Chapter Thirty-One

Cody

“This is your game, Wright. What do you say we go out there and put a big exclamation point of this and wrap this puppy up nice and clean?”

I nodded at Coach. “Yes sir.”

“I’m not even going to bother asking if you got gas in the tank. It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna bring the fucking heat and pitch a perfect fucking game tonight. This entire crowd is going to be hitting the fuckin’ gift shop afterward to buy your hats, t-shirts, and fuckin’ coffee mugs! Everyone in Oklahoma is going to be talking about this moment, right here, right now. This is the moment you’ve been wanting your entire life, now go out there and show us all who Cody Fuckin’ Wright is. Tomorrow you’re going to be on the front page of all the sports pages and the entire MLB is going to be looking your way.”

Pulses of excitement amped through me. “That’s right!”

I was on the cusp of a career-changing game. If I pitched a perfect game, Coach was right, the MLB would have no choice but to sit the fuck up and pay attention to me. It would be like waving a damn sign that said “I’ve arrived” and it was a statement I definitely needed to make loud and clear. For my teammates who had worked their asses off to get to this place, to the front office for shutting down the bullshit with Summer, to Coach Robinson for never giving up on me even when I was being a tool bag, and most of all, for the city that was rapidly becoming home.

At the thought of home, I scanned the crowd and looked to my section. Chelsea was on her feet, hollering and screaming beside my family and seeing her damn near stopped my heart. How the fuck did I get so lucky?

Coach Robinson followed my gaze into the crowd. “All right, son. Where is she?”

I laughed and raised my hand to point her out. “Right there, Coach. The hottie wearing my jersey, red cap, and screaming her pretty little head off.”

Chelsea caught me pointing her out and she smiled a little wider. Damn, I couldn’t wait to get her back in my arms. She was sexy as hell. That was a given. But there was something about seeing her standing beside my family that swelled up a whole new emotion inside my chest. It wasn’t lust, desire, or hunger. It was love. Real, unexpected, knock-me-on-my-ass kind of love.

“Okay, son. You’re gonna do this. For that girl right there,” Coach said. He waved at Chelsea and my family and then grabbed my arm, redirecting my attention. Our eyes met and his stare was fierce enough to make me want to back up a step. He looked like a hungry grizzly bear who just caught sight of a fat, slow rabbit. “This is the start of your legacy, kid, Right here, tonight. Show this city, hell, show this whole fucking world who you are and what you’re made of. They won’t forget.”

“Yes, sir.”

He slapped a ball into my hand, clapped me on the shoulder, and then turned to jog off the field. As he ran off, he barked instructions to the other players on the field. The roar of the packed out stadium drowned out his words, but we all got the message—it’s show time. The energy shot bolts of electricity through me and my heart pounded in my ears.

I opened my eyes and looked around and watched the crowd on their feet, chanting “Cody! Cody! Cody!” I forgot about my damn shoulder that was still on fire from throwing one-hundred-mile-an-hour fast balls all night.

This was it—time to bring the fucking heat.

I watched the batter as he approached the box. I gave him a look that said “I own you, mother fucker!” My catcher sent me the signal I was waiting for and I grinned. “It’s time to party.”

And that’s exactly what I did.

I mowed down one batter after the next with fastballs that topped one-hundred-mile-an-hour. The last pitch that left the batter frozen in place clocked in at one-hundred-two-miles-an-hour and knocked Mike clean off his feet but he somehow managed to hold on to the ball. The crowd erupted as the announcer came over the loud speaker, practically yelling, that I’d just set a league record for the most strike outs in one game at twenty-one!

Fucking hell! I’d just pitched a perfect game and set a major league baseball record for the most strike outs in a single game! In my rookie year! In front of a national fucking audience!

This, right here, was a career making night.

And the best part? I looked up into the stands and seeing Chelsea hugging my mom and my dad and brother pumping their fists and screaming my name.

* * * *

“Shit! That was some game!” Robby piled on me for the second time that night after we got changed. “I thought they were never gonna let you hit the showers.”

I grinned. The throng of sports reporters and sideline analysts had clogged me up on my way to the locker room after the game. It had taken me a good thirty minutes to answer questions and push my way down the hall. “Yeah, the press conference should be interesting,” I said with a laugh.

“We should do that chick thing where I call you five minutes in and give you a fake emergency to run off to.”

I laughed. “Thanks, but I think I’ll revel in the spotlight for a few minutes longer than that. Then I’m off to see my woman.”

