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We do the whole thing again. This time, Cody tests the pitcher, taking a bit more freedom and space away from first base.
It must distract Atlanta’s pitcher enough because when he throws, it’s a curveball I can spot from a mile away. From the film I watched this week, I know he likes to use it on a second pitch. I’ve also gone up against Kai Rhodes’ curveball for the last thirty-one years, so I decide to take this one.
I swing, stepping into it before it fully crosses the plate. The contact is strong, sending the ball sailing deep into right field.
I explode, rounding first and sliding into second just before the ball lands in the glove of Atlanta’s second baseman. While lying on the ground, with my hand on the base, I spot Cody safely at third.
The ump calls me safe and I look over my shoulder from the ground to wink at Atlanta’s second baseman.
Dean motherfucking Cartwright.
Kennedy’s words ring in my mind as I stand and wipe the dirt off my pants, making sure to keep one cleat on the bag.
I know she doesn’t want me to get into it with her stepbrother, but it’s not my fault he’s got such a punchable face.
“Hi, honey,” I say as Dean throws the ball back to his pitcher.
“Fuck you.”
“That’s not very nice, Deanie. We’re family now. That’s no way to talk to your brother-in-law.”
I take my batting glove off and Dean’s eyes blaze into the silicone ring on my finger. “She did good, huh?”
His jaw hardens as he takes a single calculated step in my direction.
“Keep it clean,” the second base umpire says.
“Why’d you do it?” Dean asks, invading my space. “Why her of all people?”
My attention flicks over to third where Cody is watching me carefully, then to the dugout where most of my teammates are on their feet and ready if needed.
“Was it because of me? Is that why you married her? You took our rivalry a little far with that one, Rhodes.”
“What the hell are going on about, Cartwright?” My tone is equal parts exhausted and uninterested.
His chest bumps my shoulder, but I keep my foot on the bag.
“Watch it,” the ump warns, his tone serious.
“Or did you marry her for her money? Is this some fucked-up childhood trauma? You spent your entire life poor, so you go after someone with more money to their name than you’d ever see in your lifetime?”
Fuck him.
Sure, you could say I was shocked when I saw the prenup, outlining Kennedy’s family assets, but truthfully, I couldn’t give two fucks about the amount of money she has to her name.
“Pretty fucked up to know that’s what you think of your stepsister, Dean. That someone would only want to be with her because of her bank account.”
He ignores me. “Or was it because you don’t have your own family so you had to get Kennedy blackout drunk so you could try to take mine?”
These were always his favorite things to bring up. That we didn’t have money to own anything that weren’t hand-me-downs, and that we didn’t have any family left who wanted us.
Today, he sounds more pathetic than usual. I don’t feel him under my skin. I don’t care what he has to say.
My attention drifts to the dugout again, finding that auburn hair. Even from here, I can sense how tense Kennedy is as she watches us. Her shoulders are tight. Her eyes are pleading for me not to do anything.
I couldn’t begin to count how many times Dean and I have swung at each other over the years, and I know he’s goading me to do it again, but today I feel like I’ve already won. And I really don’t want to find out if Kennedy was telling the truth about who she’d check on if we got into it.
I simply smile at my wife across the field as I tuck my batting glove into my back pocket.
