Page 87 of Running Home to You
The Eagles hardly put up a fight. No one could hit. When Abby got on base, no one cheered. Not that she deserved it. Mick grimaced each time she squatted behind the plate. The other team clobbered T.K.’s pitching. And then Kate, of all people, made the game’s biggest blunder.
A batter launched a shot to shortstop with one out and runners on first and second—a routine double play. All Kate had to do was lob it to second base. Abby had seen her do it a thousand times. But not today. It happened in slow motion. Kate fielding the ball, and then, out of nowhere, freezing. Terror streaking across her face. Double clutching but not letting go.
“Throw it!” Abby shouted.
By then, it was too late. The runners neared their bases. Instead of killing the play and stopping the bleeding, Kate winged the ball to Jill at first. It flew high and wide, far off course, a complete miss. Jill reached to stop it, but it soared out of play. One runner scored. Then another. 3–0.
“Fuck,” Abby muttered under her breath as Southern Colorado’s fans erupted.
Kate covered her face. She never missed a throw and rarely made an error. This wasn’t just a mistake. This was no different from her hitting slump. A result of the heart. Abby sank at her part in it.
“It’s okay,” Abby said to her. She wanted to do more. To say more, but the stadium vibrated with noise. “Shake it off. You got the next one.”
Kate expelled a ragged sigh and settled into position.
“One out! Look ’em back, hit one!” Mick barked behind the plate. “Outfielders cut four!”
The next hitter fired a ball to Abby. She backhanded it, stared down the runner at third base, froze her in her spot, and threw to Jill for the out. Still 3–0.
“Two down!” Abby punched her glove and nodded at Kate. “Come on, we got this!”
“Two outs!” Kate shouted shakily.
The shaking revealed that she wasn’t ready, and on the diamond, ready didn’t matter. The less you wanted the ball, the more often it found you. Abby equated it to her experience hiding in the back of class when she hadn’t done the reading, and the professor went rogue with the Socratic method.Not me. Dear God, not me.
Kate stopped the next grounder clean when it reached her but hesitated to throw. Abby wanted to close her eyes or turn away from the crash. After the prolonged pause, worry passing across her features, Kate rushed the throw to first base, chucking it high once more. Jill jumped to snag the ball and brought it down to the bag for a photo finish. The runner collided with her. They tangled, tripped, and tumbled.
“Out!” the umpire called.
Jill clutched her ankle in the dirt. The Southern Colorado runner groaned and called for help.
“Fuck.” Abby cut across the field to Jill and kneeled to meet her. “You okay?”
“Son of a bitch.” Jill clenched her teeth. Red splotches stained her sock where the runner’s metal cleat took a bite of her.
“Can you stand?” Abby asked.
Jill nodded and accepted Abby’s hand to haul her up. She whimpered when she put weight on her ankle. “Shit.”
“I’m so sorry, Shupe.” Kate joined them, completely ashen.
“Don’t be.” Jill draped her other arm over Kate’s shoulder. “I’m fine.”
Abby and Kate exchanged glances as they helped Jill to the dugout. Kate’s lower lip trembled before she broke away from Abby’s eyes. “This is my fault.”
“It’s not,” Abby said. “Don’t do that now.”
In the dugout, the team trainer removed Jill’s cleat and sock, revealing a jagged imprint from the spikes. Her ankle was already swollen and purple. The other team’s runner still lay holding her knee at first base, pausing the action.
“How is it?” Coach Ackers asked the trainer.
“I can play,” Jill said, but the trainer shook his head.
“We can’t risk it, Shupe. I’m sorry.” Coach Ackers glanced down the bench. “Quong, take over at first.”
“Wait, Coach,” Mick said. “T.K. is done.”
T.K. shook her head, sweat running down her temple, the maroon bow in her bleached hair falling limp. “I can go another.”
