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The stress was building inside of him. He was up next to bat. He needed to hit it, at least not strike out again, like every single time he bat. So badly did Murray want the game to be over. What did it matter now anyway? Maz wasn’t drafted. He should’ve been drafted. It was bullshit, the lot of it. He was just done.
He was up. Bat in hand, he stepped up to the plate. He could hear voices from the team, but he was blocking them out best he could; they didn't help, they never did. They'd laugh at him or mock his inability it hit a good ball. It's not like he didn't try, it's not like he didn't practice every chance he got, he just wasn't that good at hitting the ball.
“Just hit it. Just hit it,” he muttered under his breath, hoping it would somehow help. The pitched looked him square in the eyes, glaring. And Murray would've glared back if he wasn't so focused on the task at hand. All he had to do was hit the ball and then run. Even if he was caught out, it’d be better than being struck out...again.
He shouldered the bat, holding eye contact with the ball and it was pitched. He swung.
“Strike one!”
Goddammit. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself to the best of his ability. He was struggling to do so. “Just fucking hit it,” again to himself. He regained his place at the plate. The ball came to him, and he focused.
“Strike two!”
He didn’t even swing. He let out a small cry of frustration as he backed away, trying to keep himself under control. This wasn’t going well. All he wanted to do was hit the ball and then everything would be alright, or at least be better than this, yet it seemed that wouldn’t be the case. He had one more chance to just hit the ball. Just one more chance. He approached the plate yet again, shuffling his feet in the dirt and holding up the bat. His form was good, he regulated his breathing as best he could. As he looked at the pitched, Murray just couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell whether it’s be a fast ball or slow, down the middle or to the side or curved. Reeling back, the pitch kept eye contact with him and the bat and the catcher, and threw. Murray swung.
“Strike three!”
He launched the bat as he turned around to the team dugout, and it clattered against the fence before it fell to the ground. He then ran to it and picked it back up, and began beating the metal fence, swing after swing hitting it with force. It was the only way to get out his anger, and probably the safest in the grand scheme of things, as long as people stayed out the way.
# # # # # #
Mackenzie was late, she knew that, the game had already started, but her turning up entirely would surprise him. He’d talked about this game all week, excited and anxious and worry. She wanted to be there but she had class, and she told him she couldn’t make it. It wasn’t unusual, she always had class on a Monday, but the way Patrick talked about it to her, she just knew she had to be there.
She pulled up and parked. Stepping out, the warm air hit her, but it wasn’t unbearable, just a stark difference from her air con. She headed down, taking off her cap and fastening it around the belt loop on her jeans – it was a D-Back’s cap that Patrick had given her a while back. Brian was easy to spot, stood against the fence with another man she didn’t recognise, but was probably a father of one of the other players. She approached them.
“Hi Brian,” gaining his attention.
“Mackenzie, hi. I didn’t expect to see you here, thought you had class.”
“Yeah...I do, but I just knew I needed to be here for Patrick.”
“Well, you’ve got impeccable timing I’ll certainly give you that, he’s up to bat next.”
Mackenzie leant over the fence to get a better view, spotting half of Patrick’s body poking out from the dugout, bat in hand waiting. He looked nervous to her, his fingers picking at the wood on the handle. She was going to call out to him, but before she had the chance, he was approaching the plate. There was a mixture of voices from the dugout, some encouraging, some not. His back was to her, but judging by the way his shoulders were moving, he was focusing on his breathing; she’d helped with that, helped him learn how to breathe when he was stressed and felt like he couldn’t. It didn’t always work, but better than not knowing.
The first ball went and he swung and he missed. His movement away from the plate was sharp, and he was clearly frustrated. It looked like he was muttering to himself, but she was too far away to know for sure. He readied himself and the second pitch came. She watched it fly right past him before he got the chance to act. His scream was audible, he was clearly getting angry. She had faith in him. The third ball was pitched, and it would be the last:
“Strike three!”
Patrick’s movements were sudden, flinging the bat as he turned. When he picked it up and began hitting the fence, she knew she needed to do something. “Brian, can you give me a leg up?” Her hands were already braced on the top of the fence. And Brian seemed to instantly understand as he locked his fingers together. Her converse slipped in easily, and she was smoothly over the fence and on to the pitch. She ran to him.
“Patrick, Patrick, Patrick,” she repeated, hoping to gain his attention. “Please Patrick, listen to me.” His head whipped round to face her, the wooden bat in contact with the metal fence. His eyes filled with anger and aggression started to soften, his eyebrows raising. His once clenched jaw began to relax, his teeth no longed pressed together, grinding against each other. His chest still heaved as he struggled to breathe, but the bat was lowered to his side.
