“Shut up,” he laughs and I’m glad we’re making progress. “You’re such a fucking dork.”
“I know. But you loooove me.” I mock him. Don’t get me wrong, Leo is cute in his own way, but even if something does tear Hollis and I apart, I think Leo is staying deep in the friendzone no matter what.
“Okay, on that note, I’m out.” He pushes off the couch and storms to the door.
“Seeya tomorrow!” I yell and he answers by flipping me the finger.
Normalcy restored.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Hollis
Game seven.
Nowhere in the history of baseball will you find a team hoping the World Series runs for all seven games. We hope to have a shut out in the first four and take home the championship. The stress is too much to handle; it’s how teams lose and how we made it to game seven in the first place despite having the best record in the MLB.
The stress of playing game seven is nothing compared to pitching game seven.
And that’s my job.
I’m the one my team is relying on to not let up any runs, to find the sweet spot over home plate to get an unbeatable strike out record. The word ‘stress’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.
My headphones are in with my hip-hop playlist blasting in my ears. I block out all the noise from the stands and the bullpen and focus on my throws and warming up my arm. The game is set to start in twenty minutes and I need to keep my muscles loose.
I hate that we’re in Philly. Home field advantage plays a bigger role than most people realize. We should at least be on equal, neutral ground on a field neither of us know, but that’s not how it works. Plus, Philly fans are brutal. I have the utmost respect for their dedication because there’s nothing quite like it. Maybe one day I’ll be a Phillie and will experience it firsthand, but not today. Today, they’re all rooting for me to fail.
As the national anthem comes to an end, and the game is gearing to start, I jog to the mound. I take in a deep breath, letting the magical scents of the ballpark settle in my veins and calm my nerves. I block out the crowd, focusing only on the feel of the cowhide ball I’m spinning in my right hand.
The rest of my team is in their places. I adjust my red hat with my left hand as the first hitter for the Phillies comes up to the plate. He taps the bat on the plate three times before positioning it at his shoulder and I’m ready to throw my first official pitch of the night.
The first pitch has the most at stake and can be the hardest one. If I screw this up, they could get a hit and start off the first inning on a home run. No one wants that, especially not in the World Series. Once I release the first pitch, I get into the habit. Muscle memory kicks in and I enter the zone. Nothing can stop me.
The buildup is the killer.
I exhale a heavy breath and lift my leg, wind up, and let loose a fastball. A predictable start, but an almost foolproof way to make sure the first pitch doesn’t become the first run. As expected, it’s a strike. Not to sound cocky, but my fastball is hard to beat.
The first hitter strikes out and simple as that, a weight is off my shoulders. I own this game. I own this team. Nothing can stop me now.
By the fifth inning, my shoulder is on fire. I’m torn between owning up to it and getting pulled from the biggest game of my life or bucking up, working through the pain, and risking losing the game because of it. There are consequences either way, but I know what I have to do.
If I start throwing bad balls, the coach will pull me anyway. This is my shot. This could be my sole chance to play in the World Series. I’m not going to give up just because it feels like bone is grinding against bone. I can go to physical therapy tomorrow.
I wear my jacket and keep heat on the sore joint between innings to keep the muscle warmed up. It’s the end of October in Philly which means the air is chilled and it’s harder to keep my muscles warmed.
With luck, I manage to pitch through the sixth inning with no major issues. I let up two runs, but we’re still up by one. It’s too close for comfort, though, and Coach pulls me.
I look through the stands, knowing Lila is here cheering me on. I search for the Red Sox apparel in the sea of Phillies gear and can’t find her. I can’t wait to see her after the game, no matter the outcome. If we win, I want to celebrate with her. If we lose, she’ll be my comfort.
Jimmy takes the mound as I vacate it and I clap him on the shoulder, wishing him luck. He’s our best relief pitcher, but I can see he’s stressing. Still, I know he can do this. This might be his last year pitching and he’s even hungrier for the trophy than I am.
I can’t imagine being in his shoes and how good it would feel to pull this off. It’s a different level for me. I started the game, I got us this far, helped to keep us in the lead, but to throw the winning pitch? Fuck. That’s the motherfuckin’ dream right there. That might be a better-than-sex level of gratification.
In the eighth inning, we get our fourth run when Owen hits a homer.
In the top of the ninth, the Phillies score once more. It’s four to three. It all comes down to this.
We’ve pulled in our closer to get the final outs and get the win. Jimmy did all he could, but I still feel for him in the same deep yearning I feel for myself. I’m sure he’s wishing he could throw the final pitches, but it’s not his job. It’s up to our closer, Cam Donovan, now.
We only need one more out. The whole team is standing in the dugout. We’re on the tips of our toes, the metaphorical edge of our vacated seats. If we get this out, we win the game.
He throws the ball and the Phillies get a man on base. His line drive barely got him to first, but it’s okay. There’s still time.
