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EIGHTEEN

HAWK

“Let’s fucking go, Acey Boy!” Riggs shouts from the dugout as our catcher steps up to the plate. I’m having a terrible game, going 0 for 2 so far and striking out on my last at-bat. None of us are immune to bad days, it just sucks that mine is coming when the Fury needs it the most.

It’s game four of the Division Championship, and we’re down by three runs at the bottom of the eighth. Coming into tonight, we were up two games to one, so all we needed to do was win. Then, we’d be on our way to the League Championship, which is the last stop on the road to the World Series. Unfortunately, unless we pull off some kind of miracle, we’ll be headed back to Daytona tonight for a quick day off before playing the Boston Tide one last time.

The first pitch is thrown, a curveball that’s high and outside, so Ace lets it go past. With two outs and a runner on second, we need both him and Jackson, who’s on deck, to make a couple of big plays. That’ll close the gap, and then hopefully we can pull ahead in the last inning.

The pitcher fires another one Ace’s way, and he swings, getting a piece of it as it pops over his head, bounces off the netting behind him, and drops to the ground. “One and one,” the umpire yells, crouching back down behind the catcher to await the next pitch. As soon as it’s headed toward the plate, I know immediately that it’s a beauty. Mathers is a sucker for a low ball, and he doesn’t disappoint when he brings the bat around, connecting with a loud crack . He knows it’s out of the park before any of us, flipping his bat like the cocky little shit he is and leisurely heading to first base as jeers from the Boston fans fill the stadium around us. Rounding toward second, he slows, making a heart with his hands so the cameras can catch the gesture for his fiancée Lark, who I’m sure is watching from their place. I huff a quiet laugh, because now that I understand what it’s like to be falling for someone the way he did just a handful of months ago, his lovey-dovey bullshit is a lot less annoying. Or maybe I’m just going soft now that there’s a beautiful woman waiting at home for me whether we win or lose.

Things with Arden have been great, but we haven’t had much time together. After we had sex for the first time, we took a shower and went downstairs with every intention of sneaking back up for another round later. But when Jackson came home and sat down to watch a movie, there was no fucking way that was happening. Especially when she leaned into him and found a way to make us both feel needed at the same time. It all became crystal clear to me at that moment.

I want us to share her.

Jacks is my best friend. I love and trust him with every fiber of my being, and while I want Arden, I think there’s room for both of us in her life. Their bond is something that brings me as much joy as it does them, and if I can just make them see how amazing it would be if they gave in to their true feelings, I know we could make it work.

“Alright, kid. You’ve got this,” I say as Jackson steps up to the plate, bringing the bat over his shoulder and focusing in on the pitcher as he waits for the catcher’s signal. He’s notorious for letting the first one go by, even if it’s perfect, so it’s no surprise when he does exactly that. The second pitch, which looks way outside from where I’m sitting, is called strike two. Several boos—obviously from the fans we have in attendance—fill the air as arguments erupt from the dugout around me. It’s not uncommon for bad calls to happen when the game is on the line, but it still stings nonetheless. And I can tell he’s rattled from it.

“Calm down,” I yell, loud enough for him to hear. He nods his head, letting me know he got the message, tapping the end of his bat against the rubber below him and returning to his stance. This pitcher definitely knows who he’s throwing to, because the next one is exactly what Jackson likes, and he bites to protect the plate. Unfortunately, the pitch was a touch too high, causing a ground ball right to second base. He takes off as fast as he can, but the attempt is futile because, by the time his foot touches the bag, the first baseman has already made the catch, resulting in the final out of the inning. He hangs his head, and I can tell he’s disappointed in himself as I grab his glove from the bench and meet him at the top of the steps.

“You’re fine,” I say quietly, doing my best to reassure him. “Let’s just get out there and see if we can hold them off. If we can’t, we’ll do it on our own dirt.”

He nods, giving me a small smile as we head to our bases. I’m glad I could bring him back to the present. There aren’t many occasions where he needs me as much as I need him, but when we’re down on the scoreboard, that’s when I feel like I help him the most. He’s hard on himself, and sometimes he needs to be reminded that it isn’t the end of the world if he isn’t playing his best.

Unfortunately, we don’t make the comeback, so we’ll have to fight through one more at home in two days. It sucks, but maybe having Arden in the stands cheering us on will be just what we need to get the job done—or at the very least, make us feel better if the season ends before we’re ready.