed trajectory.
The bat dangles between my fingers, and I watch the ball soar. Over the head of the second baseman. The center fielder pumps his legs as fast as he can. I join in, my feet carrying me toward first base. Then second. I barely tap third base before flying across home plate.
Home run number sixteen in the bag. And not a fragment of pain in my shoulder. I knew it was nothing. I’m fine.
The air is charged, the sounds of the crowd mingle with the announcer's voice, telling the stadium that I’m now top in the Double-A league for home runs. Jared and Josh are the first to greet me. They’re jumping and shouting, and Jared throws his helmet on the ground before grabbing me up in a bear hug. Before long, everyone is jumping around me, thumping me on the back, dumping water on me, smacking my backside, cheering me on.
For the rest of the game I float to and from the dugout. A renewed sense of energy flowing through my veins. I went two for four with that home run along with a double.
I lean back in my cubby in the clubhouse, watching all the guys around the room. We all get along well, but I’m closest with Jared and Josh, and now we have five to seven guys for each Bible study.
“Still riding that high from that zinger of a homerun?” Griff, our center fielder, asks from his cubby, two spots over from mine.
I prop my arms behind my head and lean back in my chair, doing my best to look the part of the leading home run player for the Double-A league. “I would say it’s a weird feeling, but I reallydon’t feel too different. I was definitely feeling charged up right after hitting it.”
Griff laughs. “Well, you deserve to feel like you’re the king with the best record.” Griff stands up and addresses the whole team. “Who’s up for celebrating Austin with a trip to The DugOut?” He pauses, and one side of his mouth tips up and a conniving lookenters his eyes. The only way I can think to explain it is,maniacal.Whatever that look is, Josh starts shaking his head.
Josh levels Griff with a glare. “Don’t even go there with this, Griff. You know some of us won’t step foot in that place.” The tension between the two is thick and hangs like humidity in the room.
“You just don’t know how to have fun.” Griff says with a roll of his eyes.
“We’re not going to fight over it.” I jump up, arms outstretched, palms facing the arguing parties. “I don’t drink, so let's go someplace tame. A place suitable for a family. If Raegan lived close, I’d want her here, and I bet some of you guys would want your wife or girlfriend here if we were celebrating you. So keep it family friendly.”
“Fine, we’ll go to The EndZone.” Griff huffs, his eyes throwing daggers at Josh. Turning toward me, he smirks, “if you ever feel like living life instead of hanging with the prudes, I’ll take you to the best sports bar in Frisco, my treat.”
“I won’t be interested, but thanks for the offer.” I look at the rest of the guys. “We’ll meet at The EndZone in,” I glance at my watch, “say, forty-five minutes? That’ll give y’all enough time to primp.” I grin at Jared, knowing that his hair routine has to be done if he’s going out in public.
“Austin! League leader for home runs.” I can hear the smile in Raegan’s voice as it filters through my cab. I’m headed to the EndZone and just like I do with every other game, I call her on the way home.
“That would be me.” I feel my cheeks turn red, even though no one is watching.
“I’m so proud of you.” She says softly.
