The Ninth Inning (The Boys of Baseball #1) - J. Sterling Page 0,31
was good for him, he would stay outside in the dugout while I was going through my pregame ritual in the locker room. I was afraid that I might snap his scrawny little head off his neck if he showed it around me before game time. And even though it annoyed me to no end, it was probably a damn good thing that Mac knew what was going on. I wasn’t really in the state of mind where I should be left unsupervised even though I refused to admit that fact to anyone other than myself.
I pushed to a stand, my laces done. “You don’t have to follow me around,” I growled, and Mac shot me a bored look.
“I’m not,” was all he said in response.
He hadn’t even tried to come up with a bullshit lie or excuse. Chance suddenly appeared, and they both fell in step behind me like my own personal shadows.
“Are you two on double duty?” I spat at them both even though they didn’t deserve my anger.
“Don’t be an asshole,” Chance chided me, and I bristled, wanting to put the sophomore in his place. “Mac filled me in. We can see what Logan’s trying to do to you. And it’s clearly working.”
“It’s not working. Both of you, shut up.” I swatted my gloved hand through the air in their direction, hoping I’d hit one or both of them as we walked through the underground tunnel toward the dugout, but I missed.
Chance reached for my shoulder, his grip tight, as he forced me to stop. Leaning close, he spoke quiet enough that no one could overhear but loud enough that I could, “It’s working. It’s written all over your face. He’s in your head. It’s what he wants, Cole. He wants you rattled.”
I shook Chance’s arm off and snarled at them both. “He won’t beat me. Not on or off the field. I’m not a rookie. I know what’s at stake. Stop trying to babysit me.”
The metal spikes of my cleats echoed in the tunnel as I left them behind and waited to hear the two of them start walking again. I appreciated them looking out for me, but I also meant it; Logan wouldn’t win, and I didn’t need a fucking babysitter.
The sound of the crowd grew louder as I neared the entrance to the dugout, the music blaring, and I wondered for a split second if Christina was here. She hadn’t attended any games yet this season. And trust me, I knew. Closing my eyes for a breath, I chastised myself and pushed thoughts of her away. My teammates were walking around the dugout, grabbing cups of water and hitting their fists into their gloves, making loud popping sounds. I walked up to the edge and leaned against the railing, watching the other team wrap up their infield practice.
Spitting onto the dirt, I glanced to my right and caught Logan eying me. He stared at me with a wicked grin on his face like he was moments away from taking away everything I had ever loved. I flipped him off and kept eye contact. His expression morphed into something I couldn’t quite read, and I pretended that I couldn’t care less about it. This team was mine. This game was mine. Center field was mine. Christina was mine.
Dammit.
“Let’s go,” Coach yelled, and we ran out onto the field before huddling up in a tight circle.
The announcer started speaking animatedly into the microphone, but we listened to coach giving us a quick pregame speech.
As a team, we shouted, “Win!” before sprinting to our positions to await the national anthem.
I stood in center field, next to the other two outfielders, my hat in my hand and my head bowed as the anthem played. And no matter how hard I tried to sing along in my head or focus on the upcoming game, Christina’s face kept reappearing in my mind. Chance had been right; I was rattled, and I needed to fix it before I fucked it all up.
The first half of the inning went by quick. Our pitcher was on fire, and he struck out all three batters. Three up, three down. Glancing once more at the lineup, I saw my name in the fifth position. I was half-surprised that Coach hadn’t dropped me down to eighth or ninth in the batting order. I grabbed a helmet and my bat and sat at the end of the bench, mentally giving myself a pep talk.