Page 166 of Through the Water

I stepped out of the box and rolled my shoulders, trying to center myself. The volume in the stadium was like nothing I’d ever heard before—the fans chaotic and wild. One fan had even brought in a cowbell, the incessant clanging of it vibrated through my skull and rattled my brain.

My focus returned to Antonelli, and I took a deep breath, waiting for him to show me what was next. Throwing another pitch inside was too risky. He was going to try to blow one by me again.

“What’s it gonna be, Antonelli? Fastball outside because you don’t trust me?”

I looked to the dugout and got the signal I wanted.

Swing away.

After taking a practice cut, I stepped back in the box and planted my cleats.

If you can visualize it, you can make it happen.

Forty thousand people, but hers was the only face I wanted to see. In my mind, the entire stadium held its collective breath in silent anticipation. Well, everyone but the mouthy redhead seated behind home plate.

What are you gonna do, superstar? Make a move or just stand there some more?

I exhaled a breathless laugh, hearing Ari’s voice as clear as day. Darcy muttered something about my deteriorating mental state, but his insults were garbled.

Her.

I only heard her.

And that was all I needed to face Antonelli. A lot of pitchers sat into the back leg, but not this guy. Atlanta’s closer was old-school, using his entire body with every pitch, which was probably why his pitching velocity was unmatched.

A worthy adversary.

He moved into his starting stance, and I aligned my knuckles, keeping a relaxed grip on the handle of the bat.

Like you’ve done it a million times before, Reed…

Antonelli’s arms went over his head as he took a short start-step to the side, before pivoting in front of the rubber, his movements slow and deliberate.

He stepped in, breaking his hands at the exact same time his leg came up off the ground. The announcers, the screaming fans, the cowbell—it all disappeared. I was left with the buzzing stadium lights overhead, and the sound of my exhale as the ball left his hand.

Fastball.

I swung at the offering, the maple bat connecting with my target in a loud crack that sent the ball soaring deep to left field. I turned my face up, wincing when I saw the bright yellow foul pole in its path.

Fuck, I’d been too early on it.

Stay fair. Stay fair.

After tossing my bat to the side, I began jogging to first, keeping an eye on its trajectory. It was gone, or it was foul. I’d made it about a third of the way up the first baseline when it disappeared just inside the foul line.

I stumbled, feeling as if the breath had been knocked from my lungs.

Home run.

There was an immediate seismic shift within the ballpark, a rumbling magnitude that I felt through the bottoms of my cleats. The sky above me erupted in an explosion of fireworks and cobalt blue streamers as I rounded first, raising my fist in victory.

We’d done it.

I knew I was running faster than ever before, but inside, I was that seven-year-old kid again, flying around the bases like I was weightless. But, unlike most of my career, this game had been won with heart.

It was almost perfect.

The only thing missing was her.

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