Page 27 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)
Playing in Tampa is something I’m glad I only do six times a season.
The humidity in San Antonio and Oklahoma is nothing compared to the Bay area in the height of summer.
But despite the humidity, I walk onto the field with a bounce in my step that I haven’t had all season.
The holiday break was more than just a physical rest for me, and seeing Trace and Marilyn and Emmett in the stands behind home plate brings a nostalgic feeling I don’t want to shake.
Seeing them here today with Trace makes me feel like I’m twenty-two and they’re watching me play in the college championship tournament again.
The three of them are shown on the jumbotron before the first pitch, and Trace waves to the crowd—blowing me a kiss before the camera flips to another set of player’s parents.
I wish I could thank the cameramen for highlighting the Davenports.
Even including when I was a kid playing softball in Colorado, Marilyn and Emmett have come to more of my games than my parents ever have.
Or ever will. And with all the time I spent at their home during college, they’re pretty much my family, and I’m glad they’re finally getting some recognition for the support they’ve given me over the years.
Whatever slump the team fell into in Oklahoma City was clearly a fluke.
We come out of the gate swinging, and we make it onto the board early when I hit a two-run home run in my first at-bat of the game.
My teammates surround me as I cross home plate behind Lennox McCreary, our centerfielder, but when I lift my head after they’re done smacking the top of my helmet, my eyes instantly find Trace’s.
And it’s his smile—the way he looks at me like there’s no one else in this stadium—that sends me back to the dugout feeling like I’m walking on air.
The holiday break was good for the entire team, and we put up a series sweep in Florida.
Haven pitches all seven innings of her first professional shut-out for the second game, and Erica and Lexi combine for the Storm’s third win in Tampa.
While I wish Trace and his parents could have stayed for all three games, they headed back to Alabama after the second, citing Trace’s need for an extra day to drive back to Dallas before he’ll meet me back in San Antonio.
After our sweep of the Renegades, I head back to San Antonio with the team—a flight that is nothing short of crazy as we celebrate our wins.
The navy blue backstop padding is a sight for sore eyes after being on the road for three weeks.
Coming home to play in our stadium is better than almost anything—except maybe that mind-blowing kiss from Trace.
Most people know home field advantage as hitting during the bottom of the inning—“last ups.” But playing at home has so many more advantages than that.
The familiar field, the home clubhouse, the friendly groundskeeping staff.
But most importantly, the fans.
And thanks to the eight thousand fans that fill our home stadium, we’re ready for the Mayhem when they make the trip down to San Antonio for our next series.
While the Storm has established a semblance of a rivalry with the Firebirds over the course of the league’s tenure, thanks to trading the championship title back and forth, the Mayhem are coming at us with pitchforks this year.
Maybe it’s due to the natural sibling rivalry between our ace pitcher and their star player, but whatever the reason, our first game against the Mayhem for this series is a spicy one.
Both teams trade off hits for extra bases, killer double plays, and even home runs.
Erica finally strikes her sister out—an event that’s met with a wild explosion in the dugout after the game—and we claim victory over the Mayhem in game one, but we drop games two and three by one and two runs, respectively.
The late-in-the-game losses make for a somber mood at practice the day after the Mayhem leave.
While we don’t usually have many practices between games due to the short length of the season and our busy travel schedule, we have a few days before the Firebirds arrive for our next series.
A series I won’t be playing in.
On Monday’s practice, Coach Golding pulls me from my usual rotation behind the plate and assigns me to warming up the bull pen and standing in as a baserunner while we practice real-game scenarios.
Scarlett is in my place, taking my reps, and there’s nothing I can do about it…
short of calling my sister the week of her wedding and telling her I’m not coming.
It’s been fairly easy to ignore Jenna’s wedding and everything around it because even with the bridesmaid dress mix up a month ago, I’ve been too busy with my games and everything surrounding Trace to let myself get too worked up about going back to Colorado.
But with the trip looming on the horizon and lacking my usual distractions, it’s pretty much all I can think about as I practice with my team.
The ball flies into Baker’s mitt a fraction of a second before my foot hits second base.
“You’re out,” she chirps, bright and bubbly, as she helps pull me to my feet. I’m not the fastest runner, but I can usually beat out the throw on these kinds of drills. Thanks to this weekend’s impending doom, I’m off my game.
“Good job, Baker,” I congratulate her as I brush the red dirt off the knee of my navy blue practice pants. I smack her glove with the side of my hand before hustling back toward first base.
Erica’s leaning against the dugout fence as I join the other baserunners and the pitchers who aren’t taking reps in the drill.
Lexi Pendley, our other right-handed pitcher, leans against the railing with Erica.
