Be My Game Changer: A Sports Romance(40)

“You ready?” Bodie stands at my door, grinning ear-to-ear, donning his Coyote jersey.

“No. Just watch the game with your brothers or something.”

“I don’t think Carter would appreciate me giving these seats away.” Bodie holds up a white envelope, pulling out two tickets before shoving them back in the envelope and passing it to me.

“What is this?” I ask, reading the outside of the envelope.

See you at the game. –C.B.





“Why would he do this?” He’s yet to reply to my message from four days ago but wants me at the game where he’s throwing against his former team.

“Dunno. But chop, chop so we’re not too late. These are some kick-ass seats.” Bodie grabs the envelope from me, tucking it into his pocket as he pushes me towards my bedroom. “Do you even own a jersey? Or anything Coyote-blue?”

“No, of course not,” I nearly scoff.

“Figures. How does the starting pitcher’s girlfriend not even have his jersey?”

“Probably because I’m not his girlfriend.” I walk into the kitchen, pour a second cup of coffee, and dig in my heels. I know Bodie isn’t going to drop his quest of getting me to the game. And the last time we were in this situation, it tilted my world on its axis, sending Carter into my orbit where he doesn’t belong. “I can’t go.”

“Yeah, you can. You have to. He sent these and wants you there. You really gonna turn him down after you’ve been sulking without him around?”

“I have not been sulking.” Damn it. Why does Bodie play the annoying brother role so well?

“Sure, McPouty. Just throw something on, we can swing by and pick up a jersey for you.”

“This is not a good idea.”

“Last time didn’t turn out so bad.”

“Not sure everyone would agree with that statement, Bodie.”

He pulls the envelope out of his pocket, pointing at the ink. “This tells me otherwise, McGloomy.” He tucks it back into his pocket for safekeeping. “Now, get ready before traffic gets bad.”

Is Carter testing me to see if I’ll show and support him? Or show and read a book again? Definitely not taking that route again, especially since I actually want to see how the game plays out.

“Fine. But I’m not wearing a jersey.” Especially his. I have to maintain some of my baseball indifference. I surely can’t show up in his jersey, not with the uncertainty of whatever the hell is happening between us.

“Whatever you say, McDenial. Move your ass!”





32





CARTER





“Last chance, Lowe.” Coach motions towards the field from the bullpen. The crowd roars around us. Even they know there’s some beef there when I’m pitching on my new turf against my old team.

Fortunately, I woke up ready. Nothing is different, but this is what I do. This is my game. I go out there and get the job done. For me, not him. “I’m ready.”

Dundee hesitates but nods for me to take the mound for my final warm-up. I’m good. I can do this. I need to redeem myself after my last two piss-poor performances. Because the only things worse than pitching for my dad’s old team is not pitching at all. And Dundee has made clear that if I don’t show the organization I’m good for the full season, I could be out next year. And so far, I’m not sure another team would pick me up.

Avery’s face enters my mind, making me question whether I’d want to leave this town. There’s still something deep inside me that hopes Brooks is right and I’m just full of bullshit and Avery and I aren’t done.

My fingers tighten in my glove, my other lightly hitting against the leather. Lynch stands up when I nod to him. I’m ready, we’re good. And I know he trusts the look in my eye. He can always tell when I’m bullshitting. Dundee slaps my back, and Lynch and I make the long walk from the outfield to the dugout as the announcers introduce the lineup. It’s game time. Right now, the only thing that matters is showing my old team that they gave up on me too soon and proving to my new team that they can count on me.

Five minutes later, the national anthem is over, and I take the mound to the screams and shouts of the home crowd. My home crowd.

I can do this. The first batter steps up as I look to Lynch, I nod to the signal, and deliver the pitch. Strike. Yes. I can do this.

When Lynch throws me the ball, my glove closes around it at the same moment I glance unconsciously to the stands behind the ump. Normally, I look unseeing at the crowd behind the plate. I’m not focused there. They don’t faze me.

But a jolt of recognition zaps straight to my gut when my eyes meet hazel ones in the first row behind the plate, just to the right. What the hell is Avery doing here? She leans over, speaking closely into Bodie’s ear. Glancing to the dugout as I make my way to the rubber, I get a confused look from Dundee. There’s no way he’s more confused than I am. Did he do this?

I set up for the pitch, making a concerted effort to avoid her eyes. The ball drills into Lynch’s glove for another strike.

This is no different than any other game she’s watched. It’s fine. Taking a deep breath in, I force it out as I nod to the slider call and deliver a third strike. My eyes immediately find her smile as she claps and cheers with the fans around her. At least there’s no damn book in her hand. I give her a slight smile as Lynch returns the ball to me.