The pep talk must’ve worked—the cheering too—because we were up by two runs by the fourth inning. Then Devers hit a home run in the bottom of the fifth, and the fans were yelling—the loudest being Ricky—which only bolstered our confidence.
Until the opposing team got a killer hit top of the seventh into left field that went over Fischer’s head and had him running for it. And now they were trailing us by only one run.
“All right, team, we still got this,” Coach said as we huddled in the dugout without scoring any more runs by bottom of the eighth. “Lopez is going to go in and close this thing, and then our celebration can begin.”
“Actually, Coach, I think Maclain should pitch the final inning,” Lopez said to stunned silence. He shrugged. “I don’t graduate until next year. I say let the seniors bring in the big win.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Coach Crawford said, patting Lopez on the back.
“You still got a few more throws in you?” Coach asked Maclain, and he nodded despite looking a bit cagey, like he wasn’t feeling confident enough not to lose the lead.
“You got this, Maclain,” Kellan said. “Just remember, their best hitter is only as good as your weakest fastball.”
I knew what Maclain was thinking. That was Lopez’s specialty.
But then a little nudge of encouragement came from Vickers, of all people. “Don’t sell yourself short. Your fastball is killer too.”
“Thanks,” Maclain mumbled, his cheeks darkening. But I didn’t think he was any more convinced that he could pull it off. It was that whole disappointing-other-people thing that was plaguing him again, and I wished I could make him see just how talented he really was. But he had to find it in himself this time.
We jogged onto the field in silence, thick tension swirling around us because we could still blow this lead and not only from the pitching. Any one of us could drop a ball or let one get by us. It would take a united front to keep them from scoring.
When Maclain let the first batter walk, I told him to shake it off. Normally he would’ve had some snarky shit to throw back, but not this time. He stayed completely focused as he got in position on the mound and stared me down. Their best hitter was in the box, and Maclain nodded, knowing he needed to throw him consecutive fastballs with maybe a slider in for good measure.
And that was what he did, and he did it well. When Maclain struck him out, the stands went wild, clapping and chanting for the Pirates. Jasmine and Gemma were loudest with their cheers for our star pitcher, and I could see the emotion in Maclain’s eyes.
But he stayed in the moment, shutting out the final two batters, and not only did the crowd go ballistic, but the team as well. The game was over, and we had pulled it off with the best record in team history. The outfielders were hugging, the players in the dugout were rushing onto the field to celebrate the moment, but I only had eyes for Maclain.
I threw off my face mask and stood up on aching legs, fist-pumping the air along with the coaches and our teammates.
Maclain had the largest, sweetest grin on his face, and fuck if the butterflies in my stomach didn’t start furiously flapping their wings like they were rejoicing with us.
When Maclain began jogging toward me, I nearly lost my step. We met on home plate, where he dragged me into a tight hug. I reveled in the feel of his arms around me again in case it was the last time. I shut my eyes and took in his scent and the hum of his laughter against my skin.
Just as I thought we’d probably hugged for longer than necessary, he pulled me in tighter and buried his face in my shoulder.
“Mason?” I said against his neck.
“Can’t let go,” he choked out.
I melted into his frame. “It’s okay.”
He shook his head. “I don’t wanna let you go.”
My heart rose to my throat. “I don’t want you to let go either.”
After another long beat, his mouth found my ear. “I’m in love with you.”
My body tingled from head to toe. “I’m in love with you too.”
The entire world disappeared in that moment—the shouting, the players jumping on each other’s backs and messing around—until it was just the two of us holding each other and confessing our feelings.
“So what do we do about it?” Maclain murmured into my skin.
“What’d ya wanna do?”
His fingers dug into my shoulders. “I want to be with you so fucking much.”
“I want to be with you too,” I replied in a hoarse voice.
“I’m still scared, but I’m more afraid of losing you.”
“Then let’s take it one day at a time.”