Caught Looking by Lucy McConnell

Author:Lucy McConnell [McConnell, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orchard View Publishing LLC
Published: 2018-05-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

People streamed down the stairs and found their place in the red plastic seats. Dustin wanted to call them fans and not spectators, but he couldn’t deny the number of Oakland shirts. Harper Wolfe had a dream—a dream she broadcast to the whole Redrocks organization. One day, Redrocks fans would fill the seats, and fans would pay money to see them in other cities. It was a great dream, one Dustin found himself longing to be a part of. His batting had been average during this series. A couple base hits and grounders too short. Santacruiz had hinted at moving him up in the batting order. That wouldn’t happen unless he picked up his game.

He shook off thoughts of contracts and batting averages and pressure. He had a philosophy: Practice like your stats were on the line and play the game like you love it. Because that was the key. He’d seen too many guys burn out in the majors because they played a game like they had to increase their on-base percentage. Dustin preferred to play like he wanted to win. Because when you forced baseball, you got trippy. Your swing came up short. You threw wild. And you began to resent the players, the field, and the game.

Needing to win was poison.

Especially because the guys he watched fade out needed to win for themselves. They began thinking things like, “If I hit it out tonight, then that means I’ll stay in the game.”

Baseball didn’t work like that. There weren’t baseball gods on the baselines waiting to bestow the worthy with extra bases or faster pitch speed. Baseball was complex—like an amazing woman—once you thought you had it figured out, it threw you a curveball, and you struck out looking.

Grabbing a handful of dirt, he rubbed it between his palms. He poured the stats and commentators’ thoughts and projections about the show into the grains scraping his palms and let them dribble into the dirt as the sand fell like water to the ground.

Tipping his head up, he checked the two seats behind the dugout. He must have looked there a hundred times during batting practice. The smell of popcorn wafted down from the top of the bleachers—a signal that game time was close.

The cold-cut sandwich he’d had an hour ago sat heavy in his stomach as the reality of the empty seat sank in.

“You got somewhere else you’d rather be, Colt?” called Coach Wolfe.

The implied threat was a hollow one. Coach Wolfe was a good guy. He’d handled tough situations, like Jackson Kimber’s major league temper tantrum, with calm intensity. They were past the trade deadline, so Dustin was on the Redrocks for the rest of the season. A month ago he would have groaned at the prospect of ending the season on the second-worst team in the division. Funny how a little time and a little Clover had changed his outlook. “No, sir.”

Coach signaled to Rex Barnes, the catcher. At forty, he was ready to retire. Dustin couldn’t blame him.

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