“...Mackenzie?” He was tired, out of breath.
“Yeah, it’s me, hey.” She smiled as he dropped the bat to the ground, closing the space between them with a hug, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. Of course she hugged him back, her arms around his waist, fully around him. She felt his face turn in. Patrick took a deep breath in her arms and he could smell that stupidly sugary shampoo she liked to use. His eyes fell closed, just holding her; she was always able to help calm him.
He leant back to see her face, his hands still firmly planted on her arms, and hers on his side. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?”
“This was more important.”
“You missed class? You never miss class.” The disbelieve was clear in his voice.
“Exactly, so I can afford to miss one. Like I said, this was more important.”
He still couldn’t believe she was there. She’d helped him practice whenever he asked, and she was alway giving him supporting words, but she was always in class when he had his games, so she’d never actually seen him play...and he just struck out. Shit. Well done on a good first impression, he internally cursed.
He turned when he heard a loud and very obvious cough from the dugout, and practically the entire team were against the fence watching them. David’s face was actually squished against the metal, Dells looming behind him.
“Care to explain Murray,” Vinnie said with a snake like smile; it was unsettling. Leading Mackenzie with an arm over her shoulder, he got them off of the field and into the safety of the dugout. Her arm settled around his back, her thumb poking in his trousers, between them and his tucked in shirt.
“Urm,” he was clearly nervous, “This is Mackenzie, my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” said Zapata, “Yeah, sure, ‘cause you have a girlfriend and I don’t.”
Mackenzie became mildly defensive. “Why does that seem so unbelievable to you?”
“Did you not just see what I saw? He nearly broke a bat in half.”
“I saw it, and unlike you guys, I actually helped him.” How dare they question her, and clearly Patrick could tell, as he turned into her a little, a hand coming around to her side.
“Hey, relax, it’s fine.” He smiled down, soft eyes and a gentle pleading expression, his voice quieter, spoken only to her. She nodded, and he repositioned himself to where he’d been before. His tone returned to normal, “I know you’re not supposed to be here, in the dugout I mean, but I don’t see any harm in letting you stay, since you’re already here.” He scanned the faces of the team, daring them to say anything, and they were smart enough to not argue with him. He smiled and lead her over to the end of the bench. They sat down. His arm stayed around her shoulders, and she was able to lean back and support herself. Adjusting, her hands came forward, one resting in her lap, one on his leg and she leant into him.
They talked quietly while the team, one by one, went up to bat. They’d laugh, and all eyes in the dugout would fall on them, as if they’d get an explanation to anything, which they didn’t, as Patrick and Mackenzie were in a world of their own. Before anybody realised, they were in the field. Patrick felt regretful about having to remove himself, but he smiled and quickly kissed her cheek before picking up his glove and jogging out. David, Barone and Palacco all turned to her as soon as Murray was gone, and they shuffled down towards her when they knew they'd be safe from any attack he tried.
“So...you and Murray?” Palacco said from the end, and she turned to him.
“What about me and him?”
“You’re, like, actually his girlfriend?”
“Yes. I really don’t understand why that’s so surprising to you guys.”
“Well, he’s never mentioned you,” said David – Patrick had described his teammates before, and all what numbers they were, so that knowledge coupled with them talking to each other and calling by name, made it easy to identify them all.
“I know, I imagined he wouldn’t, and he’s told me himself that he wasn’t one to really talk about me.”
“And you don’t have a problem with that?” said Barone, “If I was a pretty girl like you, I’d want to be shown off.”
“That’s not my style really. It doesn’t really bother me you know, just whatever he’s happiest with.
“How did you two meet?” David asked.
A smile came to Mackenzie’s face when she thought about it. “I was out near the batting cages near my college campus, taking pictures for class, and I can hear the cages going, as you’d expect, but after a while I realised I was only hearing balls hit the fence, no actual bat hitting sounds. It was quite late, already getting dark, and I didn’t think too much of it until I started hearing these, like, angry screams.” She chuckled, “So I wandered over, you know, to see what was going on, and there was this guy there in his baseball pants and a t-shirt shouting abuse at himself and the bat and the ball machine. And I honestly didn’t know what to think at first, but I approached him, from the other side of the fence to be safe, and asked if he was okay.”
“And?” Palacco asked when Mackenzie didn’t continue.
