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The second batter is Las Vegas’s best hitter. I hold my breath as he swings and hits the fastball but cheer excitedly when Joshua extends and catches it firmly in his glove with his foot on the bag.
“One more,” Morgan squeals, grabbing my hands and holding them tight.
I nod and repeat in a whisper, “One more.”
Standing on the mound, Corey looks calm and collected. He’s unaffected by the raucous cheers and shouts coming from the dugout and crowd. The pressure of what’s at stake doesn’t seem to bother him. He throws another perfect ball, and his composure amazes me.
Another swing and a miss follows. The crowd holds its breath as we wait to see what happens next. My heart nearly stops when the batter clips the ball, but it’s a foul. I exhale, then take another deep breath as Corey begins to wind up.
The ball flies across the field and through the batter’s box, right into Greg Winston’s catcher’s mitt.
The stadium goes wild.
“YES!” I jump to my feet along with the rest of the visiting team’s fans.
“He did it!” Morgan cries, wrapping her arms around me and jumping up and down in pure excitement. “I can’t believe he did it on opening day!”
“I can,” I say with the biggest smile on my face. This is huge. This is going to prove to the Loons that they were idiots for trading Corey, and it will reassure the Lonestars that he’s an irreplaceable asset. Whatever rumors the media try to peddle about him in the future won’t matter. Corey is the Lonestars’ Ace, and the team is better with him on it.
The team has swarmed the pitcher’s mound, tossing Corey up in the air and cheering loudly. The crowd continues to cheer and shout in excitement. The atmosphere is chaotic. But all that fades for a moment when Corey, once again, locks eyes with me.
This time, his smile is large and bright, and seeing him so happy makes my chest ache. My hang-ups don’t matter. I’m so crazy about this man. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t give this thing between us a real shot. And based on the way Corey Johnson is looking at me after pitching his first no-hitter, I have a feeling it’s a shot worth taking.
20
COREY
I’m riding highon the flight back to Dallas, but exhaustion starts to weigh me down just as we’re about to land. My teammates haven’t stopped congratulating me since the end of the game, and the coaching staff have all taken turns walking by my seat and telling me how proud they are to have me on their team for such a historic moment in my career.
This almost doesn’t feel real.
After all the years I spent on the Loons, I only came close to a no-hitter, let alone a perfect game, twice. But I’ve been killing it during preseason, and now, on opening day, I finally throw a no-hitter. It’s a dream come true—something I’ve worked for since I was a little kid. I’m so fucking happy.
The only thing that would make this moment better would be if Carlee were here. She and Morgan stayed back for a girl’s night in Vegas, and I’m not going to lie, I’m not thrilled about it. Not because I don’t trust Carlee. She’s not the kind of woman who would cheat on me.
It’s just that Carlee has always emanated an approachable aura that, coupled with her beauty, draws men to her like flies to honey. It was true in high school, and I see the way the men she works with watch her now.
Those men are lucky their lingering looks are admiring and not leering or inappropriate. Otherwise, I’d have a few choice words with them. Carlee would, no doubt, be pissed about it.
We touch down in Dallas. I extend my arm and press against the seat in front of me, bracing against the force of the plane’s deceleration. The seatbelt light turns off shortly after we arrive at the gate. People begin to rise from their seats to get their bags.
I pull my trusty duffle bag out from under the seat in front of me and make my way to the front of the plane.
“How’s your shoulder feeling?” Eddie asks as I walk by. He’s still sitting, placing his laptop in his backpack. The trainer always helps me cool down after a game, but his efforts tonight were at another level. For the time being, I’m the star pitcher in the league. I’m sure his boss is on him to ensure my throwing arm remains in tip-top shape.
“Tender,” I admit, rolling the joint in question. “But it’s okay.”
“Good. The manager is going to have you sit out the next week of games, but we’ll still work on you before and after warm-ups just in case they call you in.”
Starting pitchers usually rest for five days max. A week is a little excessive, but I’m too tired to argue, “Sounds good.”
I make it off the plane after some small talk with the lingering staff, then walk to the private parking lot where the airport allows us to park our vehicles. In less than an hour, I’m pulling into my apartment’s secured garage and parking in my designated spot. Bags in hand, I take the elevator to the top floor. As the numbers illuminate above the double doors, I debate if I should hit the gym in the morning or if I should call Carter and ask if he wants to get breakfast. He’s in his off-season, and from what little I’ve gleaned from our text exchanges this past week, things are a little hectic in his personal life. I’m not always thegreatest at reaching out, but I want to be there for him if he needs someone to talk to.
I’m typing the text to invite Carter as I step out of the private elevator and into my apartment. I haven’t taken two steps before my cell phone rings. It’s Carlee.
“Hello?”
“Hey, did I wake you?” Her lovely voice travels out of the earpiece. I don’t hear anything in the background.
