Page 160 of Chasing Headlines

A couple of other players joined us. The field lights blared overhead, turning a November evening practically into daytime.Crisp air bit my cheeks and slid down the back of my shirt. A lightness hummed in my abdomen, it felt warm and familiar.

“Hit him home, Fendleman!”

The line of us attached to the rail cheered. Stanton took a lead off second. The Arizona pitcher glanced over his right shoulder. He wound up. Stanton took another step toward third.

The whole stadium was practically silent while the pitcher delivered a curveball wide of the plate.

“That was a ball.” Rylander took up the piece of railing next to me. He looped his arms over the iron bar.

“You'll get 'em next time,” I said the words without looking at him. But I actually meant them.

“We gotta get out of the jam I got us into.” He breathed a heavy sigh.

“I'll let you in on a secret.”

“What's that?”

“We play something called a team sport. Because no one person loses or wins the game on their own.”

He scowled up at me. “Always knew you were a smartass Coop.”

I moved his hat around so it sat backwards on his head. “Shake it off Ryles. You'll have plenty of time to berate yourself when you're running laps for Coach come Monday. Maybe even after the game tonight.”

“Probably both. And he'll swing by the dorm to make me run extra tomorrow, too.”

I chuckled as the pitcher hurled another pitch. Fendleman swung, sending the ball into deep centerfield. Stanton tagged up, waited for the catch and easily waltzed into third.

We clapped as Fendleman ducked into the dugout. “Way to hit.”

He glanced up and met my gaze. Dark eyebrows pinched into a frown. A weighted knot formed in my stomach.Come on, Fendleman. Gimme a fuckin break.

The corner of his mouth curved, and he held up his hand. I high-fived him, and he wedged in next to me. Ryles moved a bit further down. Fendleman put a hand on the pitcher's back, turning his head to speak in a low tone. I caught Ryles nodding, eyes down. Then he lifted his chin. “Thanks, man.”

Jimenez moved. “I'm on deck.” He grabbed his bat and a helmet and climbed the steps to the field.

Dereks dug in at the plate. He held his bat out and then pulled it to his shoulder. Stanton took his lead off of third. The Arizona pitcher glanced at him. He didn't like having the runner at the corner, threatening a run.

A run we needed.

One out, runner in scoring position, Dereks just had to hit it away from third base—right field, right base line, deep center. Another sac fly wouldn't be ideal, but it'd work. A hit to get on base would be even better. With a bit of aggressive baserunning, he could take second and be in position to score when Jimenez came up.

Just don't strikeout. Come on.Out loud I yelled: “You've got this.” Fendleman and Ryles whooped. Jimenez took practice swings in the on deck circle.

The pitcher wound up and delivered. Dereks swung. Strike. Dammit. Now he was behind in the count. Stanton took a wider lead off third. The pitcher turned. Stanton darted back toward the bag.

Bottom of the second, down two to nothing wasn't the end of the world. But if we couldn't mount some offense here, if we couldn't get Stanton over the plate, the momentum shift our team needed would slip through our fingers.

The pitch. Dereks swung. The ping of the ball off his bat. It shot over the head of the pitcher, straight up the line toward second. The pitcher leapt for it, but the ball flew into shallow centerfield. Stanton had to tag up. The opposing team's outfielder raced forward, trying to catch the ball before it hit the ground. Dereks tore down the baseline toward first.

Arizona's centerfielder dove for the ball, but he couldn't come up with it. Stanton took off. Dereks tagged first. The whole line of us howled for our teammate as he crossed home.

I let out a sharp breath. High fived several of my team on the sidelines. Adrenaline charged my system and we all swatted our appreciation at Stanton's shoulder as he made it back to the bench. Kinsley hopped up. He grabbed his gear, then headed out to the on deck circle.

Jimenez was up. A runner on base. Two outs left for the inning. He tapped his bat on his cleats and made the sign of the cross before stepping into the box.

I swear, if you hit into a double-play, I'm going to punch you.

The pitcher threw high and inside. Jimenez jerked out of the way to avoid getting hit. He stepped back, outside the box. The pitcher received the ball back from the catcher. He glanced at first and threw to the infielder. Dereks slid into the bag. Safe.