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Chapter Two

DREW

Nickelback blasts through my headphones as I sit in front of my locker in the locker room of the Midnight Phoenix Field.

Yes, the field is owned by one of my best friends and her husbands. Phoenix and her men, Daxon, Mason, and Colton. And yes, husbands, plural. They are all madly in love with her, and it works for them.

And all I ever wanted was for Phoenix to be happy.

But back to the field.

A couple years ago, after Phoenix had Raven, her daughter, the owners of this fine establishment and team decided they wanted out of the Las Vegas Valley and put the stadium up for sale.

Phoenix took that opportunity to come in and sweep it up.

So now, technically, Phoenix is my boss. I let out a chuckle.

Never thought I would utter those words. But she has always been a boss babe, so I guess it was inevitable that she would lead one day. Just never thought I would be under her.

My eyes widen at the thought. Note to self: don’t let the guys hear my thoughts. I’m sure they will kill me. No, I know they will.

Since my days at Darkwood Academy, Phoenix and the Kings, as they were called back then, have been a huge part of my life. I got lucky and was drafted here to the Las Vegas Mavericks. Been with this team for the last four years.

And I don’t plan on going anywhere else.

I just signed on for another five years with the Mavericks. And I couldn’t be happier. I get to be with my Darkwood family. And I get to play the game I love.

Speaking of the game I love, Burning It To The Ground by Nickelback is blasting through my headphones. This has been my routine since high school, listening to music before I go onto the field. Nothing but Nickelback pumps through these headphones.

Why? I don’t know why. But I know that they were what I was listening prior to when I pitched the best game of my life, and I’m superstitious as fuck.

So, Nickelback it is. Every fucking game day.

If Today Was Your Last Day comes on, and I close my eyes.

There was a point in my life when I thought I wouldn’t see tomorrow.

From the moment that car was following Phoenix and I, and hit us, to when I was in that basement of that club with Phoenix.

I had lost so much blood from a gash on my leg from the accident.

The fear of burning alive down there, dying, and not being able to save Phoenix… I had never felt so helpless as I did that day.

I shiver at the memory.

It has taken years of therapy to get through it all. In the process, baseball ended up being more than just a game I loved to play; it saved me. It gave me focus and a reason to keep pushing to get better. Baseball is my release.

Eventually, the nightmares stopped coming every night. My fear of driving went away, and the scars faded.

So, now I live like today is my last chance to pitch in a game, my last chance to love what I do. I live like it could be my last day, because nothing lasts forever.

A hand wraps around my shoulder, bringing me out of my thoughts. I pull back my headphones and see it’s my catcher, Cameron Davis, standing next to me.

Standing at a little over six feet tall and built like a brick house, he looks like a beast behind the plate.

His throw is so accurate, I trust him to whiz a ball right past my head to catch a runner trying to steal second.

I can literally hear the ball break through the air as it sails past me. There is trust and a bond between us.

“Hey, Spencer, you ready?” Davis looks behind him, and I see the coach waiting for me to join our pre-game meeting. I glance back at Davis as he runs a hand through his dark hair before throwing on his cap. “Come on, Pitch.”

I take off my headphones and toss them on the shelf of my locker. “Yeah, let’s do this.” Grabbing my glove, I head toward the center of the locker room where the rest of the team is.

Head Coach Tony Bertelli stands in the center as we all take a knee around him.

“We need to stay focused. Today, we need to focus on making sure we complete the plays, make the throws, and connect that bat with that fucking ball.

We are number one in the division, but the Los Angeles Wildcats are right behind us.

They have nothing to lose, and we have everything to lose.

So every second you are on that field or behind the plate, you are fighting to stay on top.

“Now, as you know, we are playing the Salt Lake Bears today.

We have beaten this team every time we play them, so that means we need to play smart.

They are hungry. They want a win against us.

They are going to come at us with their best, so we need to come at them with ours. We do not want to lose to this team!

“They are last in the division, and they sure as hell are looking to knock us off our top spot by beating us. The Wildcats are hoping the Bears beat us, too. So, let’s go out there today and disappoint two teams!

Get the fuck up and let’s do this!” Coach Bertelli yells as we all jump up and start hooting and hollering along with him.

“Hey, Spencer.” I look over at my third baseman, Tristan Evans.

