Spotlight (The Holland Brothers Book 4)

I get to the stadium early on Saturday afternoon. It’s surreal walking into the building for the last time. The entire day has been filled with last moments. My last day as a Mustang, the last time I drive to the stadium, and on and on.

Everly is waiting for me in one of the conference rooms. Her husband, Jack, is seated next to her, and the Mustangs GM, Charles, stands against one wall.

“Hey,” I say as I pause just inside the room, letting my gaze roam over each of them.

I move toward Charles first and extend a hand.

“Thank you for everything,” I say as we shake.

“You’re welcome. I’m sad to see you go, but I look forward to watching your career. Best of luck.” He gives me a polite nod as he steps away.

“Thanks, Charles. I appreciate it.”

Once he’s gone, I look to Everly and Jack.

He stands first. “Congrats. I hope you don’t mind I tagged along with my wife. I’ve never seen her so excited.”

“This is a big moment,” she says, eyes lit up with excitement. “Huge.”

“Not at all,” I tell him. “It’s good to see you. And congratulations to you as well. Surprised the Wildcats let you out of their sight.”

Jack is one of the best hockey players of all time. He’s crushed record after record and is a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame. His team just secured a conference championship and will play in the Cup finals next week.

“Quick trip.” He smiles. “Back to business tomorrow.”

I nod in understanding.

Everly stands from her chair and beams at me. “Ready to make it official?”

“Yeah.” I round the table and take a seat at one end.

Everly opens her laptop and goes straight into explaining the details of the contract. I listen, not really hearing her, but nodding along anyway.

My foot bounces under the table and my heart is racing. This is it. The contract that changes everything for me. I’m going to be part of a great team. One that has the means to bring together the most talented players and coaches. Not to mention the best facilities in the league. No more potluck food or vintage video equipment.

“All that’s left is for you to sign,” she says finally.

My finger hovers over the track pad. I scroll to the signature box and click. Then pause. A cool sweat breaks out on my forehead. The air conditioning in the building probably stopped working. A hint of a smile tugs at one side of my mouth as I imagine the guys giving Earl a hard time and him working hard to find someone to fix it quick.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I sit back and pull it out.

“Ah,” I say, standing. “One second. I need to meet the pizza guy at the door.”

“Pizza guy?” Jack asks, lifting one dark brow.

“It’s my day to bring in food for the team and staff,” I say, then realize by the surprised expression on their faces that somewhere along the way it stopped being weird to me.

It’s kind of fun never knowing what kind of food to expect. Gunnar always brings in a big crockpot of his homemade chili, Freddie loves a salad bar, and JT’s wife’s muffins and other baked goods are still my favorite.

“Sure,” Everly says. “We have until the end of the day.”

“Great.” I start for the door, then pause inside it with one hand on the frame. “Why don’t you email it to me. That way you two can get out of here and get lunch or whatever… enjoy your day together.”

Everly’s brows pull together, but she smooths out the expression quickly. She steals a glance at Jack and then nods. “Okay. We’ll get out of your way so you can prep for the game, but we’ll be back tonight to watch you play. If you haven’t had a chance to sign by then, we can reconvene.”

“Thanks, Everly.” I rap my knuckles on the doorframe and then head to meet the pizza guy.noveldrama

Once I’ve retrieved the food, I take it to the kitchen. Gunnar and Bo are leaning against the counter, protein shakes in hand.

“Hey, guys,” I say. “Bo, your pineapple and ham is on the bottom.”

He grunts his acknowledgment, but neither guy says anything else. Their stoic demeanors tell me everything. Fuck. This is harder than I thought it would be. They were slow to warm up to me, but they did. And now I’m leaving them the exact way they feared.

“Thank you for welcoming me onto the team. It’s been an honor to play with you guys. I know you’re pissed, but how about one last hurrah?” I ask, shoving my hands in my pockets.

They both stare at me, unspeaking for so long that my back sweats and my T-shirt sticks to it. Somebody needs to find Earl and tell him there’s a problem with the air conditioning.

Bo is the first to step forward. He extends a fist to me.

I bump it and then hold it up, waiting for Gunnar.

He relents without looking all that thrilled about it. “Let’s do it.”

After I stretch and warm up my body, I finally spot Earl. His is one of the few friendly smiles I’ve gotten around here today.

“Are you ready to give the fans one more show?” he asks me.

“Definitely.” Another last. Standing on Fletcher field in a Mustangs uniform.

“Give ’em hell,” he says with a grin.

“Will do.” I take a step away, then stop. “Hey, Earl. Have you checked the air conditioning lately?”

His bushy brows pinch together.

“I’ve been sweating in here all day. You haven’t noticed?”

His head moves in a slow nod. “Feels okay to me, but I’ll look into it.”

After I’ve changed into my uniform and gone out to the field, I take my time soaking in every little thing. I hold the ball in my right hand and look around at the familiar stadium. It isn’t the fanciest in the league, not by far. Still, it’s become home.

I go through my normal routine, but I take more time with each step. When the Renegades filter out to the dugout, I stare at them across the field. My gut clenches.

