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Father intended for me to be his life raft, getting him out of the hole he found himself in.
Ripley has been a miracle worker. Not only was he able to get me several offers to choose from, but he negotiated a higher-than-normal starting salary. Having multiple offers to choose from was great, and I included Kassidy in the decision-making process.
Ultimately, I ended up signing with a brand-new expansion team based in New York, The Padston Prowlers. The town is located in the mountains in New York, near the Pennsylvania border. Kassidy and I felt that the geographic change was a necessity.
From what the real estate agent we have been working with tells me, a casino is under construction along with the newbaseball field. Both will be ready by the start of the season. Kassidy is going to stay at Groveton to finish her degree. While I will be skipping my senior year, finishing online is not completely off the table.
Currently, we are on our way to the last game of the playoffs. This is for the championship. I am nervous, but not for the reason most people might think. Tonight, after the game, Kassidy and I are meeting up with her brother, Kavanagh. The stories she has told me about him have me on edge. He was the only one in her corner growing up. Kavanagh filled the role of parent, sibling, and best friend.
One night, while lying in bed, I finally found the courage to ask Kassidy about the savage scars on her legs. Through tears, she told me the story of her childhood. I owe Kavanagh a lot.
Karoline hasn’t shown back up in our lives, which is not a bad thing. After hearing Kassidy’s story, I don’t think I have it in me to be polite to that woman.
A heavy hand on my shoulder brings my focus back to the locker room. Zanko is staring at me, eyebrow raised.
“Dude, what the fuck? I have been trying to talk to you for ten minutes. Where is your head?”
“Sorry, I’m a little distracted.”
Z scoffs at my statement of the obvious.
“Get your head in the game, dude. We need to win this thing!”
Giving him a small nod, we grab our gloves and start heading to the field.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
My fingernails are all but gone.
Brock has been on fire today. He is on track to pitch a perfect game striking out every single batter that steps up to bat. The team they are playing, whose name I haven’t bothered to remember, has been doing everything they can to get a hit.
Groveton is considered the home team, so they bat in the second half of each inning. The game is entering the ninth inning now. If he can take out the next three batters, he ends his college career with a no-hitter and championship win. Currently, Groveton is winning three to nothing, and the tension in the stadium is heavy. Each person in attendance knows they are witnessing something special.
As Groveton takes to the field, my fingers are in my mouth as I chew at what is left of my nails.
The first batter steps up to the plate, and I take a deep breath. It wooshes from my chest in a rush as the umpire calls strike after strike, and the crowd screams in approval. The process repeats for the second batter: three pitches, three strikes.
Unable to help myself, I stand. It takes me a moment that the entire crowd is on their feet in anticipation of what will happen.
The third and final batter steps up to the plate. One pitch, one strike. Stepping out of the box, the batter bangs the tip of his bat into the field, letting the tip rest against his leg as he rubs his hands together. He steps back in, taking his stance. Brock pitches the ball, the batter swings and misses, and the umpire calls a second strike. The crowd grows even louder.
Brock wheels his pitching arm as the batter steps back out of the box again, repeating the motion of hitting the bat to the ground and rubbing his hands together. To a minute degree, I feel bad for him, knowing that things are on his shoulders. One pitch results in either the end of the game, crowning Groveton as the champions, or he goes home a hero saving his team and being the one to ruin Brock’s game.
As the umpire calls out to the batter, he slowly makes his way to home plate. Twisting my fingers together, my breath catches as Brock acknowledges the signal from Zanko. Brock readies his stance, and as the ball leaves his fingers, it is as if time slows.
The ball creeps toward home plate, and as I simply look on, eyes blinking, the entire stadium erupts in cheers as the umpire calls the third and final “strike.” Brock did it. He pitched a perfect game. Every player on the Groveton team rushes the mound, causing Brock to disappear in a sea of celebration.
My legs give out as I fall back into my chair. I am so proud of Brock.
It took a while for Brock to emerge from the locker room. After the pile of bodies thinned from the pitcher’s mound, the teams all shook hands. Brock received the MVP trophy and was the first to raise the championship trophy high into the air.
As soon as Brock made it back to me through the remaining reporters, we made our way to the car. Coach Pollard made arrangements for a car service to take us to the restaurant to meet Kavanagh. I am nervous and excited. It has been quite a while since I have seen my brother. Add meeting his girlfriend to the mix, and my stomach is doing summersaults.
The car comes to a stop, pulling up to the curb in front of a small brown building. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but the strong scent of garlic permeates the air. Brock tips the driver before helping me from the car. Placing a hand on the small of my back, he ushers me to the hostess's desk.
Immediately spotting my brother, we wave the hostess off, stepping around her. Reaching the table, Kav pulls me into a fierce hug, rocking us back and forth. After he breaks the hug, he comes to his senses and turns to face a pretty blonde. She reminds me a lot of Danica, and my gut instinct is that I don’t like her.
“Kass, this is Karrington,” Kavanagh says, gazing lovingly at the seated woman. “Karrington, this is my sister, Kassidy. The one I have told you all about.” Suppressing an eye roll at the “K” name, I paste a smile on my face, extending my hand out to her. Wrinkling her nose at me, she ignores my hand, instead lifting her wine glass to her lips.
