Page 43 of Endgame

It’s our first home game of the season, and Striker fans came for a win. I love this game. The thrill of their excitement is a testament to how well we play. They may not realize that their cheering and eccentric spirit has a substantial impact on the team's morale, but it’s crucial. Our captain, Mack, cuts in with rowdiness, making the team jump up and down, firing us up as he shouts, “Atlanta Boys, where you at?”

We’re losing our grapes. “We right here!”

Mack shuffles around each of us, hitting our ball caps and yelling "Strikers" at the top of his lungs. The energy in the ballpark is intoxicating. Morale is at an all-time high, leaving us ready to take the field and dominate this season.

The last three weeks of pre-season have been consuming every waking hour of our days when we’re not practicing. Interviews, press duties, commercial ads, physicals, the wholelot of it taking up hours on end, leading to the season's first game.

Makers Park is known for its captivating views with the downtown Atlanta city skyline being the only view in sight outside of the Batter’s Eye. It’s rich and entrancing at night, which is part of the reason visitors prefer the evening game times.

My adrenaline feels like a potent drug tonight as I take the mound. Pitching has always been an action that calms me. After years of playing the game, nerves are almost non-existent, and I prefer to keep it that way. I don’t have a pregame ritual or lucky accessory. I’ve never been one to need anything really—just the game.

As I wait for the first batter in the line up to take the plate, my thoughts begin drifting to the last month and a half. Despite having a rigorous schedule, I’ve somehow found ways to make myself noticeable around Dakota. Not that she’s necessarily avoiding me, but it’s clear she is unsure of how to treat me, given us working together. Thankfully for her, I don’t give a fuck about any of that. I’m incapable of leaving her alone.

A part of me wonders if she will be here tonight. I would assume so since she’s the team photographer, but I have yet to set sights on her. Right now, my focus is on lighting this team up and taking home the win.

I nod at Bodhi, my best friend and our catcher, as he latches on to what I’m putting down in seconds. The first batter approaches the plate while Striker fans send off their roars; it’s time tostrike.

20

DAKOTA

“You’ve got an eye for that.”

I’m startled by the sudden feminine voice behind me. My body is uncomfortably crouched against the first baseline fence while I focus on putting my style into this shot. Precision and detail are my motivators. I stand quickly, trying not to show my hesitation, and turn to face an unfamiliar blonde-haired bombshell. She’s stunning, reminding me of someone from New York Fashion Week, but edgier. She’s layered in golden blonde hair and the brightest set of baby blue eyes, and she’s covered in tattoos.

I’m silently wishing I could pull off her girl-next-door-meets-rock-band-lead-singer style.

“So sorry if I scared you. I couldn’t help but notice the shots you’ve been taking, and I’ve got to say, your accuracy is incredible.”

A compliment was not what I was expecting from someone so beautiful. My experience with beautiful people, if I should even call them that, is arrogance. As of late, that has yet to show itself here at Makers. Everyone who works here has been nothing short of kind. I went into this job fullyexpecting to get the new girl treatment, and rightfully so, but my expectations died out the second I was invited to lunch with some of the merch ladies. They made me feel welcomed and accepted.

It feels strange to admit it, but I love it here.

I decide to turn towards her with the goal of friendship in mind. “Totally fine. Speaking of having an eye, want to see the most ridiculous shot I got of Kingston’s ass?”

I’m caught off guard to see her laughter immediately coming to the surface like it’s such an easy thing for her to feel, something I’m noticing is easy for almost everyone here. I pull up the photo, lifting my camera towards her to give her better access. It’s obvious he’s fixing his belt or something in that general area, but he seems to have run out of options on where to place his glove, needing two hands to get the job done.

King’s massive glove is shoved between his butt cheeks, clenching like a lifeline for support.

That’s a big ole booty, holding a big ole glove.

Why did he choose his butt cheeks to hold the glove? That’s still a mystery to me, but the laughs the unnamed beauty and I have make it worth it.

“Unbelievable. He couldn’t reign in the wild if he tried.”

She’s not wrong. If I’ve learned anything about Kingston since working here the past several weeks, it’s that he’s the life of the party. His goofiness requires very little effort. It’s his unhinged behavior that brings brighter days.

His energy is compelling.

Waving her hand at me in a late greeting, she introduces herself. “I’m Tenley, by the way. Probably should have started with that.”

Tenley laughs, and I also take that as a sign to introduce myself to her. “Dakota. But you can call me Kodi. Not gonnalie, it’s nice to meet another woman around here. It’s like a swarm of testosterone up in this place.”

She laughs before nodding her head in agreement.

“For real. Have you met Navy yet? She works here too. She actually might be here somewhere. Let me text her and see.” Tenley’s eyes are curiously searching the park, hoping to find Navy, not knowing I understand more about that woman than she probably knows about herself.

My hand reaches for hers as she picks up her phone. “Oh, not even necessary. Navy and I go way back. We’ve been best friends since college. She’s actually part of the reason I got the job.”

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