Page 88 of Strike Zone

“I know. You can do this, Linc.”

“The run part or the dad part?”

“Both. Now hurry up, you have a girlfriend to get to the hospital. The team doctor is already on his way up to the stands, and an ambulance is on its way.” He pulls me in for a hug, slapping my back so hard it hurts. “We’re having a baby today.”

“Holy fuck. I’m going to be a dad today.” I swing the bat in my right hand, grounding myself with the one constant I’ve had my whole life—baseball. I can do this. “Anders,” I shout, as he jogs off the field, “I have to run the bases for it to count. You need to go now! Get to Diana for me. I can’t do this without you.”

“I’ve got you, bro!” He takes off at a sprint, the crowd going insane as I step back up to the plate. It’s louder than any World Series game in here right now, tens of thousands of fans cheering for us. Not the Yankees. For Diana and me. For her when she needs it most, and for me until I can get to her.

There’s no time for messing around. No room for error. It’s balls to the wall. Let’s see how big mine really are when it matters. The World Series was a schoolboy game compared to this. I take one last glance at Diana before readying myself, correcting my stance, letting my fingers find their grip. I swing at the air a few times, closing my eyes, shutting everything else out. It’s just me, the bat, and the soft scent of Diana’s perfume lingering on my shirt from earlier tonight.

I can do this.

Everything stops, the cacophony of sound drowned out by my heartbeat thundering in my chest, creating a vacuum. A moment suspended in time. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs, calming my mind as if every hit since the first time I picked up a bat at the age of four was leading to this. To her. To the beginning of our family.

When my eyelids flutter open, I’m bombarded with a screaming stadium, waiting with bated breath to see if I walk it off and take the draw or man up and do what Diana asked of me.

The pitcher pulls back, and I watch in slow motion, the ball hurtling toward me at ninety miles an hour. It’s a split-second decision, knowing where the strike zone is going to be and committing to the hit.

There’s no second swing tonight, no second chances.

My bat connects, smashing the ball sky-high with every ounce of force I have left in me. All I can do now is run and pray it doesn’t come down in the hands of an Astros outfielder.

I take off at a sprint, tossing the bat aside as I run hell for leather, the crowd erupting in a collective roar as I speed toward first base.

I round second.

There’s no stopping now. Even if I did, there’s no one left to bat. I keep running, glancing up at the screen as the ball comes barreling down, every Astros outfielder in the vicinity trying to get to it.

It hits the deck as my foot connects with third base. I dig deep, knowing it’s a race between them and me. Can they get the ball back to home plate before I get there?

My lungs are burning as I push myself, thinking of Diana and the world of pain she’s in right now. She’s all that matters. I’ll outrun every fucker on this field for one reason, and one reason only, because she wants to see me win before she brings our daughter into the world.

With home plate in sight, I gauge my slide, the difference between victory and defeat.

The familiar thud of my foot slamming against the plate sends a vibration ricocheting through every bone in my body, and I have no idea if it was enough. Did I get to it before the ball landed in the catcher’s mitt?

I don’t even wait to find out, scrambling to my feet and taking off toward the stands, tracking Diana as the medics help her down to the tunnel.

The fans are going wild as my teammates rush the field, following hot on my heels. I glance at the screen just as HOME RUN flashes in bold letters before the camera pans back to me, sprinting across the field and into the stands, to Diana.

I have the biggest fucking smile on my face right now and tears in my eyes as I reach her.

“Diana!”

She grabs my face, her lips crashing down on mine in a soul-shattering kiss. “You’re so lucky you hit that. If you made me wait while I’m in labor, I was going to be so pissed.”

“I hit that eight and a half months ago, that’s what got you here in the first place.” I couldn’t resist, knowing it would make her laugh.

“Now is the time you’re going to make that joke? Really?”

“Sorry, it was too obvious to pass up.”

“That hit was incredible.”

My mind is exploding. “Why are we still talking about baseball? You’re in labor. Let’s go have a baby.”

“Good idea. I need the OB and the good drugs now.”

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