Page 88 of Running Home to You
“They’re crushing your curve, your rise is gone to piss, and you’re missing your spots because you’re tired,” Mick said.
“My rise isn’t piss.”
“All you have is off speed and the top half of their lineup is about to get a third look at you.” Mick pivoted to Coach Ackers. “She’s done.”
Coach Ackers gulped. While a decent pitching director, she wasn’t exactly up for leading the team in the World Series semi-finals. She wrung her hands together. “Okay, Quong, go warm up. Ogden to first.”
The freshman, Chloe Ogden, knocked over a row of bats at the news. “Me? Now?”
“Yes.” Coach Ackers clapped her hands half-heartedly. “Come on. Let’s rally.”
Coach Ackers departed for third base, leaving them in miserable quiet while a stretcher arrived for the injured base runner. Abby stared at their blank column on the scoreboard. If they continued down this path, their season would end in three innings.
“You heard her. Let’s go.” Abby turned to the dejected squad. “It just takes one. One pitch. One hit. One run.” She glanced around when no one responded. “Come on! Are you going to quit? We might as well pack it up and walk away.”
Abby cringed at her own charge, especially when she caught Mick’s raised brow. She stared down at the dusty dugout floor, littered with sunflower seeds and paper cups.
“I get it. I know we’re in the gutter. And I know it’s my fault.”
She wasn’t one to lead or give speeches, but something in her gnawed. Not just the end but the beginning. Her first tournament with Insley. The first time she felt the game again when she thought she never would. She owed them the same.
“I’m sorry for the fight. I’m sorry Coach Whit can’t be here because she had to defend me.” She sighed. Some of her teammates uncrossed their arms. “I’m sorry I almost walked away. But you know why I didn’t? Because of you idiots. Because this team means everything to me. You’ve never given up on each other or me. In fact, two years ago, this team saved my life.”
She assessed her friends. Jill’s bloody leg propped beneath a bag of ice. Mick beet red with eye black smeared down her cheeks. T.K. sagging into the bench. And Kate, their heart and soul, cast off, head buried in her hands. This wasn’t the send-off they deserved.
“This is it. Do it for yourself. Do it for each other.” Abby settled on Kate, gazing a million miles away. “And if you can’t do it for yourself or this team, then do it for Kate. How many times has she picked you up? How many times has she put us on her back? We wouldn’t be here without her.”
“For Hutch,” Jill said, raising a fist.
“For all of us.” Mick nodded, wincing to stand. T.K. helped her up from the bench. “Now or never, assholes.”
The team clapped, started a chorus of “Let’s go, right now, rally, rally, rally.”
“Let’s fucking do this,” Abby demanded in the huddle. They stomped their feet, cried “Eagles!,” whooped, screeched, and spiraledinto nonsense. Southern Colorado glared as the gurney with their fallen teammate rolled away to apathetic clapping. The Eagles didn’t care. The Eagles might be classless underdogs, might have already fucked themselves, but they would fight. They shoved each other, slapped hands, hit helmets, stomped on the steps, yanked at the fence, and taunted the opposing pitcher. A small riot. When Izzy Palamino, their first batter up, smacked a double, they roared.
Kate didn’t move. She stayed hunched over, supporting her head in her hands. A few players patted her shoulder, chatted her up, but she didn’t bounce back. Abby ambled over.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Kate’s misty blue eyes shifted, the clouds clearing when they landed on Abby. She didn’t think Kate overdramatic. Anyone who cared about the game, who wanted it as much as Kate, would hate themselves for the error. Not just an error, but a game-losing, season-ending, haunting fuckup. The kind of error that was so horrendous, you weren’t mad, simply happy you weren’t the person to do it.
“Come on. We need you.” Abby squatted in front of her and rested a hand on her knee.
“I ruined everything.” She placed her trembling hand on top of Abby’s. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. There’s still time left.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.” Abby helped her to stand. A year ago, Kate had helped her return to the field. Now it was Abby’s turn. “The team needs you. I need you.”
Another hit and a crescendo of cheers filled the ballpark, but Kate melted into her arms. Abby hugged her back.
“Cruz! You’re up!” Jill shouted.
Abby released Kate and put on her new helmet that didn’t quite fit, snagged the wrong bat, and forgot her batting gloves. She didn’t bother with a practice swing. She unloaded on the first pitch to knock in a run. 3–1. They were going to do it. They were going to win. They were going to hang on to each other for one game longer.
The Eagles scrapped back 3–2. Madison Quong pitched her heart out. Chloe Ogden trembled but never missed a ball. When another grounder came to Kate, Abby held her breath. Kate charged it on a bounce, threw it to Chloe on the run for the out, and sighed in relief.
