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“It was on the money,” Victor said. “So was mine. He just beat us.”
“I still got it,” I said, twirling a finger in the air.
“All right, well, when you’re done eating dirt, you have one out left and three runs. No more ghost runners after that play,” Graham said, always the one capable of keeping score in his head. He might not have been great at math in school, but the man could handle five different baseball scores, ghost runners, strikes, balls, outs, and anything else related to baseball easily.
I nodded and forced myself to my elbow. Something twinged in my shoulder, but I ignored it. I often had trouble with that shoulder when doing physical stuff. It hurt, but not that badly. A couple Tylenol and a shot of whiskey should make it fine.
At least enough to get through the ceremony.
“Here we go,” Graham said. “I’m not playing around anymore.”
He was walking back to the mound, and I struggled to my feet, looking for the bat I’d flipped while jogging to first before I turned on the jets. I found it rolled up against the caged dugout and meandered over to pick it up, taking my time so I could catch my breath. When I got back in the batter’s box, I knew I had very little in me, and I half-heartedly swung at two pitches, trying my best to make contact with them and missing. Graham was on a mission to strike me out, and he did so, easily.
After the out, I tossed my bat and helmet to the plate, giving up my spot for Victor to come in and take his shot. Ryan was already on his way to the infield, cycling closer to the plate for his next at-bat. As he passed me, Victor tossed me his glove, and I slipped it on, heading into the outfield. I was barely on the short grass when Ryan called out my name.
“Huh?” I asked.
“I said are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired from running,” I said.
“No, not that,” Ryan said, jogging over to me. We both glanced at the rest of the guys. Graham was stretching his arm, Mark his legs, and Victor was just fitting the helmet on his head. We had a few moments to kill.
“I’m good,” I said. “Nervous. But good.”
“Nervous about the wedding or being married?”
“The wedding, I think,” I said. “I’m more excited than anything to be married. Kristen is… man, I’m in love with that woman.”
Ryan smiled and smacked me on my shoulder. The twinge inside got a little louder, but I tried not to let on to it.
“I know how that feels,” he said. “We all were talking the other day about how much you’ve changed this year.”
“For the better, I hope,” I said. Ryan nodded.
“For the better,” he said. “Not as finicky and gruff all the time.”
“Hey now.”
Ryan put his hands up, the glove comically larger than the other hand.
“Just saying,” he said. “We’re glad to see you happy for once. She’s been good for you. We’re just happy for you, bro.”
“Thanks, Ryan,” I said. “I appreciate that.”
“All right, enough with the sappy bullshit,” Ryan said. “We’ve got two hours before we have to get you back to the ranch and get you ready for the wedding.”
With that, he trotted back toward second base, and I took up position in center left. Victor was right-handed, and from childhood had been a pretty reliable pull-hitter. If he got something to the outfield, it was most likely going in left.
Sure enough, the first pitch he saw, he cracked deep into left field, a floater with lots of airtime. I took off toward the ball, positive I had a bead on it and was going to get an easy out. But the closer I got to the ball, the farther away it seemed. As it dropped, I turned on the jets as best as I could, but I was still going to miss it.
Unless.
I dove, laying out completely and watching the ball land just into the tip of my glove. It smacked into the webbing, and I pulled it tight to my chest as I tried to turn in mid-air. Protecting the ball, I slammed into the grass, hard, and felt an immediate white-hot, searing pain go over my shoulder and down my arm.
“Fuck!” I cried out as my body stopped sliding, and I rolled over onto my back, clutching my arm.
“Shit,” I heard someone say, and then there was the pounding of cleats coming toward me with mumbles of voices behind it.
