Page 94 of Stepping Up to the Plate

I need to keep my head in the game since this is our last away series. Winning one more of the two games left here will clinch us as the division lead guaranteeing we make it into the divisional championships. After losing their last season, we want that title.

As I study my teammates, I think we have a good chance of taking it all the way this season. Aside from a few tough losses, including the one earlier this week, we have been on a hot-streak during the back half of the season. As long as we keep our eye on the prize, I have faith we can do it. Easier said than done in my situation.

“Master Miller,” a familiar voice jeers from behind me. I take a deep breath in order to find the patience I need to deal with Derrick.

“What can I do for you, Jones?” I ask dryly.

“Just checking in. Wanted to see how you were doing now that you’ve fallen off your pedestal. How is slumming it with the rest of us?”

This guy has been a problem since he was traded to the team. Hell, before that even. He’s the one who caused Robby’s injury last season. Granted, that worked out in the end since it brought him back to Carina, but Derrick never misses a chance to stir the pot.

“Never thought I was better than anybody else. That must be your own inferiority complex. Everyone on this team is at the same level.”

“If that were true, we’d all be paid the same,” he says with an eye roll. Talking about salary is crass. There are a variety of reasons for different levels of pay, some of which, such as agent quality or cash flow, have nothing to do with a player's skill. Derrick is not even one of the top five in terms of salary, so I don’t know why he’s talking about this.

When I don’t take the bait, he tries a different tactic. “I haven’t seen your cute, little plaything around lately. Toss her to the side for a new model?”

Button. Pressed. That comment has me rising to my feet, but a few of my teammates get there before I have the chance to do anything.

“Take a walk, Jones,” Robby growls as Kent and Crews hold me back.

“No one on this damn team can take a joke!” Derrick yells, throwing his hands up in the air. One peek at my thunderous expression, though, and he heeds Robby’s warning.

“You good?” Robby asks.

“I’m fine,” I shrug as Kent and Crews drop their hands from my shoulders. “I wasn’t going to fuck him up too badly.”

“Don’t worry, Cap. Karma is going to come back and bite him on the ass one day for all of us.”

“I can’t fucking wait,” Robby mutters.

“I’d ask how you’re holding up, but from how easy it was for him to rile you up, I’m gonna guess not great,” Kent observes.

“I don’t know, man. Nothing feels right. Waking up alone, only making one coffee, not hearing the sound of her typing bounce across my condo, it’s all wrong. I didn’t realize how dull my life was before she was in it. It’s as if the rest of the world was black and white and she was screaming color. I can’t stand the distance between us. I need to see her.”

“You know who can make that happen, right?” Robby prods.

Fuck. I was hoping to do this without having to make nice and ask for help from the one guy I want to talk to even less than Derrick. I guess I’ll have to bite the bullet after the game and grovel to yet another one of Lola’s friends for info. Hopefully, he’ll be more receptive than Tiffany.

* * *

The atmosphere in the Foxes’ stadium is tense. They need to win all of their remaining series to make it to the wildcard game. Based on their performance tonight, that isn’t a likely scenario and their fans are feral.

Rivera has been scowling at me the entire game and if looks could kill, I’d be long dead by now. Thankfully, he struck out and had a flyout to right field during his at bats, keeping him from ending up on my base.

It’s my turn in the batter’s box and he has been throwing wild to me all night. I don’t think there is any strategy behind his throws except to piss me off. He is getting increasingly agitated since he has been unable to rattle me. I singled in the first to bring in a run and he walked me in the third. His anger at me is palpable. I know part of it is how much this game means to the team, but I can’t help but think it has more to do with Lola.

His first throw to me is a ball, high and inside. The second is a curveball strike. I’m expecting a fastball for his next throw, but what I don’t expect is for it to peg me in the stomach, knocking the air out of me. As I hit the ground, I hear my teammates and coaches yelling loudly as a mixture of cheers and grunts come from the fans.

I wave off the trainer as he was coming over to me and stand. Rivera has a smug air that makes me want to charge the mound, but I inhale deeply and take my base. As much as I want to retaliate, I know that’s exactly what he wants. I also know Lola wouldn’t want us to fight.

I manage to score, bringing the tally to 4-1, before the inning is over. Rivera is second at bat in the fifth. Thanks to a hit landing in an alley in the outfield, he ends up on first. Coach decides at that moment to put in the relief pitcher, leaving the two of us to awkwardly wait together while the new pitcher warms up. At least, I thought it would be awkward, but Rivera is ready to goad me the second the first base umpire steps away.

“How ya feeling, Miller? Didn’t bruise your abs too much did I?” He taunts.

“Laugh it up, Rivera. Payback will be coming,” I reply.

“Nah, that was payback. My conscience is clear,” he retorts. “If anything, you should thank me for helping you fulfill at least one of your promises.”

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