His lips form a straight line, and his brows furrow. His face always looks like he’s ready to fight someone. He’s usually quiet, and unless he’s out on the field, he’s not typically in the mood to deal with people, or life in general. Baseball is all he gives a shit about.

“What’s up, man?” I give him a short nod.

“I heard they called up Johnson from the Sharks.” Evans looks at me.

Luke Johnson is a young, well-known minor league player who has been making waves for quite a few months. He was taken right out of college and has been waiting for his time to shine. His batting average is extremely impressive, as well as his outfield skills.

“They didn’t have anyone to actually hit on the team, so they had to call up a player?” I laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on that kid.”

“Well, then you know his batting average is .375, the best out there.” Evans stares into me, his eyes boring right through me.

“Yeah, I do. In the minors. This is the big league. Kid’s in for a surprise.” I waggle my eyebrows.

“Cocky much?” Kayce Anderson, our first baseman, comes sauntering up toward Tristan and me and slaps Tristan on the ass. He turns to Kayce and growls. “Calm down, big guy, just a love tap.”

I let out a small chuckle and focus back on Kayce. “Look, all I’m saying is that I have been watching Johnson. He’s good, really good. At the minors level. This is the majors; he’s got his work cut out for him.” I shrug.

Kayce’s face cracks into a smile. “Famous last words, Spencer.” He turns to Tristan and gives him a little light tap on his cheek. “Let go, Goliath. We’ve got to warm our arms up.” With that, he walks away laughing.

“I swear he’s lucky we need him,” Tristan growls and turns around, following Kayce.

“Let’s go, Pitch!” Cameron calls as he tosses my lucky ball at me. It’s the one we always start warming up with: the winning ball from my first game as a Maverick.

I tap him on the shoulder with a grin. “Let’s do this.”

Goddamn that fucking Johnson. I lift my hat off my head enough to wipe the sweat off my forehead with my other arm. With my glove tucked under my arm and the ball in my hand, I take a look at the scoreboard behind me.

Four to three. With bases loaded, these assholes are set to win if I give up this hit.

To Johnson.

Because of fucking course this kid is set to possibly win this game against us.

At the top of the ninth, with a full count on this asshole, and the bases loaded, I’m sweating bullets.

“Time!” the umpire behind the plate calls, and I see Cameron run up toward me.

I call out as he gets closer, “Did we need a timeout?”

He grabs the ball from my hand with a nod. “Yeah, I’m starting to see the panic in your eyes.” He gives me a knowing look.

“You’re sixty feet away,” I remind him with a scoff.

He shrugs a shoulder. “I have excellent eyesight. Listen, what’s this kid’s weakness?” he asks me.

“Knuckleball. It’s the only one he can’t hit. Ever,” I instantly respond.

Cameron drops the ball into my hand. “Throw it.”

“Ump’s strike zone is all over the place. He’s never gonna call it.” I shake my head.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Throw the fucking pitch. Put it where it needs to go. He will call it because that kid isn’t gonna lay off it.” Cameron throws his face mask down and runs back behind the plate.

I blow out a breath and look over at Tristan at third. He scowls at me, and I crack a smile. I quickly get set and see Johnson step up to the plate. The noise from around the stadium disappears as I hyperfocus on the plate before me.

My mind instantly zones in on Cameron, and I watch him give me the signs for the knuckleball. I nod and bring the ball in. My eyes glance up at the runner on third, and I know he’s itching to go.

Not this time, bro.

My head turns, and I wind up for the pitch. The slight breeze cools my face as I bring my leg up and drop my arm back. As I step forward, I release the ball from my grip at the right time and watch my pitch head toward the mound.

The ball speeds toward the plate, fluttering and jiggling in different directions. Johnson winds back and steps toward the ball, bringing his bat around.

“Strike three!” the umpire calls out, and I stand there for a moment as the sound of the stadium erupts. “Game!”

Cameron comes running over toward me. “You son of a bitch, you did it!” He grabs my face with his hands and shakes me. “You fucking did it! Still number one, baby!” Cameron hoots and hollers as the rest of the team comes running over to the mound.

The stands are going crazy, with hands waving in the air; the sound of elation can probably be heard all the way in Henderson. High fives start slapping all around me as I see the other team line up for the handshake.

“Let’s go tell ‘em good game boys!” I shout over the chaos.