Page 139 of Passed Ball

Like he hoped it would, it throws off the pitcher and Dean swings at the sloppy slider, pulling it down the third base line. It lands shallow in the outfield, allowing Dom to take third and cover the corners.

Putting the fastest guy on the team right where we want him--in scoring position.

Now it's up to me and I've got options. As long as Dom comes in, that's all that matters--scoring a run myself would be a happy bonus. And not to be greedy, but I want it all today. The win, the girl, the run.

This is their pitcher's last chance. If he doesn't get me out here, his skipper is guaranteed to pull him and no one wants that, especially in the World Series. But I can't find it in myself to feel sorry for him today.

Before stepping into the batter's box, I grant myself one last chance to find Vivienne in the stands. Looking right at those deep greens I cover my heart with my hand and then take my stance.

This one is for her and I'm going to make it count.

The first pitch is trash, so I leave it, hoping for something I like soon. The pressure's on him, not me, and he's going to crack. It's clear in the tick of his jaw as he checks the bases.

Smart man. Give Dom an inch and he'll steal.

His attention refocuses on me, and he shakes off the first sign. He's playing a psychological game I know all too well, but it won't throw me off. Not with the motivation of winning the whole damn thing for the woman in the stands.

The corner of my lips tilts up in a smile just before he throws. It's a passed ball low in the dirt, sneaking past the catcher, exactly what we need. Immediately recognizing his mistake, the pitcher charges forward to cover and I step back allowing Dom to slide head-first, sneaking under the tag.

"Fuck!" the opposing pitcher bellows.

"Hell yeah!" Dom lets out a triumphant roar as I help him up and I dust him off, patting him off the back. "Finish this, Xav," he says as he charges towards the dugout, hands fisted, still shouting, getting everyone riled up with him.

"Our time." I say under my breath, shaking out my arms and getting back into place. Dean waits on second, giving me a quick sharp nod, a silent show of faith.

I fucking love this game. This is the most fun I think I've ever had playing ball, and it's all because I get to play with my brothers--the family that always chooses me. So, when the next pitch comes, and it's right down the middle, I give it everything I've got for her, for them, for me.

It's a solid hit over the infielder, dropping in front of the right fielder. It's enough to get Dean home, but the throw to first is clean and they pick me off, sending me back to the dugout to celebrate another run from the team.

There's no shame in a sacrifice.

Skipping down the steps, I gear back up to take the field and wrap this thing up. I'm still catching my breath when Cruz stoops down next to me, handing me my shin guard as I strap the other on one.

"That was a smart play. Not everyone can keep their head, but you did. Nice work."

The praise means everything coming from my captain because I know he's not only talking about the game happening on the field. "Thanks, Cap," I huff, still checking my breath.

"Watch Tyson. Keep him calm," he says, squeezing my shoulder as he stands to grab his glove. The bottom of the order is not faring as well against the Comet's pitcher.

The final Bandits' batter gets out, and Wilson's whistle grabs our collective attention before we take the field. "Men, baseball is a fickle sport. As easily as we took the lead, they can take it back. In a game this important, there's no giving up, no taking it easy. You get here by having grit. Don't for a second forget that they have just as much grit as you do. But I think you have more heart, and that's what's going to win you this game. Now get the hell out there and end our season the right way!"

A rumble of agreement rings through the dugout before we all take the field with the same determination. There's no false sense of security starting the ninth inning up three points, but there is a united sense of how we got here and what our goal is.

The ump sets a clean ball in my outstretched hand and I jog out to the mound, holding it out for Tyson. "You've got this. Everyone knows that. Give us three outs and we dog pile on the mound. Let's make it quick."

"What's the rush?" He laughs, as calm as a mountain breeze.

"There's a girl waiting for me in the stands and I need to tell her I love her." I nod to where Vivienne watches. She's not going to stop me tonight.

He follows my gaze, a smirk tilting his lips. "By all means, I'll win the fucking World Series so you can lock her down."

"I knew I could count on you." I press the ball into his hand and jog back to the mound.

This is it.

Tyson doesn't mess around, throwing gas and getting the first two batters out, throwing a total of eight pitches. The leadoff batter takes the plate with one out left and I don't envy him. This is do or die and he might be one of the best batters the Comets have, but it would take a miracle for him to change the direction of the game.

I keep a level head, calling on everything I know about Diego Rivera and pick my call carefully, Wilson's words ringing in my head. With a closed fist, I angle my arm away from my body. Tyson nods and puts it right in my glove. At the same time, the breeze of the bat washes over me.

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