“Well, I think I took him off guard as he kind’ve jumped and dropped the bat. This guy was clearly pissed off at someone or something, and he proceeded to tell me to fuck off. Me, being intrigued but also stubborn, didn’t leave, instead just sort of shifted along the fence. He thought I left, until I turned up in the cages. I asked if I could take his picture for my assignment, and he said no because he wasn’t having much luck hitting, and that he was leaving anyway. And he left, I didn’t see him again until the week after, doing another assignment at the same location and he just happened to be there again. We got to talking and eventually went for coffee, and it just went from there.”
The three players all seemed so interested in her story and she found that very strange. She turned her attention to the game, standing and walking to the fence to watch. Patrick still looked like he had some energy he needed to burn through, but he was doing good, not screaming or shouting and attacking anybody, which was always good.
# # # # # #
He was up to bat, and that sinking feeling in his stomach returned like it often did when he was standing at home. He couldn’t swallow around the lump in his throat. It was worse now than it had been earlier, there was no pressure earlier, not now he had to hit it, had to make it to first at least for them to be in for a shot of winning the game. Fuck, he hated this. And now Mackenzie was here. Of course he wanted here there, but it didn’t help with the building pressure.
“Please don’t blow this. Please don’t blow this. Please don’t blow this. There’s so many people here, please don’t blow this right now.”
He was muttering under his breath but he didn’t care. The first ball came and he hit. Immediately the bat fell from his hand and he ran, but his pace slowed when he heard the foul. He hit the sides of his helmet as he walked back. He felt so defeated, a pit in his stomach that had no end.
He heard Mackenzie cheer him on. “You can do it Patrick, show those fuckers!” He tried his best to smile, but he knew it wasn't convincing. She gave a thumbs up, a gesture so small but kind, her smile softening with her eyes; she'd be proud of him no matter what, was what she was saying. He appreciated it, even if he didn't believe it himself.
“It’s gonna be a fast ball. That’s gonna be it, gonna be a fast ball. You can get it, you can get it.” His voice was starting to waved. “Please be throw a fastball. A fucking fastball. Just throw me a fastball this one fucking time.”
Second pitch and he was ready. The ball came. A fastball. And he swung. Murray felt the contact before he heard it and he ran, he ran live the life fucking depended on it because it might of well of meant that. All he had to do was get to first base. That was all. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the fielders working to get the ball, to get him out. The ball was thrown to the baseman, and he knew his only chance was to slide, and so he did. All pent up emotion, anger, stress, frustration, anxiety, it all came flooding out in a cheer as he heard the word ‘safe’ shout.
Everyone cheered, the crowds, the team, all hollering for him. He was so happy, struggling to stand, afraid his legs would give. When he finally managed to his feet, his team were smiling, proud of him. “I guessed. I fucking guessed!” That was all it was but it paid to gamble then. It was the best he’d ever hit and probably would stay that way, but he was fine with that. The game wasn’t over, they could do this. Mackenzie was smiling at him, the affection in her eyes clear. She was proud, and he was glad he was able to do that. “I’m not out,” he called while smiling back at her, still barely believing it himself.
Patrick was so happy, she could see that. She knew he'd have been destroyed if he missed, if he’d struck out. She would’ve been there to help him through that, but she was glad she didn’t have to be, the joy on his face rewarding to see; Mackenzie knew she made the right choice skipping class for this. The team began to quieten as the Bulldogs called for time and Palacco made his way, bat in hand and helmet on, up to the plate. Palacco could hit, or from what she was told he could, Murray remarking at the Brit’s talent in conversation. If he hit, they could win.
It was tense in the dugout, but they cheered quietly for him, not wanting to distract, but from what Mackenzie could see, he was ready. He swung at the ball and it flew. Both men ran crazy, making it a base each before Dells halted them, the ball too close to get any further.
Another time called, and the D-Back’s watched as they called over someone from outside the field.
“They’re bringing in their closer,” Dells said. It was evident he was worried.
“Who?” Tree asked, stood close behind him on the other side of the fence.
“Tommy Dorehty, double A closer the Phillies been looking into.”
“Is he good?” enquired Mackenzie, stood beside Tree.
Dells glanced back at them only briefly before turning his attention to the pitch once again. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s good.”
They watched him as he threw out practice pitches. He was good, and consistent it seemed, in his accuracy and skill. This would be a hard one. David was up. From what she’d gathered, he’d never played before, not like this. He was stood as rigid as a board besides the home plate, just watching Dorehty pitch. Maz saw it too, as he jogged out to talk to him. None of them could hear what he was saying, but by the time Maz was done, David’s body had shifted to an air of confidence, of self believe, and they cheered for him from the dugout. He stepped to the plate, then out of nowhere, Dells called for time. The entire team watched in confusion as Dells jogged up to an equally confused David. Nobody could hear that conversation either, but David went away as pumped up as before, if not more so.
