Warning Track (Callahan Family #1) - Carrie Aarons Page 0,83
my collection, and that’s more than some players ever get. Some don’t even get one. I’ve been immensely blessed in my career, both with great teams and teammates, and supportive people around me like Bryant, and sometimes Charlie. I’ve played in other countries, in all-star games, had endorsement deals and recorded my name in record books. I’ve done all there is to do, each thing I set out to accomplish when I was a young rookie in the league. Now it’s time for the next best adventure.
We’re one out away from taking it all, and I nod to Walker across the diamond. The feeling in the air is a mixture of eerie and elated, because we’re on the precipice of greatness.
I watch as their batter walks into the box, and I can see the weariness in his eyes. He knows he can lose this series for them right now, and that’s how I know, before he even swings the bat, that we have won. Once you let fear take over, nothing is going to go in your favor.
Everything in me runs on adrenaline, a narrow focus falling over my vision. My fingers tingle inside my glove, and my heart feels like it might just burst through my chest wall. Clark is on the mound to finish out the game and serves up the first pitch.
“Ball,” calls the umpire.
An audible whoosh falls out of the crowd’s mouth, and I try not to acknowledge the roller-coaster dip of my stomach.
Clark waves off a pitch, then another, before settling on the signal the catcher throws down between his legs. I crouch, getting into position, and brace for whatever is coming next. He launches a breaking ball, which should land in our catcher’s glove with a thud, but the batter gets a piece of it.
The ball is driven straight to me, whizzing through the air in light-year fashion. It’s at an awkward angle, and I pull my glove up to the middle of my chest, palm out. It lands in my glove, jerking me back with its force, but I hold on for dear life.
Not until I hear the umpire’s roaring call of “OUT” do I drop it, then drop to my knees.
We did it. We’re World Series champions.
In a blur of commotion and light, I’m running to home plate, meeting the players and coaches who are running out of the dugout as players from the outfield rush up behind me. We all clamber into one big group hug, or mosh pit … I can’t tell which. But there are tears and whoops of joy and so much laughter.
“We fucking did it, man!” Clark is shouting in my ear, and we embrace in the biggest bro hug in history.
“Can’t believe we just pulled that off.” Walker is grinning ear to ear as he holds his hand out to me.
I shake it, and then we break and pull each other into a hug. Confetti rains down upon us as someone plunks a World Series Champions hat down onto my head. They’re playing Queen’s “We Are the Champions,” and I’ve never had bigger goose bumps in my life.
If there was ever a way to go out, it’s this. Sure, I said that win or lose I was done, but it would have fucking sucked to walk away without that last ring.
The huddle dissipates a little as the families start to stream onto the field, little kids and wives running for their players. Moms and Dads hug their adult sons, everyone crying in happiness.
I spot Colleen before she even makes it past the dirt of the on-deck circle, and sprint for her. With everyone watching, cameras clicking away, and the whole wide world in view, I pick her up and spin her in a circle.
She’s laughing, her light brown hair blowing around her pink cheeks, and I lower her to the ground by sliding her down my body.
“Way to go, champ.” She winks at me, smirking.
“Couldn’t have done it without my general manager.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“We shouldn’t be …” She tries to shrug away, but I catch her by the lapels of that sexy librarian pea coat she dons.
“It doesn’t matter if the entire world sees me touching you. Because we’re allowed to do that now. You know why?”
Colleen’s amber eyes are still shifty, as if she’s trying to gauge how many people are watching us. “Why?”
“I already decided before tonight, win or lose, this would be my last game. Sent