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Ha-Seong Kim ripped a double down the third base line. A runner scored. Everyone was jumping, and screeching. With the tying and go-ahead runs in scoring position, and no outs, the next batter’s walk-up song erupted through the speakers.Esa muchacha sí que baila bueno.Talia and Raj danced, bumping hips. Problems? What problems? Talia felt them flutter away.

The batter took a ball. He took a second ball and swung at the next pitch, sending a line drive to deep right field. Another runner crossed home plate and Talia screamed, along with everyone else. The score was tied, with runners on first and third.

“Yikes,” Talia said, checking the scoreboard as the next batter came up. “This guy is 0-fer tonight. Not lookin’ good.”

“Shhh!” Raj hissed, laughing. “Don’t put that negativity into the universe.”

The guy immediately fouled out, and Talia felt like maybe it was her fault. The Dodgers brought in another pitcher, which seemed weird with two outs, but maybe it was a matchup deal?Twenty minutes ago, Talia barely knew the score and now she was contemplating pitching matchups. Nerves shot to hell, she chugged the rest of her third (fourth?) margarita.

The Jumbotron announced the next batter, and the cameras zeroed in on a section called the “Crone Zone,” Crone being a play on his last name, and the Zone the place he hit home runs. After grinding his right foot into the dirt, Crone assumed his stance. On a two-two count he smacked a line drive to center field, scoring two runners, and making it to second base on the throw.

The crowd erupted. Talia and Raj jumped up and down, clutching each other, cheering like this was the best, most enthralling day of their lives. They were now winning 5–3. Had she actually called baseballboring?

At the top of the ninth inning, still up 5–3, panic began to set in. This game was taking too long, and Talia wanted it to be done, but not because she was bored. Now she wanted to lock in the win and clinch a spot in the NLCS. One step closer to the World Series.

The closing pitcher came out, and the stadium went dark. People waved the flashlights on their phones. The Dodgers were back to the top of the lineup, but the Padres’ closer handled the leadoff no problem, getting him out in three pitches, and the next batter in four.One more out to glory.Talia consulted the Jumbotron and discovered that unfortunately this dude was three-for-three tonight. These were not good odds for the Padres, but streaks were made to be broken, right? That’s something Spencer always said.

The three-hitter watched a strike go past. He swung and missed the next.

“Loser!” Talia called out, and then hated herself for talking trash. As the pitcher wound up, Talia held her breath. This wasn’t exactly life-and-death, but in that moment, it felt that way.

The pitch left his hand. The batter lunged forward. He swungat a ball in the dirt. The catcher blocked it and tagged him. A bell rang and the stadium descended into chaos. They’d won. The Padres clinched the series against baseball’s biggest assholes. No offense.

Fireworks erupted, and a song blared from the speakers. The entire crowd belted it out in unison.

All the

Small things

“They’re a San Diego band,” Raj said between verses, the fireworks reflecting in his glasses. Talia felt like she’d known that, or maybe not. Everything was too heady and exciting and hard to keep straight.

“Whoa,” Raj said as Talia swayed. “Are you alright?” She nodded, though she was starting to feel woozy, but from joy, not booze, she was pretty sure. “Come on.” He gestured toward... the aisle? The exit? Who could tell? “Let’s go.”

Raj grabbed her hand, and she squeezed back. He carved a path for them through the thick, pulsing crowd as Blink-182 sang them out.

Say it ain’t so, I will not go

Turn the lights off, carry me home

Na-na, na-na, na-na, na-na, na, na...

Chapter Forty-Seven

Ozzie

Ozzie slumped through the front door. It was after ten o’clock and the apartment was empty and dark. Was Freja still working in Europe, or did she leave him? He wouldn’t blame her if she did. She could do better.

After dropping his luggage beside the entryway table, Ozzie walked down the echoing hall, writing the inevitable real estate listing in his head. Relax and indulge in this bespoke Park Avenue bachelor pad two blocks from Central Park! The interior is magazine-ready with moody neutrals, slate gray, and pops of money green. The foyer boasts stunning black-and-white inlay marble, making a perfect entryway to the exquisite gallery space. Herringbone hardwood floors throughout!

A bar in the living room, a serene primary bedroom, and floor-to-ceiling white marble in the primary bath. So much white marble. White marble up the ass. This was how Ozzie should think about the place. Focus on the negative.

Ozzie entered the living room. He flopped onto the couch, pulling the handwoven Mongolian cashmere Hermès blanket up to his chin. Finally he turned on his phone. Unlike literally every other person on the plane, he hadn’t reached for it the second he touched down, or stolen a glimpse in the cab. These days the news was mostly bad, and it was nice to be unplugged,even if while suffering the indignities of coach. Commercial air travel was a bitch. Nobody ever talked about it. Or maybe they did, and Ozzie hadn’t listened.

Ozzie watched the missed texts filter in. The first was from Aunt Kathy. She’d visited Uncle Doug for his birthday, and he seemed fine, considering. Ozzie was the only Gunn who asked about him, including Tug, his own son, and it really meant a lot.

Spencer’s name popped up. Ozzie didn’t bother opening the message because he wasn’t looking to get yelled at again. The dude had beenfuriousbut, sorry, asking whether the pregnant lady was still interested in the map was valid. Ozzie felt bad for Spencer’s friend and everything, but the woman would still birth her baby, and had the requisite cash because she was heir to a pig breeding fortune. Baby daddy drama or not, Ozzie just needed the money. Regrettably, the mother-to-be didn’t want to be reminded of being called “Pooh Bear” and fair enough.

Ballsack didn’t have any updates on potential collabs. The landscape had changed and Ballsack suggested he pivot, though failed to explain which landscape, or why he was talking like that. No, Ozzie was not going to “pivot.” He was who he was, and he’d made his bed and would lie in it, et cetera.