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Heavy.

Suffocating.

But then the wind changed, and the moon broke through the clouds. The weight lifted. Dad’s words that Granddad had shared with me before the game found their way to me again: Every pitch is a risk.

And some risks just had to be taken.

I slowly turned back around toward home plate, and my team quieted.

Troy gave the signal for the pitch I needed to throw, the one I had worked on all summer. My two-seamer.

I nodded and exhaled into my glove as my fingers found the right position.

Control. Keep control.

I stared down TJ.

This one is for you, Dad.

Wound up.

It’s not about speed. It’s about late movement. You’ve got this.

Released.

CRACK!

TJ made contact but too far under. The ball popped way up high above my head. I waved off the infielders and yelled, “I got it!” as TJ jogged to first.

The ball dropped.

Please.

And dropped.

You can’t miss this.

And dropped…

You need—

Right into my glove.

The umpire yelled, “You’re out!” The crowd erupted into cheers, and my team charged me on the mound.

We won! Holy shit, I can’t believe we did it.

Brett and Dominic hoisted me onto their shoulders as the rest of the boys tossed their hats into the night air. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught TJ walking slowly around the bases and taking off his batting gloves.

The boys lowered me back to the dirt, and I jogged over to him. “Hey, TJ. You had a hell of a game.”

He stopped. “You too. That last pitch was nasty. Two-seamer?”

I nodded.

“You did say you’d save it for me.” He reached his hand out and I shook it.

“Maybe we’ll get to play each other again sometime,” I said.