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As I paid more attention to how Raine moved in the outfield, I wondered how Jane was doing at work. Last night she’d been confident they had done enough to be ready for today. Unless her broken mixer slowed her down.

I watched Raine range around center field, getting full coverage of the large area. I was looking for signs he would be a good fit in right. He wasn’t afraid of the wall and handled both corners well when balls shot down the line fair. With a little work, Raine could probably play right or left as well as center. Selfishly, I would love that. If he was playing corner outfield, that would give me more opportunities to actually get some time in center.

I kept practising, tossing balls around the field.

“Cook, I want you to throw the next one home, try and cut down a runner at the plate,” Mick shouted across the field.

I waited until the fly ball was hit, racing to get under it. It landed in my glove with a thud, and I grasped the ball immediately, planted my foot, and threw directly toward the catcher at home plate. My line was perfect, but my shoulder protested the effort, and my throw was short, by a lot. Dammit. The last thing I wanted was for the club to think I couldn’t do this job.

“Not my best work,” I called out, trying to mask my disappointment. I had been sure my shoulder was up to throwing from center, but obviously not. I’d have to work even more to rebuild the muscle and flexibility.

“Next time, hit the cutoff man instead. Better that than a wild throw,” Mick yelled, before he shouted directions to another fielder.

I reminded myself that I was still recovering, and that Vancouver had seen something in my tryout videos, or they wouldn’t have signed me. I just wouldn’t be firing ninety-five-mile-an-hour blasts from center anymore. I was still a quality defender, but my outfield assist days would take a lot longer to come back, if they came back at all.

Where did that leave me? Mediocre defence would be forgiven if you wielded a power bat, and that was coming back for me, too, but I was not where I should be. Infield roles were an entirely different challenge. Short, second, and third took years of practice to get good, and I didn’t have years. A few outfielders had moved to first base and had success there. If I was going to be more versatile, first base was my best option. It required a lot of flexibility, though. Something else to work on.

When I returned to the dugout with the other players not in today’s lineup, Mick fell into step beside me. “Your shoulder bugging you after that throw? You looked a little sore after.”

My palms grew damp as I walked, worried about how to answer. I had tried to ignore the residual pain in my shoulder, but there was no point lying to Mick. If I lied, and they stopped trusting me, my future with the club was over.

“Yeah, I’m a little sore. Won’t stop me from playing today, but I’ll get Ari to work on it at my next physio appointment.”

“That’s a good start, but what happens if this is as good as your arm gets? You’re here for the same reason as everyone else, but these kids are ten to fifteen years younger than you.”

I did not need the reminder. Watching some of these kids with their rubber arms and untouchable speed had me working even harder to compete with them. One alternative would be to make myself more valuable, just like Wally wanted for Raine.

“Maybe I should learn to play another position, since I can’t make the long throws from the outfield anymore.”

“What did you have in mind?” Mick sounded curious, so maybe he was open to the idea. Anything to make myself valuable enough for Vancouver to call me up.

“I was thinking first base. I’m regaining my flexibility, and I wouldn’t need as much throwing power.” Other outfielders had moved to first in the past. I could learn.

Mick’s shadow nodded as we walked. “It’s not a bad idea. First is still a tough spot to play, but we can run some reps there in practice, see how you do. I’ll talk to Wally about adding you to the infield practice roster.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I’ll do anything to get back to the majors.”

Mick slapped the centre of my back. “Trust me, I know that feeling. I’ll help any way I can.”

We went down the dugout stairs and took our places for today’s game. There would be lots of time to work on new skills. Right now, all that mattered was today. We’d won our first game, but luck had been part of our win. Spokane had some top-tier players on their team, and yesterday we’d managed to exploit a couple of fielding errors. Today would be a fight if we wanted to win our second game in a row. It was time to play ball.

Chapter 18

Jane

Our second day at the ballpark was busier than the first, and I was grateful we had baked so much yesterday. Today’s game had been a later game. It was after eight by the time I’d left the ballpark and dropped my work truck off at the bakery.

The Fliers had lost, and players had committed several errors on the way to the loss. I’d heard through the grapevine that Wally had called a team meeting after the game to talk about how they played. Because of that, I’d packed up my booth and left without waiting to see Carter. I didn’t know what kind of mood he might be in when he got home, but I figured having food ready would help.

I was a little nervous. I’d left this morning before he woke up, needing to get to the bakery to prep for the day. Aside from our quick text exchange, I’d heard nothing. The packed day had kept me from spiralling, but now I was starting to. Had I been too assertive? Maybe Carter preferred to take the lead. Chad had hated when I asked for what I wanted. He wanted to be the dominant one. But Carter wasn’t Chad.

My gut twisted as I saw Carter’s Jeep already in front of my house. I hadn’t expected him to beat me home. I opened the door and was hit by the scent of roasted chicken. My mouth watered and my stomach growled. I was starving.

“You’re home.” Carter looked up from chopping vegetables. He was wearing another well-worn T-shirt from Seattle, this one in black.

His smile was warm, and the knot of tension in my belly loosened. Everything would be fine. I could do this.

“You took care of dinner again? You shouldn’t have. I appreciate it, though. I’m starving.” I hung my purse and jacket on a peg. When I turned around, he was standing in front of me, his arms open wide. I melted against him, glorying in his body heat.