The Only Game in Town by Geonn Cannon

Author:Geonn Cannon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: lesbian, baseball, alternate history, lgbtq, 1916, lgbtq romance
Publisher: Supposed Crimes, LLC

Chapter Nineteen

Moxie sat in the dugout between Rosalind and Rainy. The pitcher was leaning forward, elbows on her knees and hands over her mouth. Their centerfielder was slumped back with one hand over her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to watch any more of the debacle happening out on the field. Moxie thought about covering her ears to complete the picture, but she didn’t want to discourage anyone who might happen to look over and see them.

Marcy was at bat. Two strikes against her, bat poised in anticipation of the next pitch. Striking out now would end the eighth, and they’d go into the final inning with the Detroit Pros leading them by three.

The problem was that they were too evenly matched. The only difference was the Pros defense, which had apparently taken lessons from their previous matchups. Their pitcher seemed to have made it her life goal to never let the Shrikes touch a ball. And the few times they managed to get a hit, the Pro outfielders seemed capable of flight and split-second decision making. Ida, Rainy, Rosalind, and Edith were all struck out before they even got to third base. Lorna Lowell and Moxie were responsible for the two runs they’d managed so far, but it was hard to feel proud about that given the reality of the situation.

Rosalind dropped her hands, forcing herself to witness the last pitch. Rainy leaned back and smoothed her hands nervously over her thighs.

“We’ve still got another chance,” Moxie said.

“Bottom of the ninth,” Rosalind said.

“It’s going to be tough as it is,” Rainy said, “and if they get more runs, we might as well throw in the towel and save everybody some time.”

Moxie said, “Don’t talk like that.”

There was the pitch. Marcy swung.

The catcher rocked back on her heels with the ball cradled in her glove.

Strike three, and that was the end of the eighth.

Marcy swung her bat away as if it was to blame for her performance. She stalked back to the dugout and muttered, “Motherfucker,” under her breath as she grabbed a cup of water. She splashed the contents into her face, crumpled the cup, and hurled it against the back wall at a speed Rainy should have been jealous of.

“They’re going to slaughter us,” Ida said.

“Going to?” Marcy said. “You look at the scoreboard lately?”

Rainy stood up and stretched. “We’ve still got a chance. I’ll hold them off from getting any more runs, then we just have to get three more runs to force an overtime. We get four, we win.”

“That’s all, huh?” Marcy scoffed and took off her cap. “We might as well just give them the pennant now. Save everyone the trouble.”

“Let’s just see how this inning goes.”

Moxie slipped on her mask and chest protector as she headed out onto the field. She crouched behind home plate, glanced toward the Pros dugout, and fought the urge to swear out loud.

Celia Torres strode toward her wearing a casual smile, bat hanging from her left hand. It was Celia’s first time at-bat in this game, and Moxie had been hoping she was injured or sick.

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