Page 137 of Spotlight
“Wishing you could go out there about now?” he asks with a grin.
“You have no idea.”
“Us too. It’d be something to pull off a win against the Renegades for the first time in as long as any of us can remember.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
Some of his easygoing attitude resurfaces. “It’s just one game.”
Maybe, but it’s my last game, and this sucks.
The inning ends and Freddie stands, blows out a long breath, and reaches for his glove.
“Wish me luck,” he says before heading to the mound.
Freddie looks like he’s going to be able to keep it together as he warms up before the inning. It’s obvious that he’s tired, but he fires the ball over the plate with a confidence and speed that has our bench feeling a sense of relief and hope.
It doesn’t last long. The first batter steps up and hits a line drive down the center of the field off the first pitch. That’s when Freddie unravels. I’m not sure why Coach doesn’t pull him immediately, maybe he thinks there’s a chance Freddie can still pull it together or maybe he’s worried about Roger doing more harm to his back. Whatever the reason, it isn’t until the bases are loaded that Coach walks out to the mound.
He gives Freddie a pat and the two of them walk off the field. The stadium is on their feet for him, but it’s a resigned type of applause that tells me everyone has given up on this game.
Roger takes a few practice pitches with JT. He grimaces every time the ball leaves his hands. I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Standing, I pace back and forth in the dugout. I want to be out there so badly. My stomach is in knots as the next batter steps up to the plate.
The tension is palpable as Roger shakes off a signal and then nods at the next one. He winds up and lets one loose. I hold my breath as I wait for the result. The batter gets a piece of it, but it fouls off beyond the third base line.
“Shit, he’s hurting,” someone says down the bench.
I glance back at Roger. He’s trying to walk it off, but the way he’s holding himself, it’s obvious he’s in pain.
Coach’s mouth turns down and he walks out to the mound to check on him.
Without thinking, I grab my glove and follow him.
Coach Wayne stops me. “Woah, where are you going, Holland?”
“To finish this.”
“New York doesn’t want?—”
“I don’t care. Tonight, this is still my team, and I want to finish this thing.”
He nods slowly, jaw still working fast on a piece of gum. “All right, then.”
While he lets everyone else know, I start to warm up beside the dugout. Someone must catch sight of me because soon I can hear a few people chanting, “Flynn the Flame, Flynn the Flame.”
Brogan would be so happy to know his nickname has caught on. I let out a soft chuckle and then refocus. Three outs and this game is over. Bases are loaded and they’re at the top of their lineup, which means no mistakes. Every pitch counts.
Roger starts off the field and I move to the mound. The chant gets louder. Once I’m in position, I hold the ball in my hand and look up to where I know Olivia and Greer are watching. They’re both on their feet, clapping.
Next, I find my brothers. Brogan has his arms raised over his head and even from here I can see his mouth moving along with the chant. Knox, Hendrick, Archer… and my dad. I blink a few times to make sure I’m not seeing things, but there he is standing next to Archer.
JT jogs up to me, pulling my attention back to the game. “Quite a pickle you walked into.”
“Yeah.” I huff a small laugh and glance around the full bases.
“I don’t have a pep talk planned, but something tells me you don’t need it tonight anyway.”
