Page 35 of Under Pressure

Swallowing, I open a second tab and search up what SV means, learning it stands for saves. And apparently, having a high number is good. Is 15 something he should be proud of if he’s only played 29 games, then?

Fuck if I know.

The only other thing I research is ERA, and only because I remember Eli mentioning it the other day. Something about Beck having the lowest in the entire league and not just the division. The 0.56 means nothing to me, but maybe I could use it to apologize to Beck for ignoring him.

Going back to our conversation, I type and retype a message before sending it.

Congrats on your ERA.

Immediately after it gets delivered, I turn my head into my pillow and yell. What theshit, Quinn?

The buzz in my hand sends panic slicing through me. I nearly toss my phone across my bedroom before forcing my face from my pillow and focusing on his answer.

Beck

Did you search for my stat line, gorgeous? Are you impressed?

No. Eli mentioned it.

Beck

You’re gutting me. I was hoping you saw that I also have the lowest WHIP percentage in the league.

I reread the message twice before going back to Google and reopening the page I was on. Copying the letters into a separatesearch, it takes me a couple of minutes to comprehend the meaning.

It’s lower than your ERA.

Beck

So? Are you?

Am I what?

Beck

Impressed.

They’re just numbers.

Beck

You’re right. But they carry a lot of meaning to me.

Why?

His answer takes longer to come this time. I roll my lips, wiggling my toes beneath the blankets. I sleep with a heavy comforter and the same fuzzy blanket beneath it that I’ve had since I was six. The ends are scrappy, and it’s missing an entire corner, but I have no intention of giving it up.

I’m sentimental, too . . . just not about the samethings that he is.

Beck

The better I play, the more intimidating I am. I want every team we face to dread facing me. I want to step onto the mound and watch as the batters get nervous, knowing that I’m going to make them out to look like fools. Every swing and miss guarantees my spot on the Havoc. Each save I secure keeps my name on jerseys and posters in the stands. If I’m the best, I’m irreplicable. Unforgettable. More than just a name that can be erased from history.

I go loose, reading those words as I pull my blanket up until it creates a shelter around my hands. It’s the most human he’s ever sounded. Like he might actually know what vulnerability feels like.

And that’s what you want? To be remembered?

Beck