“Holland!” Coach Wayne hollers my name as he walks out onto the field.

I pull my gaze from the other team and start toward him. He walks with both hands on his hips and his jaw working fast on a piece of gum.

“Last-minute change to the lineup,” he says when he gets close. “Freddie is starting today. New York doesn’t want to go up against their new superstar pitcher.”

A wave of disappointment washes over me.

“Seriously?”

He gives me a solemn nod, then calls out to Freddie who’s warming up nearby. “Jones, you’re up tonight.”

Freddie glances to me first before he dips his chin. “Got it.”

Olivia and Greer arrive early to the game and Earl brings them down to the field.

“Hi!” Olivia smiles as I approach them. Fuck, after the morning I’ve had, it feels so good to see them. Unfortunately, only one of them looks happy to see me.

Greer stares at her feet, holding a piece of paper in front of her in one hand. The stuffed horse I gave her is in the other.

“We wanted to wish you luck on your last game as a Mustang,” Olivia says, then looks to her daughter. “Didn’t we?”

Greer says nothing and won’t look up either.

“Sorry,” Olivia mouths.

I squat down in front of Greer. Her big, green eyes are filled with tears. My heart cracks wide open.

“Hey, munchkin,” I say, smiling at her.

Olivia and I told her last night. At first, she seemed pretty chill about it, until she started asking questions about when she’d be able to watch me pitch again and how often we would be able to get ice cream together or finally play Monopoly. To be fair, I didn’t like the answers to those questions any more than she did.

“Hey, Hotshot.” Her little voice is small and not filled with any of her usual excitement or sass.

“Excited to watch the game today?” I ask.

She nods politely. “I made you a picture.”

“You did?” I ask as she holds it out to me. It’s a picture of me in my baseball uniform. This time she used the Renegade red instead of Mustang blue. And written above it says, Good Luck, Hotshot.

“I love it. Thank you.” The words nearly get stuck in my throat. I hold my arms out and she steps into them.

I lock eyes with Olivia as I hug her daughter. She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t stop smiling.

“Mom said I could text you and video chat sometimes,” Greer says.

“I’d love that.” I want to promise her that we’ll see each other, that I’ll be back, or they’ll come see me, but I remember what Knox said—don’t make promises you can’t keep.

“We better get to our seats,” Olivia says, placing her hands on Greer’s shoulders. “Are you still coming over later?”

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it.” The worst of the lasts, my last time hanging with them before I leave.

I take my picture from Greer to the locker room. It’s busy, everyone grabbing any last-minute things before we take the field to do our final team warm-up.

JT is sitting on the bench in front of his locker, adjusting his leg guards.

Staring down at the drawing, I take a seat next to him.

“Heard the news,” he says by way of greeting. “Sorry they took your last start from you.”

“Thanks. I guess I should have seen it coming.” I hold up the picture Greer drew for me. “What do you see?”

“Cute,” he says. “Did Greer draw that?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Do you see what I see?”

“Uhh…” He glances at the picture and back to me several times. “Is this a trick question?”

I don’t answer.

“It’s a drawing of you, right?”

“Yes, it’s me, but what do you see?” I stand and grab the first drawing she made for me. It’s been hanging in my locker since Greer gave it to me. Now I hold them up, side by side, for JT.

He gives them both a quick glance. “She switched the color of your uniform. That’s cute.”

“And?”

He cocks a brow. “And what?”

“Look at the pictures. What’s missing in this one?” I shake the new picture. I’m all alone. No Olivia. No Greer. Just me.

“Are you okay?” JT asks.

I let my hands fall and I slump back on the seat. “Yeah. Fine.”

“All right.” He looks me over but stands. “I’ll see you out there.”

I have never loved sitting on the bench, but it’s torture tonight. The guys are all giving me a wide berth. I don’t want to give myself too much credit, but it feels like my mood has infected the entire team.

We’re not playing like I know we can. Errors, sloppy fielding, slow bats, and shaky pitching.

It’s the bottom of the eighth inning and, somehow, we’ve managed to stay within one run of New York.

My leg bounces and I sit forward so my elbows rest on my knees. JT is next to me, and he keeps giving me curious glances and asking if I’m okay.

“Let’s go now, Bo.” Gunnar claps his hands as his friend steps up to the plate.

The pitch is fast and right down the middle. Bo gets a big cut of it and everyone in the dugout stands. It sails high out to center field and into the upper seats.

“Yes.” I make a fist and turn to celebrate with my teammates, but they’re already filing out to congratulate Bo as he steps across home plate.

I stay there, watching them and feeling like an outsider.

The energy shifts now that we’re tied. Two more guys get on base, then Gunnar hits a double, giving us our first lead of the game.

Freddie sighs and puts his head between his knees.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

“I don’t think I can hold them off another inning,” he says as he sits back.

His relief pitcher tonight is Roger, a veteran with a mean slider, but he’s been struggling through some back pain lately. The trainers are out there with him, keeping an eye on things, as he warms up. His windup looks painful even from here. Fuck.

“Wishing you could go out there about now?” he asks with a grin.

“You have no idea.”

