Hitching the Pitcher (A Belltown Six Pack Novel)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “As close as I’ll get, yeah.” She looked up at him brightly. “You know, you could use Kids Day for an assignment, if you wanted. Come through the tour and do a writeup. It should meet the requirements for one of the required papers.”

  Sawyer gave her a look. “I thought we weren’t discussing our mutual class, Professor.”

  Erica made a sound of disgust. “It doesn’t count if I tell you something that will work for a paper. You still have to go and write it, so maybe you’ll do a terrible job and I can grade it accordingly.”

  He laughed and squeezed her hand. “Let me know when it is, and if it fits with my playing schedule, I’ll come. And I’ll write an amazing paper.”

  “See that you do,” she replied with a haughty sniff. She hesitated, then ventured to ask a question she’d had for weeks now. “Why are you taking Museums and Culture anyway? That’s a bit of a random class, isn’t it?”

  “Sure it is,” came the unaffected reply. “But…” He hesitated, then stopped, looking down at her. “Can you keep a secret?”

  She nodded immediately. “Sure can. I’ve never told anyone about Ellie, so…”

  Sawyer grinned at the mention of his beloved classic car. “She’s actually getting fully restored as we speak. We’ll take her for a test drive when she’s ready.”

  “Fantastic,” she managed to squeak out without sounding too shocked. Was he saying he expected this, whatever it was, to extend beyond Arizona time and to involve trips home together?

  She wasn’t going to think about that. Not now.

  Tonight in her bed, she would lose sleep wondering, but right now she was going to listen.

  Sawyer started to walk again, rounding first and meandering with her towards second. “I didn’t finish my degree.”

  Erica bit the inside of her cheek, then said, “I hate to break it to you, Sawyer, but that’s no secret.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I know. But let’s just say that it’s been eating at me ever since. So I decided to work towards finishing.”

  “That’s great!” she cried, squeezing back. “I know it might not seem necessary, given your current stardom, but I think you’ll enjoy the security of it.”

  He nodded, though she wasn’t sure he heard her. “So I’ve been told. The trouble is that my focus is elsewhere most of the time, so the more arduous classes wait until the off-season, but even if I just took the classes I need, I’d still be short total credits…”

  “So you have to fill in with electives,” Erica finished with a nod. “Makes sense now.”

  “Well…” Sawyer looked up at the starry night sky, slightly less brilliant due to the full moon, but no less lovely. “I may have already passed the necessary credit number. Mostly because I can’t decide if I really want to have the degree I’m getting.”

  “Which is?” she prodded.

  He winced, avoiding looking at her. “General Studies.”

  “Ah,” she replied softly. “That does make things difficult.”

  Sawyer glanced down at her in surprise. “Does it?”

  Erica was stunned he asked. “Well, yeah. It’s so wide open, and a major like that is supposed to have an emphasis, and if you don’t know the emphasis, how are you going to know what classes you want and need to take?”

  “Exactly.” He exhaled with relief, his thumb brushing against her hand warmly. “And then, I’ll freely admit it, I avoid thinking about that by just taking whatever class looks good.”

  “Like Film in American Culture,” she teased, elbowing him gently.

  He nodded with a sheepish smile. “Great class, really. Didn’t do anything for me, but I enjoyed it.”

  Erica leaned her head against his shoulder as they rounded second base. “That’s good. I’ve never told you this, but I had a feeling you stopped enjoying college and your classes after your dad died.”

  Sawyer stiffened but didn’t stop their motion. “I did. I coped with the loss by throwing myself into baseball. My advisor tried to tell me that I wasn’t doing my degree any favors taking so many psychology and leadership classes, let alone the sports medicine and extra training classes. But I wouldn’t listen. I had to be the best baseball player, the best pitcher, the best team leader I could be. That was suddenly what I was at Belltown for, not the education.” He squeezed her hand and looked at her, his expression raw. “And not the relationships.”

  Erica met his eyes, squeezing his hand back. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand that at the time.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t explain it. And I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  How could so few words heal aches so old?

