The crowd surged, clapping and stomping. Cries of Charge! rocked James River Stadium. The players fed off the fans’ energy. Law let the excitement slide under his skin. His heart beat faster; his breath came harsher.
At the plate, Brody batted left. Two practice swings, and then the pitcher laid a fastball over the middle of the plate. The umpire called it a strike, and Brody snarled his disagreement. Rolling his shoulders, he dug in deeper.
Next pitch and Brody knocked a second fastball foul. “Strike!” the umpire repeated.
The count was 0–2 and Brody locked his jaw. Tension set his shoulders. He crossed himself. Twice.
The pitcher delivered a curveball, and Brody crushed it. Law watched as the ball cleared the left-field wall. He pumped his arm. “Airmailed to Plain, West Virginia.” Brody’s hometown.
The fans jumped, hugged, and shouted their praise. Their applause popped like firecrackers.
Brody rounded the bases and headed home. He bumped knuckles with his teammates and exhaled his relief. The Rogues were up by one.
Rhaden Dunn now took his bat. “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses echoed as he dug in at home. A precise hitter, he kept the rally alive. He smacked a slider over the third baseman’s head. His bat splintered, and he was slow out of the box. The base coach held him at first when he should have had a double. Rhaden cursed himself, angry at his lack of speed.
It was time for Law to prove his worth. No player wanted to be responsible for killing a rally. He didn’t need the coach ripping him a new one.
He tightened the Velcro on his gloves and adjusted his batting helmet in the on-deck circle. “I Fought the Law” by the Bobby Fuller Four brought him good luck. It had played his first time at bat and followed him over the years. The Ottawa catcher eyed him through his mask, sizing Law up. Law stared him down.
Clarity braced his racing heart. He blotted out the noise and concentrated solely on the pitch. Time slowed as the pitcher went through his windup and powered the ball across the plate. Gripped by the moment, Law’s entire body tensed as he connected with a changeup.
Long but not gone, the ball hit the right-field wall, then bounced back and over the outfielder’s head. The Raptor recovered the ball and went for the out at second. His throw was on target but weak. Rhaden Dunn took third and Law landed a double. Risk Kincaid next hit a ground ball to the shortstop. He outran the throw to first.
The fans went wild. One run, no outs, and the bases were loaded. The crowd supported pitcher Brek Stryker even after his foul ball was caught by the Raptors’ catcher.
One out, two to go, and the Rogues returned to the top of the order: their power hitters. Psycho’s triple brought in three more runs. Romeo went down on strikes.
Kason’s patience in waiting for the right pitch took him to a 3–2 count. One of the toughest bats in the league, Rhodes drilled a hanging fastball to left center.
Misjudged by the center fielder, the in-between hop escaped him. It was the shortstop who retrieved the ball and fired it home. The catcher mishandled it, and the Rogues added another run to their lead.
Brody again tried to contribute to the score. His rocket-shot to right field didn’t clear the wall. The inning closed on his out. The score was now 5–0.
Law grabbed both his and Risk’s gloves and went back on defense. The Rogues needed to hold on to their lead.
At the top of the ninth, Ottawa’s bats turned hot. It was open season on stealing bases and there were now runners at first and third. The cleanup batter for the Raptors crunched a curveball over Brody’s head, which Kason caught and rapidly fired to Law.
The runner slid headfirst into the base just as Law went low for the tag. Law caught a flash of the hard brim of the batting helmet a split second before contact.
His brow suddenly felt shoved to the back of his head. Stars sparked behind his eyelids and his vision blurred. He blinked against the pain. Through it all, he clutched the baseball tight as he pressed his glove to the runner’s shoulder.
“Out!” the umpire ruled.
Disregarding Law’s injury, the runner shot to his feet and jogged to the visitors’ dugout. Jeers rained down on the Raptor, followed by an uneasy silence as the crowd awaited news on Law’s condition.
Distorted vision prevented Law from standing. He was surrounded by two Brody Joneses, two Risk Kincaids, and three Psycho McMillans, which was damn disconcerting. The image of the trainer wavered and the team physician faded to gray. Law closed his eyes against the headache splitting his skull in two.
“Locker room for X-rays,” Doctor Provost ordered. James River Stadium had its own high-tech medical unit available for emergencies.
Law squinted against the sun. He blew off the support of the trainer and fought the earth’s spin as he rose. He crossed the infield and entered the tunnel. Applause followed him all the way to the locker room.
Once seated on the examination table in the medical unit, he eased off his baseball cap and gingerly massaged his forehead. He felt both a dent and a goose egg. Fortunately, his vision had cleared. His headache, however, had worsened.
After his CT scan, the doctor pressed an ice pack to Law’s head. “No skull fracture or brain injury,” Provost pronounced. Law exhaled, relieved. Going down for the count was a player’s nightmare.
“Take it easy on your day off,” the doctor advised as he wrote a prescription for pain meds. “Ice your forehead, and if you have any problems, call my office.”
Law took the script, but had no plans to fill it. He had a high tolerance for pain. Sliding off the exam table, he left the medical unit.
Ten minutes passed, and the team carried their win into the locker room. Concern edged their celebration as the players circled Law and took in his injury.
“Lumpy.” Psycho tried to touch the bump on Law’s forehead, but Law batted his hand away.
“The runner nearly poked your eyes out,” Brody protested.
A half inch lower, and the brim could have blinded him. Law shrugged and assured them, “I’ll be fine.”
Romeo cut Law a look as he moved to his locker. “Make the most of it, bro. If I were you, I’d find a woman for some TLC.”
Something to consider, after he met with Zen Driscoll. His little black book was loaded with the names of women who’d willingly tend his wound, then later be his lover. He had two nurses on speed booty call.
Law stripped, snagged a towel and his shaving kit, and took to the showers. No matter how many times a day he shaved, he still had shadow. He moved slowly, fighting his headache until it eased. Inside the shower stall, the hot water steamed like a sauna. He splayed his hands against the white tiled wall and hung his head against the pulsing spray, letting the water wash away his pain.