“Us too. It’d be something to pull off a win against the Renegades for the first time in as long as any of us can remember.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

Some of his easygoing attitude resurfaces. “It’s just one game.”

Maybe, but it’s my last game, and this sucks.

The inning ends and Freddie stands, blows out a long breath, and reaches for his glove.

“Wish me luck,” he says before heading to the mound.

Freddie looks like he’s going to be able to keep it together as he warms up before the inning. It’s obvious that he’s tired, but he fires the ball over the plate with a confidence and speed that has our bench feeling a sense of relief and hope.

It doesn’t last long. The first batter steps up and hits a line drive down the center of the field off the first pitch. That’s when Freddie unravels. I’m not sure why Coach doesn’t pull him immediately, maybe he thinks there’s a chance Freddie can still pull it together or maybe he’s worried about Roger doing more harm to his back. Whatever the reason, it isn’t until the bases are loaded that Coach walks out to the mound.

He gives Freddie a pat and the two of them walk off the field. The stadium is on their feet for him, but it’s a resigned type of applause that tells me everyone has given up on this game.

Roger takes a few practice pitches with JT. He grimaces every time the ball leaves his hands. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Standing, I pace back and forth in the dugout. I want to be out there so badly. My stomach is in knots as the next batter steps up to the plate.

The tension is palpable as Roger shakes off a signal and then nods at the next one. He winds up and lets one loose. I hold my breath as I wait for the result. The batter gets a piece of it, but it fouls off beyond the third base line.

“Shit, he’s hurting,” someone says down the bench.

I glance back at Roger. He’s trying to walk it off, but the way he’s holding himself, it’s obvious he’s in pain.

Coach’s mouth turns down and he walks out to the mound to check on him.

Without thinking, I grab my glove and follow him.

Coach Wayne stops me. “Woah, where are you going, Holland?”

“To finish this.”

“New York doesn’t want⁠—”

“I don’t care. Tonight, this is still my team, and I want to finish this thing.”

He nods slowly, jaw still working fast on a piece of gum. “All right, then.”

While he lets everyone else know, I start to warm up beside the dugout. Someone must catch sight of me because soon I can hear a few people chanting, “Flynn the Flame, Flynn the Flame.”

Brogan would be so happy to know his nickname has caught on. I let out a soft chuckle and then refocus. Three outs and this game is over. Bases are loaded and they’re at the top of their lineup, which means no mistakes. Every pitch counts.

Roger starts off the field and I move to the mound. The chant gets louder. Once I’m in position, I hold the ball in my hand and look up to where I know Olivia and Greer are watching. They’re both on their feet, clapping.

Next, I find my brothers. Brogan has his arms raised over his head and even from here I can see his mouth moving along with the chant. Knox, Hendrick, Archer… and my dad. I blink a few times to make sure I’m not seeing things, but there he is standing next to Archer.

JT jogs up to me, pulling my attention back to the game. “Quite a pickle you walked into.”

“Yeah.” I huff a small laugh and glance around the full bases.

“I don’t have a pep talk planned, but something tells me you don’t need it tonight anyway.”

“I’m good,” I say, confirming his thoughts.

“All right, then. What do you say? Wanna play catch one last time?”

“Yeah.” I nod, adrenaline working its way through my body.

He turns to get back behind the plate.

“Yo, JT,” I call out to him.

He stops and arches one brow as he looks to me. “Yeah?”

“Just thought I should warn you I’m going to throw hard and fast.”

He grins. “No warning necessary. I can tell by that look in your eye.”

That’s probably true. He can read me better than any catcher I’ve ever played with.

We finally get set. I throw to JT until my arm is warm and loose, then the New York batter moves to the plate.

I’m laser-focused and filled with a confidence that I’ve never felt before.

I strike out the first guy in three pitches.

The next batter steps up, smirking in a cocky way that makes me want to laugh. Sorry, bro, tonight is not your night.

Three more pitches and he’s walking back to the dugout with the same fate.

One more batter. One more out.

The stadium is loud now. I let the noise in for only a moment, not wanting it to distract me or pull me out of my flow. I swear I can hear Brogan’s voice in the chant that still yells my name.

I used to think that all fields and all stadiums were basically the same. Interchangeable. But this one is special. It isn’t the nicest, but there’s an irreplaceable sense of family and community here. Fans like Earl who have loved this team through all the tough times. It would have been easy for them all to give up, but they didn’t.

And I’m not going to now.

The next batter for the Renegades comes out. Nice guy. I met him when I was in New York earlier this week. I even threw him a few. He’s consistent and patient. I won’t be able to sneak anything by him now.

He fouls off the first pitch, hitting up and back behind the plate out of play. He’s expecting my fastball, so I give him a changeup next.

“Striiiiike,” the umpire calls. The crowd is electric.

I find Olivia. She thinks I’m bullshitting when I tell her I can pick her out from here, but there’s no missing her. She looks as confident in me as ever. I don’t know what I did to deserve her support and love, but I’m not walking away from it.

I get set and look to JT. He already knows what I’m going to throw so as soon as he gives the signal, I nod.

One last fastball. One last strike. One last win.