  She smiled at him, a surge of tenderness swelling within her. If she’d had words, she’d have used them, but instead she leaned against him again, her free hand wrapping around his arm as she cuddled close. “Remind me. What are you taking right now besides my class?” she asked eventually in as normal a tone as she could manage. “I know you told me, but…”

  “History of Sport,” he told her, sounding like himself again as he leaned his head against hers. “Which, now that I mention it, doesn’t have an iota of core value or program value.”

  “Eh,” she replied with a shrug, feeling the tension that was still in him. “You’re an athlete. What’s a random sports class?”

  He didn’t need to feel guilt or shame or anything of the sort, not with her. He didn’t need to explain himself and his decisions. They had different paths; that had never been in question, even when they had been together.

  They’d only ever wondered how to make those paths run parallel, or at least meander in the same direction.

  Which, as it happened, had led them both here.

  And now.

  “Well, I was taking History of Philosophy this past off-season,” he told her with a quick sigh. “That was awful.”

  “Oof, yeah.” She shuddered against him, distaste rippling across her skin. “Online would be so much worse than in class, and even that sounds rough. Did you ask Axel for help?”

  Sawyer reared back in horror. “Are you insane? Of course not! We’d be discussing it for the next fifteen years. I’d never be rid of it.”

  Erica tossed her head back and laughed, clutching him for support as they reached third base and headed for home.

  “You laugh,” Sawyer protested, shaking his head, “but it would have been my life, and my curse. Thankfully, my own personal tutor happened to be our starting catcher, Mace.”

  “Mace?” she repeated, trying to remember the Black Racers roster, but failing miserably.

  She’d only ever paid attention to Sawyer.

  But he didn’t need to know that.

  “Mason Benjamin,” Sawyer boomed like a sports announcer. He chuckled and resumed his normal tone. “Great guy, happened to catch me studying for my final and helped me prep. Got an eighty-seven percent, thank you very much.”

  “Atta boy!” she praised, patting his chest. “And what did Mace get for his troubles?”

  Sawyer snorted. “Uh, my undying gratitude?”

  “Boo. No.” She shook her head for emphasis. “No. Bake him some of your cookies or get him a gift card.”

  “I can’t bake my catcher cookies!” he sputtered. “He knows Grizz! I’d have to turn over my Man Card!”

  Erica heaved a dramatic sigh. “Must be terrible cookies then. Pity. I’ve always found a man in an apron to be extremely attractive, and if he can deliver too? Mmm.” She clicked her tongue, making the OK sign with one hand. “Money.”

  Sawyer cleared his throat. “Right. Wanna come over tomorrow and help make cookies? We can cook dinner too.”

  She smiled and nestled close as they reached home plate. “I’d love to, Sawyer.”

  He let go of her hand to put his arm around her shoulder and pull her even closer, and she reached up to take that hand in hers, tucking herself into his side. “Ready to go?” he murmured, his chin resting on her head.

  “No,” she replie
d. “No, let’s go around again.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “And now, taking the field, your Columbus Black Racers!”

  The crowd cheered, though crowd was a bit of a generous term for the amount of fans in the stands. There were more coming in, of course, and the game was only just now getting underway, but there was always something to be said about a passionate fan base.

  Today there wasn’t much to say.

  First preseason game, and this was how it was going to start.

  Not particularly encouraging.

  Pitching before a vacant ballpark was one thing, but what if this was their normal for the season? He always loved the energy of fans, and if they didn’t have any…

  What kind of pressure would that put on him?

  What if he couldn’t deliver?

  “Don’t do that,” Mace grunted as he swatted him on the butt.

  “Do what?” Sawyer replied as they walked out to the mound.

  “Head games.” Mace shook his head. “Don’t do it. Come on. Game one. Go time. We got these guys. Do your thing, and start us off. Your day, Skeet. Your inning.” He held out his fist.

  Sawyer exhaled, nodding, and pounded Mace’s fist. “Yes, sir.”

