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He kicked some dirt.

Spat.

Swung the bat a few times.

A second after he looked ready, he asked the ump for a last-minute time-out and stepped outside the box.

In the end, though, it didn’t matter. Five pitches later, I struck him out with my fastball.

Payback’s a bitch, Crowley.

Ben laughed and waved at TJ as he stomped across the plate and chucked his bat into the dugout. Coach Crowley yelled something at him before pulling his hat lower and staring at me. I smiled.

Worried, King Crowley?

The heat continued to bear down on me like a twenty-pound wet blanket for the next few innings. By the bottom of the sixth, my jersey was soaked through. Every muscle hurt, and I needed an oxygen mask since the air around me weighed as much as soup.

TJ took the plate for the third time, and despite feeling like hell, I smiled because he looked pissed.

I’d be too if I were 0–2.

Ben signaled my fastball. A good call. So far, TJ couldn’t touch it. I shook my sweaty hand loose and prayed my shoulder would hold out for one more inning, maybe two. After a deep and difficult breath in, I released the ball.

TJ swung and missed.

But he wasn’t done with me yet.

Two minutes later, he had me backed into a corner with a full count. And as the smart-ass stepped into the box for the sixth pitch, he winked. My ears pounded in anger, and the memory of the last time he’d done that swarmed around my head.

I was twelve, and it was one of the hottest days in July on record, so Mom had taken me to the pool at the rec center. Half the town was there and swimming, including TJ. I had kept my distance and my eyes on him, but when Mom called me over to the wall to grab a quick drink, I lost him.

Two minutes later, while I swam underwater, he appeared out of nowhere and yanked off my trunks. Before I could get them back, he tossed them out of the pool and onto the umbrella where the lifeguard sat. She blew her whistle and yelled at me.

Me!

She chucked my suit at me, and everyone laughed as I slid them back on under the water. I wanted to kill TJ, but he was twice my size back then. And he knew it.

Because TJ didn’t laugh when I was humiliated.

He winked.

“Reed!” Ben yelled. He now stood with his mask tipped back.

Shit. How long had he been standing there calling me?

“You good, man?” he asked.

I motioned for him to get back into position.

I hated throwing high and away, but TJ kept crowding the damn plate. He might’ve been a Crowley, but I couldn’t hit another batter. Not after last summer.

Hitting one meant I could hit more.

I couldn’t lose control.

I wouldn’t lose control.

Not again.