Page 131 of Third Strike Smitten

That’s all I need.

Three perfect pitches and this game is over.

I throw the next pitch and it’s a surprise strike one.

Holy shit, he missed it.

This asshole never misses.

His expression hardens as he steps out of the box, rolls his head and adjusts his stance. He swings his bat lightly over the plate, showing me right where he wants it.

Fat chance cock sucker.

Bishop signals a back-foot slider and I trust his call. I roll the ball in my hand and put myself in position and the moment I pitch the ball I know it’s a winner.

“Strike two!”

A hush falls over the crowd like they all think I need the silence to concentrate. I chuckle because what they don’t realize is the only voice running through my head right now is Isla’s.

“You’ve got a bad case of sticky balls, Haynesy!

“That curve’s got a kink.”

“Bring her back once she’s been a good girl.”

“Relax your shoulders.”

Her words helped me through this entire season so of course it’s her I hear as I’m about to make, hopefully, my last pitch of the season.

The batter steps into the box, his eyes locked on mine with a look that says he’s ready for whatever I throw. Bishop gives me the sign for a changeup, low and away. I nod, gripping the ball with sweaty fingers. This is it. The moment that decides everything.

“HEY HAYNESY,” I hear her voice one more time from the crowd. “I FUCKING LOVE YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME? I LOVE YOU!” Her words have me smiling under my cap and all I can do is lift the bill and pull it back down so she knows I heard her loud and clear.

I love you too, Isla Fallon.

“Hey, I love you too, Haynesy!” Some rando shouts.

A voice from the third base line shouts as well. “Me too, Haynesy! I love you!”

Several fans pick up on Isla’s words and help spread the love as shouts are heard from all around the stadium.

“We love you, Haynesy!”

“You’ve got this, Haynes!”

“Let’s go, Haynes!”

“Bring it home, Haynes!”

I take a deep breath and settle myself into position. The batter is staring me down, ready for whatever comes his way, but he has no clue what’s really coming.

“Toot toot, motherfucker!” I mutter to myself before I pitch the ball. It spins through the air, looking like a fastball until the last second when it drops, catching the outside corner of the plate. The batter swings, his bat cutting through empty air…and that’s the game.

“Strike three!”

For exactly one heartbeat the stadium is silent. Then it explodes one last time. The team swarms the field, Bishop reaching me first, throwing his arms around me in a bone-crushing hug. “You did it, Kill! You fucking did it!”

“We did it, Hop. We all did it!”