Page 165 of Through the Water

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Killian

“One of the beautiful things about baseball is that every once in a while you come into a situation where you want to, and where you have to, reach down and prove something.”

-Nolan Ryan

The last strains of Andy Grammer’s “Good To Be Alive” faded away as I approached the batter’s box.

I stopped short and tapped my bat against the dirt when I saw Atlanta’s second baseman deep in discussion with Antonelli. The two of them kept cutting their eyes over to me before Antonelli covered his mouth with his glove.

“Fuentes,” I said in a falsetto, unable to resist poking fun at the pair to keep my momentum up. “Have you seen Reed’s ass in those pants? Why yes. Yes I did, Antonelli. Best ass in the American League for the past eight years. Oh, crap. He caught us looking.”

I cracked my neck and bounced on my feet as Fuentes headed back to second base, chuckling to myself when he patted Antonelli’s ass on his way.

“Ooh, a love connection?” I mused, approaching the plate.

Their catcher lowered himself into a crouch before peering up at me. “Having a nice conversation with yourself, Reed?”

I smirked. “Sure am, Darcy. Just wondering when Antonelli and Fuentes are gonna take their romance public.”

“Heard you tried to do that a couple a years ago and your girl fled the country. Man, that’s gotta suck, knowing she won’t be here to dry your tears when you blow this game.”

My jaw tightened, but I kept my eyes fixed on Antonelli and dug my right cleat into the dirt. “Speaking of sucking and blowing, your wife already volunteered, so I’m good.”

Darcy grumbled something in response, but I tuned him out and glanced back at the dugout, getting the sign to take the first pitch.

With a deep exhale, I cleared my mind of everything, until it was just Antonelli and me. Except, it wasn’t just us. Just like every at-bat before, Ari was there too.

No matter where in the world she was, a piece of her would forever be standing on first base, gripping my heart in her hands.

“This one’s for you, baby,” I said under my breath. “It’s all for you.”

Even before Antonelli’s arm came forward, I knew it was a fastball. High and outside.

Ball one.

The organ made a low humming sound just before the opening notes of the “Let’s Go Chant” began to play over the speakers, taking the energy of the crowd and amping it up.

I looked to the dugout and got the sign to take the second pitch.

“C’mon, you pussy,” I muttered when Antonelli threw another high and outside.

Ball two.

I saw it in his eyes, the next one was going to be on the inside. My eyes darted over to the dugout again, getting yet another sign to take it.

Fuck.

The muscles in my forearms tightened as I adjusted my grip on the bat. I knew what he was about to send my way, convinced myself I could get a piece of it but held back. The last time I’d take my own advice on the third pitch, I ended up writhing on the ground just off first base.

I could be patient—hell, it hadn’t failed me in the past thirty-six games.

The slider came across the inside half of the plate, smacking Darcy’s glove with a loud pop, like the sound of a whip being cracked.

Strike one.

Shit. I could have gotten a single out of it, advanced Bailey to second…

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