Donovan lifts his hat and wipes away the sweat from underneath. Our catcher signals to him and he shakes his head no before they agree on his final pitch. His shoulders drop as he exhales, stabilizing himself. He gears up and throws the ball straight down the center of the plate.
Straight into our catcher’s glove.
We’re world fucking champions.
We burst out of the dugout and storm the field. The rest of the team joins us as we head straight for the pitcher’s mound and jump on Donovan. There’s a solid group of fans spread throughout the stadium, but an equal number of people are disappointed. The Phillies fans can be ruthless, but I won’t let them get to me. Not tonight.
I’ve never felt anything like this in my life. Euphoric doesn’t even cover it. I don’t know if there’s an accurate word to describe this feeling of dreams coming true.
The only thing that would make this victory even sweeter would be if we won in Boston. I’m sure the city is erupting in applause, the streets are likely full of people celebrating, and I’m sure they won’t quiet down anytime soon. I’ll know soon enough once we head home for the victory parade.
I shout in excitement, letting the victory wash over me once more. It’s fucking surreal. We actually did it. I almost can’t fucking believe it.
We push off the ground, still hyped and jumping around, clapping hands and hugging one another. We form a circle around our coach who gives us a killer speech, but I can barely pay attention. I’m too lost in this feeling. All my teammates hoot and holler and I join in.
I look up at the stands and do a double take. Lila? I knew she was here, but something is definitely wrong with this picture.
We all split up and head to our families or significant others. I spot my parents in the stands and they wave to get my attention. I wave back and hold up a finger. I’ll get to them in a minute.
I jog in the opposite direction to where my girl is standing. I’m equal parts annoyed she’s standing there with him and also grateful she’s not in this madness alone. It’s an irritating mix of emotions to go along with the irritating guy she brought with her.
“Hollis! Oh my God, holy shit, I don’t even know what to say! Congratulations! You played so fucking good. I’m so proud of you and excited for you and—”
“Why are you
in a Phillies shirt?” I quirk a brow, but not even her atrocious attire can ruin my buzz.
“We’re in Philly. Philly fans are insane. I’m not trying to get beat up. I wasn’t going to show up in a Sox jersey on their turf.”
I laugh and shut her up before she can keep rambling. I grab her face in my hands and pull her toward me. I let all my happiness and excitement pour into our kiss. It’s electric and intoxicating. I’m living in the best moment of my entire life and I only want to celebrate with her. I forget the douche bro she brought with her. I forget about my parents sitting on the opposite side of the stadium, possibly walking this way right now. I lose myself in the thrill of the moment.
I want to do something equally as exciting as winning the series. I’m flying high and I have no plan to come down anytime soon. I’m pretty sure her friend is saying something to me right now, but I can’t imagine stopping this kiss right now to respond to him.
When I pull away from the kiss, I look into her icy blue eyes. She’s so fucking beautiful I could stare in her eyes all day and never get tired of them. Fuck, I’m in love with her. More in love than I ever knew possible and I want to revel in the feeling. This is already the biggest night of my life, but I want to one-up it.
“Let’s get married.”
TWENTY-NINE
Lila
“What?” He can’t be serious. I look into his brown eyes as I wait for the punchline. I search his gaze, waiting for him to crack a smile, to yell “Gotcha!” and for Ashton Kutcher to pop out—something.
But nothing comes.
Silently, Leo backs away to give us privacy.
“Hollis, what are you talking about? Think about what you’re saying.” Madness is happening all around us, but we’re stagnant. People bump into me, call for Hollis, make a scene, but it’s a blur of background noise. It’s like I’m living in a dream and nothing is in focus, everything is just out of reach.
“I am, I have. Lila, this has been the best night of my life. I want to keep the momentum going. I never want to go back to normal. I love you and I’ve never been happier. I want to celebrate with you, tonight, like this, right now. What could go wrong? We’re perfect together. Say yes.” He clasps my hands tighter in moderate hysterics. He’s so happy. I hate to think of bringing him any pain.
But he’s talking crazy.
“Hollis, no, I can’t. I’m in school. My life hasn’t even started yet.”
“So, start it now, with me. Do you love me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Do you want to be with me?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?” For him, it’s so black and white.
But it’s not that simple and I don’t know how to explain it to him. We haven’t even been dating for six months. I know some people move quickly and it works for them, but I’m going to be in school non-stop for the next fourteen months. I can’t do that and plan a wedding at the same time.
This isn’t how it was supposed to happen.
I know he’s excited. He had a career high tonight and he’s not thinking clearly. The endorphins and adrenaline are messing with his head. He’ll wake up tomorrow and realize how insane he sounds.
“I want to graduate school first and get a job, get stable on my own two feet.”
“And you can’t do that with me?” He pulls his hands away finally as he takes a step back. My heart cracks with the movement. His face tells me everything I don’t want him to say. He’s crestfallen now, but tomorrow will be better. I know it. I’m not trying to bruise his ego; I’m the only one thinking clearly. I never want to live with regrets, but I don’t want to be a regret either. If we go through with this, if I were to say yes, that’s exactly what would happen.
