Page 128 of Third Strike Smitten

The crowd noise shifts as I turn to stare down the next batter. Bishop signals a curveball but I shake him off. He signals again and I give him the same response. The batter adjusts his grip on the bat as Bishop changes to a slider, and I nod, gripping the ball tightly. I’m just about to start my windup when a sound comes from somewhere near first base.

“TELL ME WHY…”

I freeze mid-motion, the ball nearly slipping from my fingers. My eyes dart to the crowd along the first baseline, searching frantically for the source of the sound.

A random guy sings in a terrible voice, “AIN’T NOTHIN’ BUT A HEARTACHE…”

Holy fucking shit.

She’s here?

She sings again as loudly as she can, her arms wide open, “TELL ME WHY...”

The words echo through the stadium, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The crowd, the game, the pressure, none of it matters because there she is, standing in the front row, her beautiful red hair blowing in the breeze, her unforgettable green stare locked on me with an intensity that lights my soul on fire.

Sutton stands up and sings back, “AIN’T NOTHIN’ BUT A MISTAKE...”

The entire first base section erupts in song, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.

“TELL ME WHY...”

The batter steps out of the box, looking confused as the stadium begins to vibrate with the Backstreet Boys’ anthem. Bishop stands from his crouch, turning to see what’s happening, and when he spots Isla, standing with Shepherd and Sebastian, his eyes widen before he breaks into a massive grin.

“I NEVER WANNA HEAR YOU SAY...”

The song builds, spreading through the crowd like wildfire. Second base joins in. Third base. The outfield. Soon, the entire stadium is singing, their voices merging into one thunderous chorus that shakes the very foundations of the ballpark.

“I WANT IT THAT WAY...”

The stadium organist picks up what Isla’s putting down and plays parts of the song right along with the crowd and I’m fucking flabbergasted and completely overwhelmed.

She came.

She’s here.

And that’s all that matters.

I don’t acknowledge that I see her other than the smile on my face, partially hidden under my cap, but fuck if I’m not appreciative of her gesture. I’m energized now and ready to finish this damn game.

“Let’s go, boys!”

The umpire steps out from behind the plate, looking bewildered. “Play ball!”

Bishop crouches back down, giving me a knowing look that says everything his mouth doesn’t need to. I nod once, gripping the ball tighter. The weight of it in my palm feels different now, lighter, more purposeful. Every pitch from this moment forward isn’t just for the team or the playoffs. It’s for her.

For Isla.

The batter steps back in, looking annoyed by the interruption. The distraction has thrown him off his game too.

Good.

I wind up and fire a fastball that catches the outside corner.

“Strike two!”

The crowd erupts, and I feel the energy shift. Something has changed in the air, in me. The doubt that’s been clouding my mind for days evaporates with each note of that ridiculous song still echoing through the stadium.

I throw a curveball next, breaking low and away. The batter swings and misses.