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Chapter forty-six

Griffin

T hwack!

I watch as the ball leaves the bat and shoots up in the air toward me. It’s a few paces above my head, but I loudly call out “I got it! I got it!” as I run to the location where the ball will drop.

Chasing down the ball’s arc, I hold out my glove in the perfect spot, feeling that satisfying thud against the palm of my left hand.

“Woo hoo hoo!” Adrian whoops as he runs over to me. He pulls my baseball hat from my head, tossing it up in the air like a graduation cap. “Amazing catch, hermano !”

Ethan picks up my hat on his jog in from left field, tossing it to me. “Nice out, man! Way to end the inning.”

We celebrate on the way to the dugout, swapping our baseball mitts for batting gloves. We’re behind by one run at the bottom of the ninth inning, so the fate of the game is in our hands now.

Our first batter strikes out, but then Drew hits a single before me.

As I leave the on-deck circle, Harry Potter music plays over the speakers, my constant reminder to Danae and Jason that I’m thinking of them.

I look up in their direction, waving my bat like a magic wand casting one of the spells from the first movie we watched together last week.

As I approach home plate, I drink in the atmosphere around me.

The roar of the crowd, the hand-painted signs with my name on them—a visual reminder of how much we mean to these fans.

I hear the cheers of my teammates from the dugout and make eye contact with Drew on base, who claps his hands before taking his lead off first.

Under the guise of adjusting my batting glove, I breathe it all in for an extra moment.

I picture Danae and Jason sitting up in the suite—Danae wearing her West jersey and Jason probably talking her ear off about everything that’s happened in the game thus far.

The thought brings a smile to my face as I step up to the plate and settle into my stance.

The first pitch is easy to read as a ball, way above the strike zone.

I swing and miss a curveball next, so I step back to get my head in the zone.

Settling back into my stance, I see the fastball flying toward me and swing at the perfect moment, feeling that reverberating crack run through my arms. As I sprint toward first base, I see the coach motioning to continue to second, where I easily make it before stopping.

Drew slid safely to third base before the ball touched him, so we’re set up to take the lead. We just need someone to hit us home.

Luke hits a pop fly that’s an easy catch for the opponent’s shortstop, bringing it all down to Adrian. With a count of two balls, one strike, Adrian makes contact with the next pitch, sending it bouncing into right field.

Drew is on his way home as I sprint to third. The third base coach hesitates but then gives me the signal to run home. Kicking my legs into the next gear, I round the base and run toward home. The catcher is ready, awaiting the ball that I’m sure is sailing through the air somewhere close by.

As I near the final few feet, I stretch out my arms and slide toward home as the catcher’s mitt closes and his body pivots my direction.

I see it happening in slow motion—the catcher’s knee lining up perfectly with the trajectory of my shoulder. The crunch of impact fills my ears, drowning out the sound of the umpire yelling, “Safe!”

And I know. I see it in the catcher’s reaction, immediately waving wildly at our dugout. I taste it in the howl that must be coming from my own lips.

Drew is kneeling next to me as the catcher hovers above me with his mask off and his hands on either side of his head. I think of Danae—here but not here—so far away at the top of the stadium.

By the time the training staff make it to me, there’s only pain.