office door closes, its soft latch nearly booming in the silence. He steps into the room, his head down, his hands on his hips. He clears his throat. When he does look up, his gaze settles on Brett.
“We’re family,” he says. “And family sticks together.” He nods toward the door. “Now let’s go get warmed up.”
My heart hammers against my chest as I stare down batter number seven. In the seventh inning. While the score is 7-3, our favor. Triple sevens are good luck, right?
These are the games I’ve always lived for: adrenaline pumping, crowd cheering, sweat soaking my hair and streaming down my cheeks. But as my gaze flickers to Jay, who’s signaling curveball, my throat constricts along with every muscle in my body. We’re not done yet, not by a longshot, but we’re almost there. He won’t be my man next year. There’ll be some other guy calling the shots behind the plate, one who can’t read my mind. It’s gut-clenching.
I look to the stands, where the crowd’s on their feet. Marisa’s right up front, with her parents on either side. She’s got sunglasses on, paired with my hat, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more head over heels than I do right now, with that girl cheering me on. I’m not sure why it thrills me just as much every time—she’s been my cheerleader from the get-go—but it’ll never get old.
Inhaling deeply, I focus on the batter again. Tunnel vision. This guy’s been fouling off pitches for ages. It’s time to sit him down and wrap this game up.
Wind up. Release. Swing. Nothing but air.
Mission complete. And that’s the season.
Jay jumps up and charges toward me, leaping into my arms with a yell. “Braxtoooooon!” he shouts above the deafening roar of our team. “You did it!” He drops to the ground and claps my hand in a shake.
“Nah,” I tell him. “We did it.”
Eric and Matt run out of the dugout, each carrying a side of the Gatorade container. And that quick, Coach’s bright white uniform is as blue as the sky, soaked with Glacier Freeze Gatorade. He grins, and the rest of the guys pour in, yellin’ and slappin’ and it’s craziness. It’s insane. And I love every damn second.
A tiny hand claps on my shoulder. I spin around. Marisa grins up at me, all sun-kissed and bright smile. Grabbing her by the thighs, I lift her up and whirl around, making her squeal. And when she kisses me, it’s freakin’ magic.
“What’s next?” she asks, resting her forehead against mine.
“Hmm.” I pretend to think. “Playoffs. State. A whole lot of you.”
“You seem awfully sure of yourself.”
“What can I say? I’m a confident guy.”
She laughs and kisses me again, long and sweet and utterly, insanely perfect.
These are the moments that matter. These are the moments I’ll remember for the rest of my life. With this girl, every day’s the start of something amazing. And there are a lot more days to come. This is only the beginning.
“We’ll see you fine folks at playoffs!” the announcer, Skip, shouts over the stadium’s speakers. “Now stick around and help us congratulate our Bulldog seniors on another outstanding season as we honor them with a special ceremony.”
Marisa hops out of my arms, still grinning while backing toward the fence. “It was an outstanding season, Floral Prince.”
The other guys bump and shove into me, but my jaw drops as I watch Marisa dart off to the bleachers. I don’t care how much I love that girl; I’ll always hate that name.
After handshakes with the other team, they spill off the field, leaving only Jay, Brett, and me standing at home plate. The crowd’s still on their feet, though they’ve quieted to a low rumble. A beaming Hannah Wallace moves in beside us, holding the bouquets that Marisa was in charge of putting together yesterday.
Hannah winks. “You guys are always going to be my favorites.”
I scoff and cross my arms. “Please. You’ll be in Florida for two days before you forget about us.”
Her jaw drops. I was joking, but she looks seriously offended. “We’ve all known each other since kindergarten. Brett was my first crush. Jay was the first guy I chased down on the playground and kissed. And you were the first player who ever made me believe in the magic of baseball.” She shakes her head. “There are some things, and some people, that you never forget, Austin. You’re one of ’em.”
Way to make me feel even more feelings.
“First up,”