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Fury’s tour hanging above the outfield, keeping
Irisa out of his thoughts was impossible. Maybe she was watching the game… She
wasn’t a fan, but maybe she was as curious about him as he was about her. And
striking out with her watching ticked him off.
    “Get it out of your head.
You’re up next.” Adam nodded toward the plate.
    Bottom of the ninth. One
last chance.
    He stood and Adam tapped
him on the back. “Go get ‘em.”
    A few fans called out to
him when he reached the on-deck circle. He gave them a tip of his cap, then
swung the bat and watched Mario in action at the plate. To his left, Liam, in
his Fin the Shark costume, stood on the roof of the dugout and revved the
crowd. Mario got a single. With him safe at first base, Dom headed toward the
batter ’s
box. His walk-up music blared. Along with the familiar jolt of adrenaline,
Irisa’s face flashed into his mind. Her scent, the soft, silky feel of her
skin, her voice. Extra energy spiked his blood.
    When he reached the
plate, Dom performed his ritual. He kicked some dirt around, tapped his cleats
with his bat, and then took a few practice swings. He studied Fitzwater on the
mound. Last time, the Bolts pitcher had struck him out with a sinker. Would he
throw another?
    Wind-up …pitch…
Fastball.
    He eyed the ball and
swung.
    Crack .
    The ball sailed into
left, the fielder running hard to track it down. But it dropped in front of
him. Dom sprinted to first.
    Safe.
    A single wasn ’t
good enough for him, but it allowed Mario to advance to third.
    He focused on Cole
warming up at the plate and willed him to have some of Slade ’s
hitting power. The team wouldn’t be getting Slade back for a few more weeks,
and they all needed to pick up the slack until he returned. Muscles readied to
run, Dom stepped off the base and took a few strides toward second. Cole’s bat
slammed into the ball and it flew over the outfield. Dom ran, watching the
ball, watching it arc into the stands. Game winner. He rounded third, then
headed for home.
    He didn ’t
always have to be the hero. Playing a part in the win was enough.
    Two hours later, after
the press conferences had ended and the players had left the stadium, Dom
declined Liam ’s suggestion of celebration drinks. He’d need to be
clearheaded to deal with his own after-game ritual. He sat on his couch with
Champ lying at his side and stared at his phone. As usual, it rang.
    Dad Cell.
    “Hey, Dad.”
    “I watched the game.” No
greeting. As usual, Dad launched straight into his coach’s role. “You were
wiggling the bat too much before your swing. It threw your timing off. Stop
moving it around so much while you’re in the box.”
    His dad had been his
first coach and his first critic. No praise, just pointers. It didn ’t
matter that he had hitting coaches and a manager ready to set him straight.
Dad’s opinion was always expressed, as blunt and harsh as any faceless fan.
    “What about Cruz and Rio?
Did you catch their games today?” His younger brothers played for minor league
teams on the East Coast.
    “You would’ve been proud.
Cruz went two for four and Rio had a double play.” Pride shone though his Dad’s
voice. Pride for his brothers, but never for him.
    He pinched the bridge of
his nose in an effort to stave off the forming headache. “I’ll
give them a call later.”
    “Make sure you work on
your swing. How long do they have you taking batting practice? You’re not
skimping on it, are you?”
    “You know I’m not a
slacker.” He’d been groomed too well by the old man for that. Baseball came
first, before everything. Impatience bloomed fast. Pushing off the cushion, he
stood. He wanted the call to be over.
    “You weren’t a fighter
either, until the other night.”
    Okay, they really didn ’t
need to get into this again. Getting chewed out once was enough. Anger mixed
with frustration, simmering to a slow boil. “We’ve been over that. Look, I’m
sorry, I have to go. The dog’s