“Y’all coming out? Or going straight to the car and boning right there in the lot?” Robby flashed me a wicked grin.

The idea had already crossed my mind. “As much as I wish that was the plan…” I shook my head. “My fam flew out for the game so I promised we’d all get dinner. Thinking Rock’s Grill.”

“Sweet. Paris and I will swing by and say hi before we head off to have our own little after party.”

“All right, man.” I pocketed my phone after checking for a text from Chelsea. She was going ahead to the restaurant with my parents.

Robby started out of the locker room and I fell into step with him. Before we left, he glanced over at me, still grinning widely. “So, Chels was sitting with your family?”

“Yeah.”

“First time meeting?”

“Yup. We all video chatted a week or so ago, but first official meet. Big stuff.”

Robby clapped me on the back. “Good for you, man. I’m glad y’all got your shit sorted out.”

I laughed. “Yeah. I’m glad I didn’t take your advice and just forget about her. Your woman is clearly the relationship savvy one.”

Robby smirked. “Yeah…no hard feelings about that, right?”

“Nah. It all worked out like it was supposed to.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Outside of the locker room, the buzz was already overwhelming. I followed a team PR assistant who got me set up in front of the team poster to do the post-game interview circuit. A swarm of reporters crowded around me and Robby. Robby and I batted back and forth, working like a tag-team to get through the majority of the questions about the game itself.

A short, brunette in the front row, hoisted up her phone. “Tell us, Mr. Wright, how was it playing in front of your father? That has to up the pressure considering his accomplished career.”

I smiled and rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, I mean he’s always kinda with me. The voice in my head. All that. But ya know, it means a lot. Definitely. To have my parents and my little brother—” I stopped short, seeing through the lights of the cameras. “Hey! There he is now!”

The crowd of reporters turned, expecting to see my father, but instead saw my brother Jordan standing at the back of the room.

“Jordan! Hey, man, come on up here.” I grinned, knowing he’d likely try to kill me later. He was not one for the spotlight. Not at all. I wasn’t sure he was even crazy about daylight most of the time.

Jordan shuffled up to the front, holding his phone. The game flashed on the screen and I recognized it. “Hey, are you playing Chels’ game?”

He nodded. “It’s freakin’ awesome!”

The reporters crushed in, getting closer to see what was holding our attention. “What’s that?” someone shouted out.

I swiped the phone from my brother’s hands and held it up to their cameras. “This is Fishball! The newest app on the market. My girlfriend created it and it’s kick ass. Everyone should be playing it!”

The reporters buzzed and the word Fishball swept through the cluster of people.

I grinned and handed Jordan his phone back. “Nice product placement, little bro.”

Jordan didn’t look like he fully understood what had just happened. I wrapped up the questions about the game and then Jordan and I broke away from the reporters. Robby was more than willing to pick up the slack and hold court all on his own.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Jordan once we rounded the corner and got away from some of the noise. “I figured you’d be with Mom and Dad. I thought Chelsea was taking you guys to the grill.”

Jordan shrugged. “She took Mom and Dad. I just figured I’d wait for you.”

I slung an arm over his shoulders. “Cool. I’m glad you did.”

Jordan and I had been tight all through growing up but now that we were in two completely different phases of life, there seemed to be a gulf between us. I knew it was my own fault. I was terrible with keeping in touch with people. I blamed my ridiculous schedule but made a silent promise to myself to try harder. It was obvious that my little brother missed me.

“How’s school?” I asked him, holding open a side exit door.

He shrugged again. It was kind of his go-to response to things. “I’m taking a semester off.”

I laughed. “Oh, shit. I can’t imagine Dad was too happy about that.”

“He’s not. But luckily for me, it’s baseball season,” he flashed a grin.

“You’re welcome,” I said. I flashed my truck lights as the alarm turned off and Jordan headed over to the passenger side.

We took off for Rock’s Grill and swung into a spot in the lot across the street. The place was slammed with post-game crowds. “So, Mom and Dad seemed to like Chelsea,” Jordan said as I killed the engine. “You must be pretty serious to bring her around. I’m pretty sure Mom’s already imagining your future children.”

I barked a laugh. “I’ll just bet she is.”

In the past, such a notion would have sent me charging off in the opposite direction, but when it came to Chelsea, I couldn’t get close enough, fast enough. Her receiving the stamp of approval from my parents wasn’t something to avoid, it was the next step in the future I was already planning for the two of us.