“No, Hollis, I can’t. This doesn’t change anything, though. I still love you and want to be with you. We can keep doing long distance—”
“Is this about him?”
“Leo? No, of course not.” I can’t believe he just asked me that.
He backs away and looks over his shoulder. “Look, I gotta go. My parents are here and I need to go to them.” He turns away without another word.
“I love you,” I call after him. “Talk soon?”
He doesn’t respond.
The next day, Hollis is busy with parade and victory stuff. At least, that’s the excuse I come up with for the reason why I haven’t talked to him since I turned down his impromptu proposal. Even if he is avoiding me, I can understand it. He has a bruised ego. He needs time to process.
I keep myself busy, which isn’t hard to do. My classes are killing me and I spend more time in the library than I do my apartment. As I’m walking back to my place from my second home, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. I reach for it eagerly, both hoping and assuming it’s my boyfriend calling me.
I’m even more surprised to see the name lighting up my screen.
“Jackson, hi.” I haven’t talked to my brother since that fateful day when he and Hollis met and he chewed me out for no good reason.
“Hey, little sis. Long time…” Yeah, and whose fault is that?
“What’s the occasion?” I’m bitter. I thought I let go of some of my anger toward him, but talking to him now brings it all back up again.
“I owe you an apology and I miss you and wanted to catch up with you.”
I wait, but he doesn’t continue. “I’m still waiting on the actual apology.”
“Look, I’m not going to lie. I waited to call you until you were at school and away from him. I wanted you to have a clear head, to get some space. I was worried for you, Lila, can’t you understand that? You’re my little sister. It’s my job to protect you, but I took it too far and I’m sorry. I only want what’s best for you.”
“You didn’t even give him a chance.”
“You were acting like a completely different person. I couldn’t sit back and watch it happen. I didn’t know if he was going to hurt you or what his intentions were. I know better now. You’re obviously making the distance thing work and it’s not a summer fling like I originally thought.” He pauses. “I saw his Instagram last night after the game and I realized you were still together and I’m happy for you. Truly.”
I having no idea what my brother is talking about. I haven’t checked Instagram or been on my phone much since last night, not since I posted about the win. Staying on the call, I go to my home screen and open Instagram to see for myself. The last picture Hollis posted is a candid of me I’ve never seen before. It’s my profile as I’m sitting on the beach laughing, my hair blowing in the wind. The caption reads, ‘no one else I’d rather celebrate this win with’ with red and blue heart emojis.
I grin, noticing it was posted when I was already asleep last night, well after I turned him down.
He still wants me.
“So, J, what have you been up to these last few months?” My voice is much peppier now, thanks to his apology and the realization that Hollis is still in love with me despite last night.
“I started seeing someone…” He tells me about this hot new doctor who transferred to Hopkins. He’s some bigshot plastic surgeon and a casual ten years older than my brother. NBD.
I catch him up on school and between the two of us, we’re some of the worst workaholics around. We can thank our parents for that.
When I hang up the phone, I feel good. I missed my brother and now I’m excited to see him for the holidays. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Actually, I’m lying. I was going to stay at school and spend my holidays studying and probably eating freaking cheesesteaks.
When I get to my apartment, to no one’s surprise, Leo is waiting outside of my door for me.
“How’s loverboy?” he asks and moves aside to give me room to unlock my door.
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him yet.” It definitely feels weird discussing my relationship with him. If he weren’t there when the incident happened, he’d be none the wiser. Part of me thinks that’
s why Hollis did it; to really one-up him—as if he needed any extra one-upping. I don’t think Hollis thought in a million years I’d turn him down, especially not in public.
“Ouch. I guess you’re on the outs, then?” I wish he didn’t sound so hopeful about the possibility.
“No, I’m sure he’s just hurt and we’ll make up soon. You, behave,” I warn him and he surrenders, his eyes widening in innocence.
“I’ll be here waiting for my moment.” He mutters the words, but instead of arguing with him, I pretend like I don’t hear him and turn on the TV. “I think there’s a football game on tonight.”
“Ew, no. I hate football.” My nose scrunches on instinct at the thought.
“How can you hate football but like baseball? Baseball is like the most boring sport in the world.”
“I don’t understand football.” And I don’t want to.
“I can teach you.” I grit my teeth.
“I’ll stick to baseball.” He makes himself comfortable on the couch and I check my phone incessantly, not even paying attention to the rerun of The Big Bang Theory I put on TV. I feel Leo’s gaze on me and when I glance up at him, I’m right. “Why are you here?”
“Excuse me?” He’s offended and I almost laugh.
“I’m serious, Leo. Why are you here? Are you just hoping I break up with my boyfriend so you can swoop in? It’s not cool. I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends, but I can’t help my attraction to you.”
I grit my teeth. “Well, help it. If not…I’m not sure I can be friends with you. It’s too weird.” I thought we put all of this behind us with our talk, but apparently not.
Fastball Flirt (The Boys of Summer Series Book 1) Page 17
