Page 106 of Wild Hit
There’s the New York Eagles, the team where our catcher’s brother plays. Everything I know from Logan is that his family is absolute garbage, and that his brother tried something on Rose in the middle of a game. And no one who messes with our people is gonna get a second chance.
And then there are the Denver Riders.
The crimes committed by Ben Williams are innumerable. From sabotaging Cade’s career in every way he could. because he knew that otherwise the Cowboy was gonna gobble him up, to being an absolute piece of shit to Rose and Logan. I wasn’t immune either. If a big change hadn’t been necessary for my daughter, I’d still probably be playing in the Riders, slowly being consumed by Williams and his toxicity. Pretty sure I wouldn’t have been about to break a historic record in that alternate reality.
Right now, we have to focus on the Texas Longhorns first, but it’s looking very likely that the Eagles will come next, and maybe eventually the Riders. That’s gonna be more exciting than what could happen tonight.
Beau continues, “But this is a team that doesn’t give a shit about anyone else’s expectations. We’re here to play the game our way and on our terms. We’re the Orlando Wild, the dark horse, the team that everyone underestimated, and we’re going to shut them all up and make history together.”
“That’s right!” someone exclaims.
“For the pizza!” a second one shouts.
And then the whole dugout is roaring with “for the pizza!”
A laugh bursts from my chest. I make a mental note to suggest to Audrey that we should get sponsorship from a big pizza chain or something.
“Ready to rumble?” Lucky asks me as he walks out of the dugout, since he’s our leadoff batter.
“Hell yeah, baby.” We dab like five times and off he goes.
Low key, Lucky’s my favorite player in the team. He’s on the field the same way he acts off it—cheeky, a little wild, and one hundred percent on purpose. It’s like the shortstop position was tailor made for him, having to react to wild plays with no warning, stretching his body like a damn gymnast, and thenmaking anoopsface for the camera as if every one of his feats was just a fluke.
He’s the same as a batter. There’s no better player to start us off with when it’s our turn to bat.
I put on my protection pads while watching him in action. The ones really having a blast are the fans in the stands who get to eat popcorn for this. Dude swings at the very first ball with reckless abandon for a wild hit that sets the pace for the game.
Once Lucky’s on base, the next at bats are also a carnival. Mike Brown takes a few more pitches, but he eventually makes it to base with the dirtiest bunt. It gets everyone booing but does the job, and no one will be able to wipe the grin off his face after this.
I wait on-deck as Logan steps up to the plate. Pretty sure he’d get offended if I tell him that he’s of the exact same breed as Lucky. Both are devious and calculating, but while Lucky is very obvious about it, Logan is like a calm ocean with violent undertows under the surface. This guy’s capable of batting a ball one half an inch inside of the foul line if he so pleases. I kinda wish I had that talent because it’s so damn cool.
And entertaining. I practice some swings as he waits for a couple of pitches, still as a statue. The Longhorn starting pitcher is good, but not Cade Starr good, and the ball slips out of control just enough for Logan to clock it.
The clanging sound against the wooden bat is so satisfying, for a moment I’m sure it’s gonna be a home run. Instead, two outfielders run like the loan sharks are behind them. The hit’s long enough that it lets Lucky advance to third base, and suddenly it’s bases loaded and my turn at bat.
Well, kinda wish I had worn ear plugs for this.
The audience is so hyped up that I can’t even hear my walk up song. I wonder if Marty’s watching along with Consuelo. This game will end too late into the night for them to be atthe stadium, and Marty has school tomorrow and after that, a pajama party with her new friends.
As I do my little ritual on the plate, I catch Lucky’s extensive lead. He’ll basically score the second my bat hits a ball. Mike’s is a bit more conservative but he’s a good runner, so he can make up for it. Meanwhile, Logan is being Logan. He’s right on top of the first baseman to narrow down the other guy’s play area.
I cross myself and touch the crucifix and wedding band at my neck. This is such a good place to play at. It doesn’t matter that it’s a million degrees and a thousand percent humidity. The guys in this team are all quality people, and they introduced me to Audrey.
I hope she’s watching.
Not because I’m gunning for a grand slam here, but because I’m thinking of her right now.
Finally in position, the pitcher shakes his head at the catcher a couple of times while the pitching clock runs. He throws at the last possible second—classic—and instinct kicks in. My head jerks back right in the nick of time. If I’d been slower, I’d have been hit in the face.
The umpire calls, “Ball!”
And that gets the whole stadium booing harder than with the bunt from earlier.
There’s always a chance that pitchers will prefer to walk me than to deal with me face to face. Those are my least favorite. There’s nothing entertaining about playing like a stinking coward. It would also be a really bad idea to do that right now, when we’re in prime scoring position.
I settle in for the next pitch. This time there isn’t any head shaking, and the pitcher throws quickly.
The ball breaks right at the last moment. I react before processing. But the break doesn’t give enough warning. The ball slams into my side.
