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I watch Tanner’s stance. His movements. His focus. He’s gonna nail this one.
And he does.
And the next.
And the next.
Strike out.
I look back at Coach Sanderson. “When the problem’s physical, you send them to the trainer, right?” He nods. “So when the problem’s mental, why do we tell them to get their heads in the game?”
His eyes narrow as he takes me in. Then he smirks at me and claps me on the back, giving me an approving nod.
Tanner lasts another inning before he starts to tire and Coach pulls him out.
The game has still been tight, but we’d been ahead by one for most of the game. Last inning, the other team evened things out.
We’ve got one man on second, another on third, and Joel’s up. He’s not a powerhouse like Miles, but he’s consistent. And he knows how to read pitches. All that time spent practicing with me every single day of the summer. He learned how to read a pitch. It makes him a dangerous hitter, but the other team’s closer doesn’t seem threatened. That’s a mistake. It’s the bottom of the eighth. If Joel brings in these two runs, it could solidify the win for us. All our pitcher would need to do is close it out.
Joel’s been watching the pitcher for the last few batters and seems to have a handle on him. Still, as he’s about to walk out to the box, I grab his shoulder and whisper, “Wait for the curveball, it’ll be right in your sweet spot.”
He grins at me. “You know me too well.”
I give him a slight nod and he goes to the batter’s box. The first pitch is a fastball. He lets it go by. If there’s another fastball, he’ll swing, but I know he’s hoping for the curveball.
And we’re lucky. Because that’s the next pitch. And all I hear is the crack of Joel’s bat as it demolishes the ball to the back wall of centerfield. Both of our players on base score, and Joel, sneaky and quick as fuck, makes it to third.
One more solid hit from the next guy in the lineup and Joel scores. The next batter up is our final out, but we go into the top of the ninth up by three, and that’s a good place to be.
“Thanks for tonight,” Tanner says as we watch the closer strike out his second batter. We’re so damn close.
“I know better than most how much the mental affects the physical. It’s easy to let the world outside get to us and mess with our game. But the thing about baseball—part of why I was so fucked up without it—is that it has the power to wash everything else away. Out here it’s us and the mound. Nothing else needs to matter but the game. It’s a reset. It allows us to let go for a few hours and heal. It’s part of why we crave this. Don’t let the bullshit filter in.”
The comforting thwack of a ball landing in a glove draws our attention to the field.
Strike three.
I clap Tanner on the back. “Congrats. Looks like you just got your first win of the season.”
We head out on the field to celebrate for a moment. For the first time since the start of the game, my eyes drift to Rae, who is on her feet and clapping proudly.
I suck in a slow inhale and take it all in.
God, I’ve missed this.
Rae
Miles, Sarah, Mackie, Amanda, Jamie and I are waiting near the locker room to congratulate the boys after an incredible first game.
Mackie, Sarah, and Miles are chatting. Amanda and Jamie are flirting—they might be a match made in heaven. But I’m waiting for the boys. I’m proud of Joel. He was on fire. But I’m more excited to see Aaron. I was pissed at him earlier. In some ways, I still am. I don’t like jealous Aaron. But I also know he wasn’t trying to hurt me. Plus, Kev texted me and said that his job was safe.
Slowly, players descend the stairs, with Joel near the front of the pack.
I whistle our special whistle that the six of us always used around the neighborhood after dark. Joel turns and sees us and trots over. He scoops me up in a big hug.
“You kicked ass tonight, Joelskies!”
“It felt fucking amazing.”