  Mace gave him a firm nod. “Here we go, kid.” He turned and jogged to the plate while Sawyer began his routine around the mound.

  Circle once. Pause behind it. Crack his neck side to side. Exhale and drop the shoulders. Look at third.

  Remy was ready for it, and he nodded back at him, punching his mitt eagerly. “Eyy, Skeeter, light ’em up, boy!”

  Sawyer nodded in response, then stepped up to the rubber, exhaling again as he stared down at Mace.

  Mace swayed his hips side to side, chatting up the ump and grinning at something he said. He mimicked tossing a ball at Sawyer, then squatted down behind home, pulling down his mask, swaying side to side as he waited.

  Breathing suddenly became Sawyer’s chief focus, and he turned as the batter came to the plate, the announcer’s voice tuning out completely in his mind.

  Instinct took over as his feet straddled the rubber, and his next routine began.

  Left foot scratched in the dirt. Left again. Right. Right. Left. Right.

  He looked at Mace, who signaled a pitch.

  Not for this guy.

  He shook his head.

  Another signal.

  Yes.

  He nodded, then drew up, exhaling as he came set, the telltale pause that signaled the beginning of his pitch. His fingers glided over the familiar surface of the ball, stopping in the position they needed.

  He wound up with an inhale, then released, the ball soaring down the field to Mace’s waiting glove, the batter swinging too high for it.

  Strike one.

  The audience and his teammates cheered, the sounds barely registering to Sawyer as he nodded to Mace and caught the return throw.

  “Again, Skeeter, get him again!” Gru called from second behind him.

  Left. Left. Right. Right. Left. Right.

  Look. Nod.

  Come set. Wind up. Release.

  Ball one.

  Sawyer hissed, shaking his head to himself as the ball returned to him.

  “Never mind, Skeet, never mind!” Papa Jim called from first. “Get him now, get him.”

  Shake it off, Skeeter. Shake it off. Clean pitch. Clean it up.

  He scratched the dirt again. Looked.

  No. No.

  Nod.

  He threw the pitch and grunted with satisfaction as it clapped against Mace’s glove in the dead center of the strike zone.

  “Eyyyy, SKEETER!” Remy hooted from third. “Nice one, Pitch!”

  Mace pointed at Sawyer with a nod and tossed it back.

  One more. One more.

  He pitched, and the bat connected with the ball, sending it soaring over their heads.

  Sawyer whirled, watching the ball fly directly towards center.

  Creasy waved the others off, still chewing his wad of Trident cinnamon gum, and caught the ball easily.

  One out.

  The park cheered, the fans beginning to trickle in more and more, applauding the beginning of the baseball season officially.

  Sawyer exhaled, slowly shaking off the wave of nerves that were rippling across his skin.

  Creasy tossed the ball to Gru, who tossed it over to Remy. Remy to Farrabee, Farrabee to Papa Jim, then back to Sawyer.

  Sawyer looked over at the dugout, Sarge nodding and signaling his approval.

  The bullpen had started the wave in his honor.

  Morons.

  Sawyer smiled at them, shaking his head.

  First batter put away; he could handle this. Just a few more.

  Find your rhythm. Find the groove.

  Heave-ho.

  The next batter came up, a lefty, and Sawyer grinned down to Mace.

  He loved pitching against lefties.

  Mace grinned back beneath his mask and gave the signal.

  Oh yeah.

  Three quick pitches, and he retired the batter without any incident.

  Two outs.

  The infield tossed the ball around again, then sent it back to Sawyer, whooping and hollering among themselves.

  Sarge whistled and stepped up in the dugout, holding up three fingers with one hand and one finger with his other hand.

  Sawyer nodded and looked down to Mace, who gave the accompanying signal.

  This batter was dangerous, connected with the ball with ridiculous accuracy, and needed to have his potential damage minimized.

  He also wasn’t that fast.

  Sawyer pitched a clean ball, which connected with power, veering deep right. He whirled to follow it and clapped into his mitt when Benji caught it without any difficulty.

  “Yeah, Benj!” he whooped as they all jogged back to the dugout, slapping hands and rubbing the rookie’s hair.

