tightly. “You’re the best thing that happened to the team this year. Everyone was skeptical when I brought you on as Bobby’s assistant, but nobody’s doubting you now! The full-time pitching coach job is yours if you want it.” He leaned in to whisper. “Delorian wants you to return badly. Don’t let them under-pay you when they offer you a contract.”
“I can’t imagine going anywhere else,” I said.
Just like after the ALCS victory, most of the team walked across the street to Texas Live, the building with dozens of bars and TVs. The place was so packed with fans that we could barely walk around. We were given a king’s welcome—everyone cheered and patted us on the back and thanked us for bringing the World Series trophy back to Texas.
We took an Uber home at two in the morning. We were drunk and exhausted but still completely wired. Every few minutes I would suddenly remember: we just won the World Series. And then I would feel the elation and adrenaline all over again.
Someone with a suitcase was waiting for us on the front step of Darryl’s mansion. They stood when we got out of the Uber.
“Joel?”
“Dude, how long have you been waiting? You could’ve gone inside!” Rafael said.
They embraced, and Joel said, “I left my key back in Los Angeles. I didn’t mind waiting. It’s a nice night.”
Nobody was ready to go to bed yet, so Darryl pulled a bottle of champagne out of his fridge. He took one look at Joel and hesitated. “Uh. We can drink something else if you’d rather…”
“It’s all good,” Joel said. “You guys drink up. I’ll grab a beer.”
We went and sat out by the pool with our drinks. With every passing moment my heart sank deeper into my stomach. Joel. Poor Joel.
He raised his beer and said, “To the World Champion Texas Rangers.”
Everyone toasted and we drank our champagne.
“That was a hell of an outing,” Joel told Rafael. “As gutsy as any I’ve ever seen. It would’ve been incredible just to throw a quality start. But a combined no-hitter in game seven…”
Rafael’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit. It was a combined no-hitter, wasn’t it?”
“Got overshadowed by everything else,” Darryl said. He held up his phone. “ESPN has a front-page article about it. The only playoff no-hitters are now Don Larsen, Roy Halladay, and you.”
“Me and the two relievers,” Rafael said. “That Bellinger line drive in the fifth… I thought he had me there.”
“There aren’t any photographs on the scorecard,” I said. It was something my dad used to say.
“You’re amazing,” Joel told Rafael. “I’m proud of you, buddy. That was, like, historic.”
Rafael blushed down at his drink. “Thanks.”
“Can I ask you something?” Darryl suddenly said. “Why’d you pitch to me with first base open?”
“We talked about it,” Joel admitted. “But Gallo was up after you, and my splits are better against righties.”
Darryl sneered. “It wasn’t because you were cocky about striking out your best friend?”
Joel chuckled. “Maybe a little bit. Didn’t work out that way, though.”
Rafael leaned over and patted his friend on the arm. “I’m sorry, dude. About what happened.”
Joel shrugged and took a long pull of beer. “That’s how it goes sometimes. It was a good pitch. I executed the fastball perfectly, right where I wanted it low in the zone. You just made a better swing. Honestly? If someone was going to hit a walk-off against me, I’m glad it was you. You beat me fair and square.”
There was an awkward silence. Rafael and Darryl studied their champagne flutes.
“What?” Joel asked.
“I knew the fastball was coming,” Darryl said slowly. “Because… you were tipping your pitches.”
Joel blinked. “No shit?”
“Your head,” Rafael added softly. “You lean forward more when you’re throwing a fastball. Your head stays vertical when you throw the cutter.”
My heart raced as Joel pulled out his phone and looked at the game highlights. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he said. “I don’t know whether to be upset, or relieved. Who spotted this?”
“It was me,” I confessed. My throat tightened and made it difficult to speak, but somehow I got the words out. “I noticed it in the eighth, but I wasn’t certain until the ninth. I told Darryl and the rest of the team. I had to. It would be a lie of omission if I kept it to myself. And it caused you to blow the game. The game, game seven of the World Series. Joel, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll understand if you