“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any cute, single, athletic training friends, would you?” Reynolds nudged me as he leaned forward. “I need an Allie Eden of my own.”
My legs started bouncing. “None judgment-impaired enough to date you, Reynolds.”
Reynolds’s deep chuckle rocked his body. “If that was a qualifier, I’d never score another date again.”
“Please, Reynolds, you know I love you”—I wiped my palms on my slacks—“but shut the hell up.”
“I talk when I’m nervous.”
My breath stopped when Archer crouched into position, the entire grandstands seeming to follow. “And I throw elbows when I am.”
Reynolds shoved off the bench, getting back to pacing the dugout like he’d been the second half of the game.
The first pitch, Archer had to jump out of the box to keep from getting hit. Leaping from my seat, I had to bite back the string of curses the rest of the team were firing at the pitcher for taking a shot at one of their own.
The second pitch came in the same way. The sons of bitches were trying to walk him by beaning the hell out of him. They’d been trying to walk number eleven all night but hadn’t sunk to this level yet.
When Luke stepped back into the box, he didn’t throw a glare the pitcher’s way like I was. He didn’t give away that he was the slightest bit flustered. He just eased into the box, taking a different position than he normally did when he was at bat, and waited.
“That crazy bastard’s actually going to try to hit one of those widowmakers.”
My legs kept bouncing, silent prayers on my lips.
As the pitcher wound up, Archer made a last second adjustment, then the ball was whizzing toward him. It was high and inside again, but somehow Luke managed to connect with it. Everyone in the dugout rose to their feet, watching the ball sail into the outfield. It clinked off the wall of center field.
The dugout unleashed when Roberts made it to home, tying the game. Archer made it to second and nodded at us all while we continued to cheer like raving lunatics.
Mackey was up next and hit a line drive deep into right field, getting him safely to first and Archer to third. There were two on base as Hernandez moved up to the plate.
By now, I was standing with the rest of the team, leaning out over the dugout, ready to split open from the tension. From third base, Archer glanced into the dugout, his gaze stopping on mine. From the slant in his smile alone, I knew what he had in mind.
I thought back to that conversation we’d had months ago, when I’d told him not to do it, that it was too risky. This time, I gave him my nod of approval. His smile widened as he leaned over to whisper something to the third base coach. After a little back and forth, I could see that Archer had gotten his way. He usually did in my experience. A team didn’t typically advise a runner to steal home with runners on base, but with their two strikes on the board and being tied at the bottom of the ninth, it became more appealing. Hernandez was one hell of a shortstop, but not the hitter you wanted up in this kind of a situation.
The moment the pitcher wound up, I held my breath and didn’t let go. Archer started pulling away from third, every muscle in his body primed for a burst of adrenaline. When the pitcher noticed Archer creeping off third, Archer feinted back to third, just enough to entice the pitcher into trying for the out. As soon as the pitcher threw the ball to the third baseman, Archer hauled ass to home.
The entire stadium lunged onto their feet, their shouts pumping onto the field. Hernandez backed away from the plate as the third baseman fired the ball at the catcher. Luke lunged back for third, the catcher whipping the ball back to his teammate. On it went for what felt like an eternity, Luke getting closer to home, while the Miners’ catcher and third baseman got closer to him.
There was a reason players didn’t steal home anymore. It was next to impossible to do. That was the reason Luke wanted to do it so badly. He didn’t believe in impossible. He didn’t let the odds scare him. He didn’t let the fear of failing keep him from trying.
He lived life the same way he played baseball.
When the ball smacked into the third baseman’s mitt again, Archer went for it. His legs a blur of movement, he powered for home plate, his elbows stabbing into the air behind him. No one was bouncing and shouting in the dugout anymore —everyone was silent.
Archer flew into the air as the ball careened back to the catcher looming over the plate. It was going to be close. The ump was in position, not daring to blink as both the ball and Archer’s body sped to home plate.
He exploded down on home, dust erupting all around him as his momentum sent him barreling into the catcher, who’d just caught the ball and was swinging his glove onto Archer’s back.
I was still holding that same breath while everyone waited for the call that seemed to take forever to be shouted.
The moment the ump waved his arms out at his sides, I started screaming. So loudly I didn’t even hear him yell safe.