dirt, rolling the ball in his hand. After another signal from Opal, he nodded. Wound up. Let loose.
I heard the smack of the ball hitting leather. The Miner stumbled, the force of his swing almost pulling him over. The crowd cheered again. Bowie didn’t acknowledge it. He was in the zone.
“Strike.”
A hush settled over the field. One more out was all we needed. Half the Miners had passed out in their dugout, but they had just enough conscious players to finish out the game. And the score was still tied.
There was a rustle of air as everyone present took—and held—a collective breath.
Bowie’s pitch flew dead center over the plate. The Miner swung and for a second, it looked like he’d connect.
His bat came within a kitten’s whisker of skimming the top of the ball. Opal caught the pitch, the Miner spun around in a circle, and June yelled the final, “Strike.”
I blew out the breath I’d been holding. Bowie took off his hat and waved at the crowd as they cheered him in. Cassidy ran out and jumped on him, throwing her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. They toppled to the dirt together, laughing to even louder whoops and hollers from the crowd.
But it wasn’t over yet. Bottom of the ninth and Jonah was up to bat.
He chugged water, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Go get ’em, brother,” I said.
The Miners took the field and their unnaturally liquor-tolerant pitcher stood on the mound. The girl didn’t even look tipsy. It was like she was Gableton’s version of Scarlett.
Jonah’s Cock Spurs shirt was snug around his muscled arms. He held the bat up, his eyes on the pitcher, stance firm.
The first pitch flew in, sailing past Jonah’s bat.
“Strike.”
“Shit,” I mumbled.
Jonah readjusted his footing and got into position, the end of the bat wobbling in a tight circle over his shoulder.
Second pitch and Jonah swung hard, his body twisting. The ball hit the catcher’s mitt with a thump.
“Strike.”
Growling, I clenched my teeth. “Come on, Jonah!”
The chant started low while the pitcher took her time setting up. It rose behind me, the word rippling through the crowd, gaining strength and volume.
“Jo-nah! Jo-nah! Jo-nah!”
Feet stomped against the bleachers, hands clapped in time with the syllables of his name. Scarlett and Opal joined in beside me, cheering for him.
Jonah’s hands gripped the bat hard, and he narrowed his eyes. The crowd kept chanting as the pitcher wound up and released.
A sudden silence filled the air as everyone stopped cheering and watched the ball fly toward home plate. Jonah swung and his bat connected with a metallic crack of aluminum.
The ball flew into the dark night sky, almost disappearing against the starry backdrop. I watched the arc, trying to judge the distance. Their outfielders tracked its path, backing up fast. One stumbled and hit the grass, rolling onto his stomach. The other kept his feet, running backward, his face tilted up, gloved hand ready to make the catch.
The ball kept right on going.
The outfielder backed into one of the moonshine stands as the ball sailed over his head. It came down with a hard thunk in what looked like the bed of Rhett Ginsler’s pickup truck.
“Home run,” June yelled.
The crowd went crazy. Jonah dropped the bat and jogged the bases, a contented smile on his face. All the Cock Spurs who weren’t too drunk to walk rushed out to meet him at home plate, shouting and jumping. George and Nash tried to hoist him up on their shoulders, but they were too unsteady after all the moonshine. They crumpled into a heap with Jonah laughing on top.
For a second, Jonah’s eyes met mine. I gave him a proud chin tip.
“Gibs.” Devlin jogged up beside me and his expression wiped the smile from my face. Something was wrong.
My eyes darted to Callie, but she was fine—still in the stands with Shelby. She had her arms around Cash, like she was trying to keep him from scrambling away.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Lee Williams,” he said, and my blood instantly ran cold. “He’s here. I ran to my car to get Scarlett’s hoodie and I saw him.”
“You sure? You sober?”
“Stone-cold sober. Never doing that again. And yes, I’m sure. I wouldn’t raise the alarm if I wasn’t.”
“Keep it quiet,” I said. “I don’t want a scene. I’ll get Maya out of here. I saw Darren in the stands. He still here?”