Out of Left Field

Chapter 14 - I Just Need You (Sloane) 🔥

*A/N - let's pretend that there isn't a rule in the MLB that prevents pitchers from batting. :)

Sloane

I could feel it.

The sinking feeling in my gut as I watched Chris retighten his batting gloves told me this was going to end poorly. His muscles were tight, his broad shoulders raised 2 inches higher than normal.

This is not going to end well.

It's been a rough game, both teams fighting tooth and nail to get the upper hand and now, it all fell to him. And he was too deep in his own brain to pull off the win everyone was hoping for, it was written all over his body.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my thighs while he approached home plate again, my interlaced fingers covering my mouth. My eyes locked on Chris, the stadium lights blinding against the night sky.

It was the bottom of the fucking 12th inning, the game going into extra innings 3 hours ago. Not a single run had been scored until the top of the 12th, the Yankees driving in one run with 2 outs and a runner on 3rd. Thankfully, Chris still had a clear head then and was able to strike out the next at-bat before they could pull ahead too much.

But now... it was the bottom of the 12th, Chris was at bat with a full count and 2 outs. He rolled his shoulders, adjusted his jersey, and took a deep breath before stepping into the batter's box.

This was it.

This next pitch would make or break Chris's night.

"Come on, baby. Come on, baby. Come on, baby," I muttered into my hands, my left leg bouncing as the pitcher wound up. "Come on, Chris. You got this baby," obviously he couldn't hear me, but it made me feel a little better thinking my words might make a difference.

I wanted to close my eyes, but I forced them to stay open, my heart pounding against my ribs.

The pitch came in, hard and fast and I sucked in a breath, holding it in my lungs.

Chris's hands twitched around the bat, anxious to get a hit. But I just knew he wouldn't. Not lost in his head like this.

My heart sank when the ball came in and smacked against the catcher's mitt, Chris's bat swinging hard, but missing the curve.

"Motherfucker," I mumbled, closing my eyes and sitting back in the hard plastic seat. I adjusted the Red Sox cap on my head, pulling the brim down to cover my eyes, "Shit."

I looked up just in time to see Chris's bat fly through the dugout, wincing when it cracked against the concrete wall.

It was going to be a long night.

Cami leaned over, patting my thigh. "It was a good game."

"I know," I sighed, "He won't think so. You know that."

And she did. She smiled softly, "They never do."

"Touche," I snorted a small laugh, watching Chris forcefully remove his batting gloves as he slumped onto the bench.

"He'll be okay."

I knew that. He always was. But I understood his frustrations. Chris knew himself well enough to see that he was in his head and that was the only thing stopping him from getting ahold of that curveball.

Chris could hit that in his sleep.

"I know, I know. I just hate that I can't do anything to help."

Cami stood and stretched, yawning softly. "You wanna ride home?"