Her entire right arm is encased in ice and wrapped in an elastic bandage to keep it in place.
Pitcher arm care is on a whole other level—after practice, Erica’s arm will look the same. Haven’s, too.
“Scarlett caught you sleeping,” Erica teases as I join them.
“It’s the wedding this weekend. It’s got me all over the place.
” I grab my batting helmet’s face mask and adjust it, giving myself something to do with my hands.
The next baserunner takes off on Haven’s pitch and beats Scarlett’s throw to the bag.
Coach Golding motions for another runner to jump on first base so the next play will be a force out at third .
“When do you leave for that again?” Erica asks.
“Thursday morning. I’ll miss the whole series with the Firebirds.
” I frown. I don’t like missing games. It’s hard enough for me to relinquish my position to Scarlett in practice, but to miss an entire series?
And a series against our biggest opponent to boot.
I should be there. But instead, I'll be flying halfway across the country to spend the weekend with a group of people who I don’t think even like me that much.
Not for the first time, I wonder why I said yes to being Jenna’s bridesmaid.
Coach Golding hits a hard line drive to the right side of the field, and Harley, the first baseman, makes an incredible jump to catch it. The runner doubles back to tag up but not in time to prevent Harley from snagging a double play when she tags first base.
The entire team whoops and cheers as I switch places with my teammate on Coach’s signal, giving her a smack on the butt as she passes.
“You know what I think?” Erica calls to me as I set up on first. Haven goes into her pitching motion, mocking actually throwing a ball for the purpose of giving us baserunners timing practice for our lead-offs.
Unlike in baseball, softball runners can’t leave the bag for a lead-off until the ball leaves the pitcher’s hand.
I get a good jump off the bag, waiting for Coach Golding to hit the ball into the field.
But instead, she tosses it back to Scarlett.
Scarlett turns on her knees, firing the ball back to Harley, who’s waiting back at first base.
I dive back, trying to slide my hand underneath the tag, but I led off too far.
Harley’s mitt runs over the top of my gloved hands.
“I think you need a good weekend off with your man,” Erica calls from the edge of the dugout. Lexi and Harley snicker as I stand up and shake my head. I pat Harley on the shoulder after she throws the ball back to Scarlett, and I jog off the infield before the next play.
“I just spent the weekend with him,” I say, dusting off the front of my practice uniform.
Erica rolls her eyes. “Spending the weekend at his parents’ is not the same as spending a weekend at a resort.”
Lexi perks up as Erica and I fire words back and forth. “Oooh, where is he taking you?”
“To Aspen,” Erica answers for me. For someone who was so interested in me a second ago, she’s doing a really good job of ignoring me now.
“I love it out there!” Lexi exclaims, her face lighting up.
“Mmhmm,” Erica continues, flicking her eyes back to me for a microsecond before leaning in to gossip with her fellow pitcher. “Her sister’s getting married, so they’re going to this gorgeous resort for, what?” Erica looks back at me. “Five days?”
I roll my eyes, knowing she’s milking this. She knows exactly how long I’ll be gone, but she’s pretending she doesn’t remember. “Four days. And I’d make it three if I had the choice, but Jenna needs me there for an emergency dress fitting on Thursday.”
“Oh darn.” Sarcasm drips from Lexi’s words like honey, and she bumps Erica with her unwrapped arm. “An extra day at a dreamy hotel with your hot boyfriend? Oh no.”
The three of us laugh, and I have to admit that joking around with Lexi—someone who is out of the loop on all the stuff with Trace and my family—helps me put things into perspective.
I am looking forward to the weekend “alone” with Trace.
To spending time with him that isn’t all about documenting our relationship for social media or chasing off his crazy ex.
I just wish I didn’t have to deal with my mom to get it .
“Hey, Sugar.” Trace’s voice materializes right above my head, like thinking about him summoned him to me. I double check where my coaches are on the field before turning around to look at him.
“Hey, you.” It’s easy to smile. It’s easy to pretend.
Maybe because it doesn’t feel much like pretending anymore.
He’s dressed casually today in a plain navy t-shirt and gray shorts, along with his ever-present Alabama hat.
He crouches down and slips his fingers through the bottom row of the diamond fencing.
“I just wanted to let you know I was here before you finish up. Meet me outside the locker room?”
Trace has surprised me plenty of times this season, but there’s something sweet about how he’s giving me the heads up instead of springing his presence on the whole team. I reach up and touch the tips of his fingers with mine. “Absolutely. Lunch after?”
“Absolutely.” He squeezes my fingers, then stands, breaking the brief contact. “Now pay attention to your coach,” he teases as Coach Golding calls us all to home plate to wrap up practice.