  Entering the dugout, Sawyer let himself exhale deeply, grabbing a cup of water from the tray and sitting on the bench.

  First inning pitched, and without anything to be held against him.

  He could live with that.

  “Nicely done, Skeet,” Pickle grunted as he batted the brim of Sawyer’s cap down.

  Sawyer laughed and adjusted his hat back to look at the powerful left fielder. “Thanks, Pickle. Have fun.”

  Pickle quirked his eyebrows with a grin, his shaved head glinting already with perspiration. “Oh yeah. My year, baby.”

  “Your year for what?” Remy chortled, hanging over the railing to watch the batting. “Fashion icon of the year? Not with that tweed number you wore in today!”

  Some good-natured ribbing continued in the dugout as Farrabee took the plate, leading them off.

  Sawyer paid attention but stayed on the bench, leaning his head back to stretch his neck and relax as much as he could.

  He’d woken this morning with excitement, energy, and anxiety, just as he always did. He’d had great seasons with Orlando and Kansas, but he’d been at the bottom of the pitching pack. Starting, but barely noticed.

  This team, however, was different. He was fighting for top spot and competing well for the position. His best chance for really establishing his name lay here, and it was best that he make a statement early on.

  Right here, right now.

  He nodded to himself and smiled when Mace sank down beside him, patting his knee proudly. “Nice three, Skeet. Let’s do it again, huh?”

  “You got it,” Sawyer replied, taking a swig of the water again. “Let’s go.”

  After the Black Racers failed to score a run, they took the field again, and Sawyer felt the comfortable familiarity of the pitcher’s mound return to him in full force.

  He struck out the next three batters without incident and returned to the dugout with high energy. Lots of high fives to his teammates, and, after getting two men on base and only one out, it was his turn to bat.

  He approached the plate with determination, tapping his ba
t to his right foot as he walked. He adjusted his gloves, swung the bat up, shifted his grip, then stared down the pitcher as he readied his bat.

  The pitch came, and he swung, missing easily.

  “STRIKE!” the ump called.

  Sawyer avoided wincing but exhaled through his nose as he readied again. He’d never been an amazing hitter, but surely he could get on base and advance his teammates.

  He steadied himself and waited for the pitch, smacking the ball neatly between the right and center fielders. He made a mad dash towards first as Gru and Mace ran to third and second respectively.

  Val, one of their coaches, clapped as Sawyer hit the bag, safe from being tagged out. “’Atta baby, nice hit, Skeet.”

  “Thanks,” Sawyer breathed, shaking his head.

  Val chuckled and patted his back. “Go ahead and lead when you’re ready, but not too far. Papa Jim’s in a good mood; he should get Gru home safely, if not Mace. Just run like hell and watch Tiny, kay?”

  Sawyer nodded once and did as his coach bid.

  “How’s the Six Pack, Skeeter?” the Riders’ first baseman asked. “Saw the Franklin game. Nice touch.”

  “Doing fine, Kris,” he returned, smiling a little. “Rabbit says hi.”

  Kris snorted and stooped, ready for the next batter. “Tell Rabbit I’ll see him at the Derby and crush him.”

  “Noted.” Sawyer dashed back to first as the pitcher threw there, then slowly started leading out again. The stands were way more full now, and he looked behind home plate as Papa Jim stepped away from the plate to adjust his gloves again.

  Sawyer stopped when he saw Erica sitting there, her glasses pushed back on top of her head, wearing a simple gray T-shirt with print he couldn’t see.

  She came.

  He didn’t know why it was significant, considering she had said she would, but actually seeing her there…

  Sudden pressure rose against his chest, tightening the muscles attached to at least six ribs, and his lungs couldn’t seem to expand properly. His throat constricted, forcing him to attempt a swallow, which took three times to manage.

  Inhale. Exhale. Inhale...

  He shook his head and forced his attention back to the action on the field rather than the beauty in the stands. Papa Jim popped a ball to left field and got out, but he got Gru to score.