“Whatcha tell him?” Tree asked.
“I told him to strike out.”
“...You’re a genius.”
It was clear, strike out the poor batter and bring in the best you have. David readied himself at the plate. First ball, strike, and there were a small few cheers emanating from the dugout. Murray and Palacco on the field looked at each other, confused. Second ball, strike, and the cheer became louder. Murray and Palacco then understood, and clapped a little, keeping focused. Third ball, strike out, and noise erupted from the team, David so proud, the entire team celebrating as he made his was back to the dugout.
Time called again by the Bulldogs.
John Mazetti was next. He was sure to hit, he never struck out, Murray thought, but there was that nervous pit of doubt that told him he would, or he’d be caught out. Maz needed to hit it and they needed of them needed to get through to win. They could do that. Murray was going to run and he was going to get through even if he had a heart attack in the process. Everyone was cheering as Maz approached the plate. The first ball and he swung and he missed. The disappointment was clear, but there was two more; they could do it. He missed the second but it was clearly wide, but it wasn’t given.
Mackenzie could see Patrick start to lose it again, shouting out and kicking up dust around the second plate; he was going to boil over if he wasn’t careful, but there wasn’t much she could do from the dugout. A foul ball followed. “Yeah you saw that one you blind fucking freak,” Patrick shouted at the umpire. Shit, Mackenzie thought, this was bad.
“Patrick,” his dad, Brain, called, “If we lose because you get thrown out of this game, I’m going to disown you.” Brian was kidding...hopefully. It didn’t seem to do much good for Murray’s mood though, clearly still running hot.
“It’s alright Patrick,” she called. He heard and looked across, but the rage didn’t cool. She was too far away. Tree couldn’t watch, sitting himself on the bench. The next ball was foul again, and they all shouted encouragements to Mazetti. Another ball and another foul. They were all going crazy. Mackenzie was pushing her face into the fence; she’d never met the team before, but they just had to win. Patrick had talked about this game, about Mazetti’s drafting. He didn’t make it, but this game was just as important as if he had. They had to win.
The weight of the team, what must feel like the world, was on John Mazetti’s shoulders.
Dorehty stepped up, steadied himself, and threw. The sound of contact between the bat and the ball echoes through the grounds, before all hell broke loose. Fotch, Murray and Pallaco all ran, Maz closely behind. Fotch made it home and they slowly moved onto the pitch from the dugout, cheering while their lungs burned. Then Murray was home and they were jumping and screaming and nothing could stop them. When Palacco crossed the home plate, nothing else mattered. They did it, they won.
Mackenzie was cheering with them a few steps back. The team did this and they deserved to share the moment together. A cry of joy came out from the third plate, and she looked to John who was so relieved and overjoyed with not himself, but with all of them, with them as the D-Back’s. And upon hearing that cry, the entire team rushed him, shouting and cheering because they did it. Ty and Vinnie, who’d previous been arrested, or at least put in a squad car, came running back to the pitch and embraced the hoard of players. She watched with a smile on her face as they all cheered for themselves. They deserved it more than she’d ever seen a team deserve a win.
Murray was in the middle of the fray, so pumped on adrenaline, when he realised Mackenzie wasn’t there. Maybe he should’ve realised she wasn’t there sooner, but in that moment, nothing matter but the game and their team and their win. He struggled to break himself free, stumbling out and nearly falling but he righted himself away from the group and scanned around to find her. He spotted Mackenzie leaning against the fence of the dugout, clapping with a smile wide across her face. She spotted his tripping figure almost instantly, and he smiled back as she laughed to herself.
He practically ran to her, and Mackenzie met him on the way, pushing herself off the fence and walking to him. Patrick, as soon as he was close enough, swept her up in his arm, spinning her around. Her arms hugged around his shoulders and neck as his did her waist, and her eyes closed tight as she laughed as she was spun. When he stopped the spinning, she pulled back, expecting to be set back down, but instead, he kept holding her and kissed her. Both of them were smiling and it wasn’t the cleanest, both clumsy, but they were happy so it didn’t matter. Eventually, she was lowered, her feet touching the dirt.
“Thank you so much for coming,” was the first thing he said, his hands on the small of her back.
As she fingers played in the hair at the base of his head, “I’m definitely glad I ditched class for this. You were amazing.”
“I actually managed to hit a ball.”
“I loved it. You did well Patrick, be proud.”
He smiled as he kissed her again, and he felt no anger or frustration within him. She mattered so much to him, and he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to hit the ball if she wasn’t there; Patrick doubted Mackenzie would ever fully know how special she was to him because he found he could never quite find the right words.