Triple Play - Cassie Cole Page 0,79

‘Mingo. I’ve been trying that, and I think it helps. I’m just venting, is all.”

I gave him a reassuring pat. “Here’s a little secret. Everyone gets a little nervous. The great pitchers just find a way to bear down.” I pointed at him. “We need you to be that pitcher tomorrow, Carter. And trust the plan!”

“You got it, Coach!”

I left the bullpen and walked across the outfield. On the way I passed Darryl doing long-toss with the third baseman on the other side of the outfield.

“I’m feeling a little nervous,” he said to me in a low, deep voice.

I stopped, concerned. “Really?”

He hurled the ball across the field and turned to me. “Yep. I think I’m going to throw up.” He leaned in closer and smirked lustily. “I could use a little of what you gave Rafa before his start.”

I realized what he meant, then gave him a playful shove. “Absolutely not. The last thing I need is you getting injured in this game and forever making me afraid that I’m cursed with terrible blowjobs.”

Darryl caught the ball above his head. “Your blowjobs are definitely not terrible.”

“I meant, like, dangerous. It ain’t happening.”

He rubbed his scruffy jaw. “I’ll return the favor.”

“Oh?”

His smile deepened. “Sure. Bend you over your office desk and lick that pretty cunt from behind. I bet I can stick my tongue so deep inside you’ll scream louder than the fans.”

For a heartbeat it was tempting. But it was just twenty minutes until first pitch, and I had a job to do.

“Shut up,” I said. His laughter echoed through the stadium as I walked back to the dugout with a smile on my face.

35

Natalie

As I walked across the field, I was so distracted imagining what Darryl would do to me that I nearly missed the person waving at me from the front row above the dugout.

I gave a start. “Dad?”

He and my mom waved happily. “Nat! We wanted to surprise you, but it didn’t look like you saw us.”

“Sorry, I was, uh, thinking about the game.”

My dad put on his baseball scout face. Serious and thoughtful. “Is something wrong with Carter? I saw you watching him throw. I know he’s a flimsy choice to take the mound tomorrow…”

“Carter’s fine. Just nervous,” I said. “I can’t believe you’re down here!”

Dad looked up at the box seats he usually sat in. “I decided to give my normal seats to the new pitching coach at Colleyville. He’s never been to a playoff game, apparently. Plus this meant we could upgrade to these seats.”

The manager was waving at me from the dugout. “I’m glad you’re here! I’ll try to talk to you some more later.”

Dad scoffed. “Forget us, Nat. Focus on the game!”

The chip that Miner had on his shoulder against the Yankees was still there tonight. His two-seam fastball and curveball were sharper than ever, and they kept the Indians off-balance all night. But the opposing pitcher was just as strong, and we entered the bottom of the ninth inning tied 0-0.

Darryl was the first batter up. He took his practice cuts outside the dugout and roughed up the bat with pine tar to help him get a better grip.

“We need you to get on base,” the manager told him. “Nothing fancy. Don’t get baited by the split-finger he throws. Be selective up there. Draw a walk, and I’ll have Buchholz pinch-run for you.”

Darryl nodded as his name was called, then strode toward the plate. The crowd was on its feet and cheered wildly for him.

“LET’S - GO - RAN - GERS,” they cried, followed by the drumming thump thump thumpthumpthump. “LET’S - GO - RAN - GERS!”

The Indians starting pitcher was still in the game, and had only given up two hits on eighty-nine pitches. With the left-handed Gallo on deck, Darryl was probably the last batter he was going to face. Sure enough, there was a left-handed reliever warming up in the visitor’s bullpen.

“Come on, Darryl,” I whispered to myself from the top step of the dugout. “Don’t swing at the first pitch.”

Darryl dug into the batter’s box and readied himself. The bat looked too small in his massive tattooed arms. He stared out at the pitcher with calm resolve. Like a loaded gun, brimming with potential.

The pitcher went into his windup and released the ball. From the side, I immediately recognized the pitch as a split-finger fastball, which tumbled downward. It was the pitch Darryl should be laying off, like the manager told him.

Darryl stepped forward with his