What the fuck was that?
I laughed for a good five minutes while replaying the entire interaction in my head and then proceeded to text Holt and Knox, who immediately made a three-way call to hear every last detail.
It felt good, talking to my boys, despite being ragged on mercifully. I miss them. I was recruited with them, went through freshman hell with them, and grew as ballplayers with them. We were all supposed to be drafted together. God, that would have been fucking awesome . . .
Yeah, Jason, Romeo, and Gunner are cool, but my friendship with them has nothing on the bond I share with Knox and Holt. There’s something about sharing a trashcan and throwing up together during freshman conditioning that really solidifies a bond between men.
Jason takes a seat next to me and sticks his hand in the bag, pulling out a cookie for himself. “Could have been way worse last night.” He takes a bite and then eyes the cookie. “She could have shoved the dining hall’s attempt at meatloaf in your mouth.”
“Hey, I like Lakeview’s meatloaf,” Gunner says, sitting on the other side of me and taking a cookie as well. “They have that special sauce they put on top.”
“It’s called ketchup,” Jason says, mid chew.
“Still good.”
Romeo pulls up a chair across from me and snags a cookie as well. Pretty sure they put the cookies in my locker for themselves.
“Did Coach change his mind about you starting?” Romeo asks, right before he shoves the entire cookie in his mouth.
Impressive.
I shake my head. “Nah, still keeping the bench warm.”
“Christ.” Gunner drags his hand over his face. “Badcock is fucking terrible at second, so what kind of stunt is Coach trying to pull?”
“He’s trying to drive me fucking insane.” I finish my cookie and lean back against my locker. “I’m just hoping the work I’ve been putting in this week pays off in case he decides to stick me in the game in the late innings.”
“He’ll grow desperate after Badcock punts another grounder off his shin. How did he even get recruited in the first place?” Gunner asks.
Romeo grabs my water bottle and without asking, downs half of it. “He had pretty good stats before coming here, but you know Coach; he sees the potential and morphs us into what he’s looking for in a player. Junior year, Badcock will be ready.”
It’s true, despite how much I hate the kid, he’ll grow under Coach Disik’s tutelage. We all have.
“So, what’s the story behind the cookie monster?” Romeo asks.
“Her name is Milly,” I say, not wanting the nickname “cookie monster” to become a thing. “She’s a trainer in the weight room, but I actually met her in the dining hall, in the panini line.”
“Ahh, panini love.” Gunner clutches his heart.
“More like panini hate. The girl despises me and it’s because I’ve made the worst impression on her.”
“Whoa, hold up,” Jason says. “Are you interested in this girl, Stone?”
“What? No. I mean . . . she’s pretty, yeah, but I’m not interested in anyone at this point. I don’t have time to focus on anything else but my bat and getting that working again.”
“So why do you care about making a good impression?” Gunner asks.
“Uh, I don’t know, to be a decent human? Despite last year and my shitty attitude, deep down I’m not a dick. We had some weird interactions. I might have insulted her in the weight room and I wanted to apologize. That’s why I went over to see her in the dining hall, to make sure she was okay.”
“From her reaction, I’m going to say she’s not.”
“I’m still trying to figure that one out.” I scratch the back of my head. “She said everything and I quote ‘is on the up and up.’ But anytime I actually tried to apologize, she cut me off. It was really odd. The guys with her didn’t have much to say to explain her reaction, so who fucking knows.”
“Hey, at least you got some cookies out if it,” Romeo says, plucking another cookie from the package and shoving it in his mouth.
Yeah, free cookies. I’m one hell of a lucky guy.
My entire body feels like it’s on fire as I itch to step out on the field.
We are down by three runs, Badcock has made three errors at second, and I swear to God every time he fumbles a ball, I feel Coach Disik staring me down, as if to mentally tell me this is all my fault.
But instead of unleashing me on the field to take charge, he has me caged in the dugout, practically frothing at the mouth, begging to be released.
A strong arm clasps my shoulder, and I immediately know it’s Jason from the bubblegum smell that follows. He’s obsessed with Big League Chew and has to have a wad of it in his mouth whenever he’s playing. I have no idea how he doesn’t choke at least once a game. “So glad Disik is a stubborn old ass. Badcock cost us two fucking runs.”
“Yeah, I know.” I grip the padding on the short fence in front of me. “I’m about to lose my goddamn mind.”
Not to mention, sitting the bench with what feels like the entire campus watching is so goddamn embarrassing. There are chants to put me in, squeals from the locker room chasers and rowdy parents getting sick of Disik’s intent to teach me a lesson.
But the lesson has been well learned. I know we’re losing because I let the team down. If I was out there on the field, we’d only be losing by one run. But instead, Badcock is traipsing around like a moron, unable to—
“Stone, get your helmet, you’re on deck.” Disik’s voice booms through the dugout, startling me.
But Badcock is on deck . . .
Oh shit, okay.
I snag my helmet from its cubby, select my bat from its designated hole, and put on my batting gloves as I step onto the field. The crowd immediately starts cheering, and if that doesn’t get my blood pumping, I don’t know what does.
Stepping into the on-deck circle, I pick up the bat weight, slide it down the barrel of my bat, and start warming up my swing. No outs. Frederickson, our left fielder, is up to bat and we’re down by three in the ninth. We need a miracle at this point.
I keep my eyes focused on the pitcher and try to time my swing with his pitch. I’ve battled against him before, so I know he loves to live on the outside corner with his fastball on righties, and he has a wicked cutter that will jam the best of hitters.
I’ll be looking for that outside fastball.
The ping of the bat pulls my attention to the field where Frederickson got jammed and hit a dinker to the third baseman who easily throws him out. Busted on the cutter.
I tap the end of my bat on the ground, loosening the bat weight, and then step up to the batter’s box. I glance at my third base coach, who has nothing to signal to me. Instead, he claps and calls out my name with encouragement.
Turning toward the batter’s box, I hold up my bat in front of me and take a deep breath. I’ve got this. I’ve been in the cages every damn day since my last game, I’ve hit probably over a thousand balls by now, and I’m seeing the ball now better than ever.
Just focus on the release.
Stepping in, I hold my hand up to the umpire while I position my feet and then I swing the bat up to my shoulder.