Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

respective bases as the left fielder hopped up to his feet. All noise from the crowd ceased as I came to a screeching halt in the base path.
    I clutched the top of my helmet with both hands and arched my back, staring momentarily up at the inky night, praying it was a bad dream. How the fuck did he make that catch? It was my shit luck. All damn season. I’d let the guys down again.
    There’s no time for pity, Braden. You’re a goddamn leader. Act like one.
    I held my head high and sprinted back to the dugout like I always did, whether I hit a homerun or struck out. It was classy, and set an example for my teammates. When I ran past first base, I turned to our new rookie who walked to the plate. He was eyeing my reaction.
    I clapped my hands together and grinned at him. “Let’s go. He ain’t got shit.” I tossed a grin to the sumo-looking motherfucker on the mound who was smiling at me. “Keep cheesing, dickhead! You’re about to get lit the fuck up again.”
    I turned back to rookie bitch who now had a look of confidence on his face. He strode to the plate with a purpose. “You got this shit, kid.”
    When I reached the dugout, Coach beamed like I’d actually won the game for us. I still wanted to go straight to the clubhouse and destroy a few things, or maybe just have a pussy style ugly cry in the corner. Not a chance though. My boys needed me, whether I was at the plate or not.
    Coach smacked me on the ass as I ran down the stairs. “Bad break. We’re still in it.”
    I shoved my bat back into the rack and tossed my helmet up into my cubby.
    Easton was leaning on the rail with the guys, and I made my way up next to him to cheer on the rook. I’d let us down, but I could damn sure do my best to help another brother get us the win.
    “You literally cannot catch a fucking break.” He slapped the rail, then reconsidered. “Well, I mean you can catch one. Fuck it, you know what I mean.”
    It got a chuckle out of me. “It’s the goddamn baseball gods. They have it in for me. What do you do?” I shrugged.
    He spit some sunflower seed shells out onto the emerald grass in front of us. “Indeed. They are being mighty cunty to you. Don’t sweat it, man. They’re moody fucks. They’ll come around. But rook up there doesn’t have a chance.”
    I frogged him on his non-pitching shoulder. “Don’t say that shit, bitch. You know better than that.” I glared.
    E scowled for a second, and then he dropped his gaze. “Sorry, man.”
    “Don’t apologize to me. Pick up your teammate.”
    E broke into laughter momentarily, and then turned his stare up to rook.
    “Rip his fucking tits!” E hollered, his hand half-cupped around his mouth.
    “That’s better.” I turned back to watch rook most likely fail as Easton originally predicted. But I wouldn’t have that kind of negative talk in my fucking dugout. Not a chance.
    Our obesity-laden insults sliced through the air as Martinez kicked his leg. He fired the ball into home.
    Crack !
    Any ballplayer worth a shit knew the sound. I could’ve had my eyes closed and known that ball was destined for the outfield bleachers.
    Rook dropped the bat and started toward first, his head craned to stare at the ball in flight. All of us in the dugout watched as if it were in slow motion. The ball shot into the stands. A brief melee ensued about twenty rows up in left field as the ball landed amidst a roiling sea of faces and hands.
    Everything stilled for a split second before a rumbling built around us, shaking the stadium. The players in the dugout erupted. Rook fist-pumped rounding first base as the disgraced pitcher sauntered off the field, his face buried in his glove.
    Hah! You fat sack of dicks!
    The dugout looked like a mosh pit as we all shoved our way out onto the field to go tackle the rook. When he turned to trot back after watching the ball fly over the wall, his eyes went from ‘excited’ to ‘scared shitless’ in an instant. I couldn’t blame him. There was