Southern Gulf University Series: Book 2 | Sequel to Finding Our Way | Not a stand alone
When Mason breaks Lexi's heart and her trust, she takes the job offer in LA and leaves him in her past. Or so she thinks.
Fast forward five years and Mason is t...
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I step into the batter's box, squinting to look at the pitcher, and rock my arms to the side, tapping the bat on my shoulder. We're down 5-1 in this game and 0-2 in the series. Since this is a five-game series and we're already down by two games, this game is do or die for us. Oh and we can't get on base to save our necks.
The pitcher stares down the catcher and shakes his head. The catcher switches his signal and the pitcher nods back, ever so slightly as if I can't see him. I take a deep breath and relax my stance, leaning into my left leg for extra support. The fans behind me collectively hold their breath as the ball comes flying towards me. I swing, my bat cracking against it and I watch it scamper past the shortstop.
I take off from the plate, running for first base when I catch the shortstop throwing it to the first baseman. Fuck I'm not going to make it. I lunge forward, dropping my right leg into the dirt and slide into the base the same time the ball gets there.
"SAFE!" the ump yells, throwing his hands to the side, signaling the word.
The first baseman rips off his hat and starts giving it to the ump, pleading his case that the ball beat me to the bag while I stand up and adjust my helmet. The crowd cheers as the ump keeps the signal as safe and I concentrate on slowing my breathing. This is the first play our fans have been able to cheer about since the bottom of the 3rd inning. I watch Kris walk up to the batter's box, tapping his bat off his left cleat, then his right, a superstitious ritual he does every time. His first pitch is a ball then a strike then a ball. He's in a 2-1 in pitch count before he signals a break to check his bat.
I take this time to look up into the stands, specifically at the WAGS section, and see Lexi sitting there with the other women, looking stunning. She catches my eye and smiles, her hair blowing in the wind from the bay. It sucks that her first time watching me in the playoffs is probably going to be a sweep, but I know she'll say, "I just love watching you play".
I turn my eyes back to the game as Kris steps back in and swings, missing the ball. Strike two. We already have two outs thanks to our callups but what can we expect? We are that team in the playoffs that got the injury bug. Three of our four best players are out for the rest of the postseason, so we're making do with the guys off the bench and from Triple-A.
The next pitch comes in with heat, racking up to at least 95 miles per hour, and goes right past Kris. He swears, drops his bat, and starts taking off his gloves. I drop my head and jog off the field, not liking where this game is headed. The Braves have all the momentum in the world and we're struggling to get guys on base.
I grab a cup of water and down it before the equipment manager hands me my glove. I have about two minutes of a TV timeout to get my ass out to my position and take a breather. I start up the stairs to exit the dugout when I feel a tug on my arm. I spin around, locking eyes with our public relations director.
"Mason, your father has requested to speak to you after the postgame media interviews." he says, rushing it so fast I almost miss who he said. Almost.
