Page 18 of Quintessentially

“Home run.”

My run slows to a trot as I make my way around all the bases a few steps behind Mick.

The Riverbend team starts cheering and offering high fives as Mick and I come back to the bench. Everyone except Sheers. He turns away as I walk by.

Riverbend is up three to two in the top of ninth when Trevor hits a triple.

I’d forgotten what an adrenaline rush it is to play sports. The only sport I play these days is golf and only because my parents think it’s important to show competence on the course to make deals in the boardroom.

Each time I steal a glance up at the stands, I see Kandace, though not since the first time is she looking my way. That doesn’t mean I can’t see how beautiful she still is. The hell with that, she’s prettier than I remember. The only thing missing when I look her way is her smile. Sometimes she’s leaning over and talking to Chloe. I remember that they were best friends when we were younger. It appears as if that hasn’t changed.

“Fuck, you guys,” Cory says, excitement brimming in his voice. “We could actually beat these assholes. Sheers, you’re up and Richards, you’re on deck.”

Sheers huffs by me without a word.

On the first pitch, he hits a single.

“Don’t leave Sheers hanging,” Mick yells.

If the team wasn’t depending on this win, I might. After all, he’s been an asshole to me since this morning at the diner.

The pitcher has me figured out. Two strikes and two balls later, I’m feeling the pressure. Maybe this is why I don’t play team sports any longer. When I look at Cory, he gives me a hand signal.

A bunt.

Shit, I was never good at bunts and a bunt won’t bring Justin home.

Cory nods.

I set myself up as if I’m going to try to knock it out of the park and while the ball is in the air, I readjust the bat and boom, I bunt the ball—it rolls past the pitcher. Dropping the bat, I take off running for first.

With an error by the pitcher, Sheers is now on third and I’m on first.

The crowd is tense as Ricky and Aaron strike out.

Mick is up to bat.

When we were kids, Mick was a good baseball player. So far tonight, I haven’t seen that old spark.

Strike one.

Ball one.

Crack.

The stands erupt in cheers as the three of us take off around the bases. The ball is called fair as an outfielder misses it. My eyes are around the field. Sheers is safe at home. I’m rounding third as Mick keeps running.

I slide into home, dirt and dust filling the air.

“Safe,” the umpire yells.

My heart is hammering in my chest as I brush the dust from my jeans and see Mick is safe at third.

We’re tied with one runner on third.

The tension is high.

Cory, the team captain, is up to bat.

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