Page 121 of The Score We Never Settled

And, when I cruise toward the lonely country road, I can’t help but look in my rearview mirror, watching him watch me as I go, not knowing the next time I’m going to see him again.

33

BRIGGS

Three weeks later…

I stare down the pitcher,silently suggesting that he better make this pitch a good one or I’m cranking that out of the park with his playoff dreams trailing right after it.

We’re two games down from winning the division and, if the first-place team wins their series—and they’re playing right now—we’re still in the running but the pressure will just mount even higher than it was before.

It’s the last inning, two on base, and we’re tied.

I don’t want to go into another.

Coach Davidson has been on one since I came back from being suspended, silently hinting that the reason why we’re not the number one spot is because I decided to break Cruz Weston’s arm.

And I’m going to shatter both his legs if he decides to go against the league, my lawyers, and throw his pride in the way with announcing my marriage to Layla Jean.

The MLB has conduct rules and his acting a fool and dragging my personal life through the media could be conduct that is detrimental to the game.

Now, the league loves to sell tickets.

However, I’ve threatened to leave if my ass gets put on blast and my girl is harassed.

Not only would it become public drama—because, again, I would put him in a wheelchair—it would affect team operations and it’s harassment.

And I’m not going to deal with it, nor will I put Layla through the media frenzy of bullshit.

The pitcher exhales then lifts his leg to make his pitch, and I see the ball perfectly.

Throwing all my weight into my front foot, just the sound of the bat tells me everything I need to know.

That ball is gone.

Jogging to first base, I watch it descend before it makes its way into the stands.

The crowd erupts, and the game immediately ends.

I know I’ll be interviewed by reporters on how I feel, what I was thinking at the plate and if I’ll be watching Salt Lake while hoping for their downfall.

They’ll win the Series, there’s no doubt about it.

Not only are they the number one team but they’ve been on our asses all year. We’re going to need to put in work like never before.

Rounding third base, my team is already on the line, already there to congratulate me on the home run.

We knock elbows and hands, before one of the coaches motions that I need to run up to one of the big broadcasters and get interviewed briefly.

I wipe the sweat off my face with my jersey as Natasha Burns approaches, a regular and one of the leading sportscasters from a local channel comes up to me.

She beams, wearing a tight navy blue dress, and always the picture-perfect canvas for her viewers.

“Hey, Briggs,” she greets excitedly. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” I inhale and look out at the crowd still cheering, vibrating the outdoor stadium with excitement.

“Three questions and then you’re on your way.”