Chapter Thirty-Four

Tristan

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Tristan hugged Alyssa tight. “I thought you were working at Swing Away all weekend.”

She laughed against his collarbone. “You might need to stop squeezing so hard if you want me to talk.”

“Oh, sorry.” He let her out of the hug but held her at arm’s length, still reeling with surprise. “How’d you get here?”

Alyssa pointed at Faith, who was leaning against the wall, smiling at Kyle. “We listened to the game last night. I thought you might need some encouragement.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “And I missed you some, too.”

She missed him. Now those are words I’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m glad you came.” He kissed her cheek. “So glad.”

“Murrell!” Coach barked. “What are you doing up there? Come down here and hit!”

Tristan jumped guiltily. “I, uh, better go. See you after? I have to ride the team bus home, but we’ll probably have a few minutes before we leave.”

“Murrell! You, too, Sawyer. Tell the ladies good-bye!” Coach sounded like he was about to start frothing at the mouth. “Now!”

“Coming!” Tristan grinned at Alyssa. “Wish me luck!”

“Trust me—I already have.” She smiled. “I’ll cheer loud.”

His heart swelled like it was going to come out of his chest and dance. “I believe you.”

He jumped the wall and jogged over to the batting station. “Sorry. I had to see about something.”

Coach made a face. “First Sawyer leaving in the middle of a game a few months ago, and now I catch you smooching some girl in the stands before the championship. I’m not running eHarmony!”

“Did he say eHarmony?” Dylan snickered. “Coach is old.”

“I heard that!” Coach stomped off to yell at some freshman, and Tristan took his place in the makeshift batter’s box.

An assistant coach stood behind a protective screen that was lower on one side so he could pitch. He’d been a pitcher for Texas A&M fifteen years ago and could still throw an eighty-mile-per-hour heater when he felt like it. Dylan stopped warming up to watch… This was almost as helpful for him as it was for the batters.

“Tristan Murrell!” Alyssa called. “You better hit that ball!”

Grinning, he raised his bat and waited for the pitch. A slider—and a damn good one at that. Tristan let out a quick breath and swung.

Ting!

Dylan let out a whoop. “That’s a double!”

“Told you so!” Alyssa’s voice held a thread of laughter. “Now do it again!”

And he did.

“Having her here really helps.” Dylan sounded almost dumbfounded by that. “Here am I thinking that it’s routine, practice, focus…and you hit because you’re a lovesick bastard.”

“Whatever works,” Kyle said, breezing past them to grab a bottle of water from the cooler in the corner. “Even if it’s lucky socks.”

“Hey, if Bishop turns another double play today, I’ll deal with smelly socks.” Dylan rubbed his hands together nervously. “Come on, it’s time for the anthem.”

They filed onto the field. Butterflies fluttered in Tristan’s stomach, but they felt like the good kind—the kind that said he was ready to play. Alyssa was somewhere in the stands, watching. She’d come all this way to see him, and he’d damn well be a hero for her.

The northern team was visiting this year, meaning Suttonville had to bat first against Ronald Reagan High. The Rattlers had their best pitcher on the mound today—this wasn’t like the big leagues where you had to win four of seven to take the World Series. Today it was one and done. Win, or go home in second place.

Their pitcher proved his skill in the first inning. He shut down the first three batters, a foul ball the only contact anyone made.

Dylan shot the pitcher an icy gaze. “My turn.”

“Light ’em up.” Tristan grabbed his glove and ran to the outfield. A piercing whistle echoed from the crowd.

As Kyle jogged by, he said, “Jesus. I think that was your girlfriend.”

Probably—Tristan didn’t have any trouble believing it. He waved in the general direction of the whistle and hunkered down for the fight.

Dylan struck out the first batter without a bit of trouble. The second batter hit a long foul ball that Kyle somehow ran down for an out. The third batter came up and hit a tiny blooper that went through the second baseman’s legs. Tristan sped toward the ball, scooped it up, and threw, but it was too late. Their man was on first.

Fine. They had two outs. They’d catch the next one.

The fourth batter came to the plate. He was huge, probably six-five, with arms like tree trunks. Tristan watched Dylan wipe his hand on his pants. Once, twice, three times.

Not good. Dylan became ritualistic when things weren’t going his way. Tristan backed up, almost to the track at the back of the field. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kyle did, too. If Dylan was nervous, they had a problem.

First pitch, a curveball, low. The guy stood there and watched it go by.

The second pitch was in the strike zone, mostly, and the batter swung, clipping the edge of the ball and sending it like a cannon shot into the stands. The crowd gasped… Someone had probably been hit.

Okay, one-one count. Dylan paced on the mound after catching a fresh ball. The batter waggled his bat, looking completely comfortable. Tristan exchanged a glance with Kyle and took one more step back toward the wall.

The third pitch rolled off Dylan’s hand—a fastball that hiccupped a little and sailed straight down the middle. Tristan barely had time to think oh shit, before the ball had left the bat in a high arc.

He ran to the left, trying to get under it, but the ball wasn’t coming down. He scrambled backward and jumped. The ball lipped the edge of his glove and fell behind the wall.

Two-run shot, bottom of the first.

“Damn it!” Tristan slid down the wall. “I had it!”

“Good try, man.” Kyle shook his head. “Not even Nelly Cruz could’ve caught that.”

The Rattlers finished running the bases while the Suttonville catcher went to the mound to calm Dylan down. They whispered behind the catcher’s glove for a moment as the next batter warmed up. Finally, the ump called the catcher back, and play resumed.

This time, Dylan threw a fastball that had the batter swinging for the fences…and missing. Two more, and he struck him out. The damage was done, though. They needed to make up some runs.

And Tristan was leading off the second.