Current Day

The stadium buzzes for the first time since the first inning. A tightly pitched game, Chicago leads with a score of one to zero. Gonzalez comes to bat with a runner aboard first. I step into the on-deck circle and take a few practice swings. With one out in the bottom of the ninth, we trail by a run. We need to score and give the fans something to cheer before heading into the All-Star break. A win today would tie us with the divisional leaders, the Mets. Which sucks. Not that a tie is bad, but I had pictured us leading with a wider spread. But to make things worse, a loss today will mark our eighth loss in ten games, not to mention being behind by one in the standings.

Gonzalez swings through the high heat. His curse pretty much sums up the team’s attitude. Everyone is feeling the pressure. It’s hard to come back as the champions because the stakes are raised. It’s a good problem to have, but these past few games, I don’t feel like a champion.

Gonzalez steps back in the hitter’s box and waits for the pitch. The crowd’s on their feet, the intensity heightening. Chicago’s closer is good, but I’ve connected with him in the past. I know he’s beatable. He throws an off-speed pitch to AJ, who connects and loops one into right field. The crowd roars. Our guy on first rounds second, but their right fielder fields the ball smoothly and throws it to the cut-off man. The play at the plate will be too close. Our third base coach throws up the stop sign, and we now have runners at the corners.

I can do this. Done it my entire career. All I need is a single to tie the game.

I adjust my gloves, then my helmet, not thinking about anything but my job—connecting with the ball. Glistening chestnut eyes definitely don’t enter my mind. Nope, not once do I think of those Goddamn round eyes that reflect her true pain instead of the half-truths that spew from her mouth. I crouch my knees and eye the pitcher. He stretches and then delivers. My bat connects, but the timing is off, and the ball bounces on the infield, right to the second baseman, who steps on second base. Son of a bitch. I take off like a cannon. If I can beat out the play, we’ll at least get the run and tie the game. It’s going to be close. Too close. I slide headfirst into first. The glove sweeps in front of the plate right as my fingers connect with the leather.

“Out!” The umpire shouts my most hated word.

Well, that was fucking fun, I think as I walk out to the truck. An ass-chewing from the hitting coach is how everyone should start their break. He’s within his rights. My batting average has spiraled down faster than Zach’s sinker, but Jesus. I don’t need the reminder.

Even though we play as a team, I can’t help but feel responsible for our place in the standings. Take today’s example. I didn’t come through in a clutch situation. Just like the last ten games. With my batting average taking a hit, it’s on the verge of dipping below .300 for the first time since my rookie year. I’d like to think it’s just a phase, but I know the reason. Hell, everyone knows the reason. And that’s why the coach singled me out and told me to get my head out of my ass.

He dangled the MVP in front of me like some type of motivation. There’s only one problem with that. My priorities have changed. Of course, I want the title, but it means nothing if I can’t share it with the one I love. And yes, I fucking love her. It’s so Goddamn obvious now. But the hard truth remains: she doesn’t love me back. Or else she doesn’t love me enough. And that right there is the whole kick to the crotch.

I throw my bag behind the driver’s seat when a bulge, sticking from the back pocket, draws my attention. I never use these compartments, so it leaves little doubt where it came from. Curious as to what got left behind, I reach down and grab hold of a hard, plastic figurine. A soft smile tugs my lips as I pull out Chewbacca. Tristan’s missing this, I’m sure. That kid loves everything Star Wars.

I lean against the seat and study the toy. Jocelyn thinks I’ll want kids of my own, but she’s wrong. Her kids are great. Messy, but great. They’re enough for me, and if she gives me a chance, I’ll raise them as if they’re mine. I don’t understand why I didn’t have the balls to tell her. But her words stung to the point where I couldn’t think straight. How she can even fathom the idea of getting back with Carl is beyond me. I feel like the biggest pussy ever for walking out the door, even though that’s what she wanted.

“Mommy, there’s Jax Carrigan.” A kid’s voice carries across the parking lot. I push off the side of the seat and smile at the woman and her two kids. The boy appears to be a little older than Tristan, but her daughter is the exact same size as Trenna.

“Sorry, he’s a huge baseball fan.” The woman’s smile is sincere, but a little sad. “It’s hard to contain him. You’ll find out someday when you have kids.”

My thoughts go straight to Jocelyn. “Yeah, maybe. Do you want me to sign something, buddy?”

“Yeah, thanks.” His eyes light up as he passes me his glove. “I can’t wait to show my friend Braxton. He’s going to be so jealous.”

“That’s not nice.” The woman shakes her head at him and then turns a smile to me. “Thank you.”

I nod. She looks back at me before guiding her kids away. “Thanks again.”

I turn back to the truck, and Chewbacca stares back at me. I smack the top of the doorframe and rest my forearms against the metal. Fuck, I miss those kids. I miss Jocelyn.

“You losing your game?” Zach asks, coming up behind me.

“I know I’ve been in a slump, but I’ll get it back.”

“Chill. I meant with the ladies.”

“Fuck off.”

“Whoa, Mr. Defensive.” AJ trails behind Zach. “He’s been extra broody lately. The guy needs laid.”

“The guy needs to get his head out of his ass,” Zach says.

“The guy is right here.” My batting average is taking a hit, I’m sitting home during break this year, and I lost the one girl I swore I’d never lose…again. I have every right to be pissy.

“We’re on break.” Zach stands beside me while AJ gets into the passenger seat. “Take this time to either make it right or get the fuck over it. Either way, you need to get your head on straight. I want to win another championship.”

“You’ve always been an ass.”

Zach chuckles. “But I’m an ass who cares.” He slaps me on the back before taking off.

I swipe Chewbacca into my hand and squeeze, the hard, plastic digging into my palm. “Fuck!”

“What did Chewy ever do to you?” AJ never takes any situation seriously. Carefree and fun. That’s him. The only time I ever saw him get broody or weepy was when he moaned about some girl from his past. If his ex-girlfriend is anything like Jocelyn, I can certainly empathize with him.

“I take it I’m giving you a lift home?” I slide behind the wheel and start the engine.

His lips purse as he studies me, and I half-fear what’s coming.

“I’m sorry.”

Damn, again? “For what?”

“If I hadn’t brought that girl home—”

“Don’t start. For the hundredth time, it’s not your fault…entirely. That bitch is crazy, and I have a feeling she would’ve found a way to sabotage our relationship with or without you.”

“Still, I’ll be more discreet with who I take home from now on.”

“Say it ain’t so.”

“No more crazy bitches.”

“You like them a tad crazy.”

His mouth stretches into a wide smile. “That I do.”

With Chewy still in the palm of my hand, I drive back to our apartment, but it won’t be for long before I’m hitting the road again. I know exactly who I need to talk to. And she won’t be pleased to see me.