His dad’s fucking goat!
I close the laptop with a snap. I can’t live with this. No promotion, even a major league VP title, is worth the weight of this devastation. This isn’t taking advantage of an opportunity. This is a corporate execution, and I am absolutely not going to let my father pull the trigger.
SEVENTEEN
JAKE
My body feels lighter than it has in years. From the time I was fourteen until now, more than a decade later, I have embraced the grind every free moment I have. I put myself through grueling workouts with the hope that one day that extra ounce of muscle would pay off. I hit the hills at four in the morning to sprint and gain speed before heading to my mom’s to care for the livestock on the off chance that I may get a millisecond faster. I threw hay bales for sport just to grow my traps.
I’ve been doing that for years and seeing zero results, at least not in terms of looks from the coaching staff. I was losing hope that any of it—this—was worth it.
And then Campbell came along and turned her big ole media spotlight on my grumpy ass, forced me to smile pretty for the cameras and play nice with my dad. And I’ll be damned if that wasn’t the missing ingredient, just like she said.
And tonight? I see it—the hard work finally paying off.
I am having the game of my life. Icaught for five different pitchers over nine innings—prospects management is looking to pull up to the big club soon. One of them, a lefty fresh out of college, tried to crank mid-nineties with absolutely zero control. I had to stretch, dive, and block everything he buried into the dirt, making a handful of game-saving stops behind the plate that kept us in it.
I’ve had a solid night at the plate, too—two doubles and a walk. Any other night and I’d be satisfied. But I’ve had a taste of greatness now, and I want more. I see the scouts making notes, and eye the rep from Texas in the stands, checking in on the development happening down here. I have his attention. I spotted him pulling out his phone to film my last at bat, and I see him propping it on his knee now as I take my warm-up swings just outside the dugout. We’re down by a run, and if Jayden gets on base, it’s going to be hard not to swing for the fences, seek the glory.
Jayden takes ball four and tosses his bat at my feet as he claps on his way to first, shouting, “Come on!”
It’s showtime.
I step into the batter’s box, dig my cleats into the dirt, and remind myself of my father’s advice—hands back, wait on the break, and let the hips drive the power.
I draw in a deep breath that calms my pulse, and lower my weight, widening my stance so I’m forced to use theMcKinney legs.My eyes track the spin the moment the ball leaves the pitcher’s hand, and that sideways rotation isn’t there. It’s all backspin. It’s a mistake. A fastball. It’s my turn to bethe guy.
The ball meets the sweet spot of the wood with a crack that echoes right down my spine. I side-step toward first in a bit of a skip as I watch the ball sail into the dark night sky, the tail straight, trajectory enough.I think.
It’s going to be fair. It has to be fair.Please be fair.
My eyes are like lasers, guiding that sucker over the massive left-field wall. Even seeing it, I don’t fully exhale and celebrate until I hear those precious five words from the in-game announcer.
“That’s a Mavericks home run!”
The stadium lights begin to flicker in unison as the second-base umpire swirls his finger in the air. I drop my bat halfway down the first base line and trot around the bases. I mentally tell myself to look like I’ve done this before, but fucking hell, I haven’t! Not out here, at least. This is my first home run as a Maverick. And it came off the bat with such ease. It felt like cutting butter. I’m gonna want to feel more of those.
By the time I round third and slap Coach Davis’s hand, I’m literally giddy. I let out a triumphant laugh, ignoring the hard stares from the losing dugout. Not only did I just hit my first home run, but I walked this shit off with it!
Roddy is the first one out of the dugout to greet me, slamming his hand against my helmet with a beaming grin. I still wish I had memories of him doing that when I was in Little League, but I’ll take this one right now. It’s special. And I’m glad he’s here for it.
The rest of the team piles out, one of my teammates pulling my jersey from my body while another dumps ice water over my back. It’s fucking freezing, but it’s also an honor.
My blood feels like it is buzzing with pure electricity. For the first time in a decade, life feels like it is finally falling into place. People are shouting my name, “Jake, Jake, Jake!” And my father’s shadow is nowhere to be found. He remains back, watching me with pride from a distance. This is my time, and that ache from resentment I’ve harbored for him for years isn’t there.
Through it all, the thought of Campbell is there. I can’t wait to see her, to celebrate how well the night goes, to wrap my arms around her and hold her close. And honestly, I am done sneaking around. I am ready to figure out a way to announce our young relationship to the world. I don’t want her to be a secret, and I don’t want to be hers.
I scan the field, figuring she must be down here somewhere. There’s media waiting for me, and the in-game host is waiting by home plate to ask me questions for the crowd that’s sticking around to celebrate. It’s a great turnout, and the fact there are families out here waiting to hear from me—kids waving balls and pens for me to sign—is absolutely wild.
“Where’s Campbell?” I lean into Jayden as he gathers up his gear. He glances over his shoulder and eyes the field then the stands.
“Weird. Don’t see her,” he answers with a shrug.
I’m not worried about the in-game interview, but I am a little nervous about talking to the media without her around. I take my time heading out to home plate, and my teammates make sure to pepper me with more cups of water and a bucketful of gum. Gary Willis, who has been doing these in-game interviews for the Mavs for years, slings an arm around me and runs through his usual set.
What was going through your mind?
Were you looking for that fastball?
