Strike 3 (bxb)

III

Finn

That flight was the fucking worst.

1) It was at 3:30 in the morning. I had to leave for the airport at 1:30am. 2) People (specifically little boys) kept coming up to me and asking for an autograph and/or picture. I have bags under my eyes in every single picture. 3) There was a child that would not stop crying on the plane. I thought my ears were going to start bleeding. You're probably like, "oh, why don't you just put in some headphones?" and my answer to that is 4) my headphones literally snapped in half right before I got on the plane. And finally, 5) I had to go on this fucking trip in the first place.

Now, I'm riding in Easton Hayes' mom car and I feel like I'm going to fall asleep just sitting here.

"My hotels on Cypress Street," I mutter through my sleepiness.

"We're here," he replies.

I pop my head up too quickly and look around. We're at a dirt baseball field that looks like a field I would've played on in little league. I look around for a hotel, but fail to see any.

"Why..." It hits me.

This mother fucker.

"Ain't no fucking way I'm doing anything baseball related right now," I insist, wiggling in my seat to show that I'm perfectly comfortable here.

"Come on. They made me train you so that's exactly what we're going to do. Get out," He walks around the car and opens my door, letting the cold morning air stream in.

I shiver and pull my hoodie up over my chin. "This isn't a very nice welcome, you know."

"I'm making sure you get an idea of what the next few weeks are going to look like," he opens the trunk and gets out a bucket of baseballs, a bat, and a mitt. You would think that his arm being in a sling would slow him down at least a little bit, but he might as well not even have one on with how fast he's going. I make a face and begrudgingly step out of the car, hood over my head and arms wrapped around myself.

"That's the spirit."

"Fuck off."

"Get your bat and mitt," he says while walking to the field. "You do have your bat and mitt right?"

I groan in response and take them out of my bag.

Now that I've got my cleats on and a snarl on my face, Easton announces, "To the 400 and back."

I look at him. "What 400? There's no fence for like a mile."

"Count, then. Count each stride until you get to 400 and then come back."

"You're kidding."

"Am I? Wanna find out?"

I roll my eyes and take off, counting each stride, making them purposefully shorter than usual. Who does Easton Hayes think he is? Making me run to the nonexistent 400. He's making me feel like a child back in 12U. But maybe that's what I need right now. Everyone and their mothers can see how bad I am, maybe I should go back to 12U. I think that Easton is going to be the slap in the face that I've needed all this season.

I finally get to 400 and once I do, I sprint back, wanting to get this shit over with so that I can go snuggle in my hotel bed.

My legs ache a bit once I come to a stop in front of Easton, breathing heavily through my nose. He looks me up and down and then says, "Was that hard?"

I take in a deep breath and let it out. "No. Not really."

"Okay," he pauses. "Now do it again."

I squint my eyes at him. I don't want to throw anymore of a hissy fit than I already have, so I don't respond and start going again.