Striking Out In The Mountains (Greene Mountain Boys)

“What the hell, Doug?” I say, throwing my hands up. “Beer already?”

Doug shrugs as he cracks open a can of beer. “I’m thirsty.”

“It’s eleven AM.”

“Exactly,” he says with a grin as he sucks up the foam leaking out. “It’s my pre-lunch beer.”

“Not to be confused with his pre-pre-lunch beer, or his lunch beer, or his post-lunch beer,” Mason says, shaking his head.

“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But just one before the game starts.”

He turns around to get his baseball glove and I see another one in his back pocket, making his pants sag down.

“I need everyone’s hand-eye coordination to be on point,” I say to my team of softball players. “I’m not losing to these cocksuckers again.”

Every summer in the Greene Mountains, we have a charity softball game that gets pretty intense. It’s the firehouse—and whoever we can pick up to join us—versus the Sheriff station—and any extra bodies they can grab. It’s supposed to be friendly, but it gets fiercely competitive.

“We got this, Chief,” Lincoln says, swinging a couple of baseball bats.

“Yeah, we got the Search and Rescue guys on our team,” Ethan says as he pounds his fist into his mitt. “Aiden hit four home runs last year.”

“I’m going to need everyone hitting home runs this year,” I say as I look at the cops throwing the ball around. It looks like they’ve been practicing…

“Where is Aiden anyway?” I ask, feeling my heart rate starting to jack up. I really want to kick the Sheriff’s smug ass this year. I grew up with Ryland Gray and we’ve always been competitive with each other. It started when we competed for the starting quarterback position in high school and it hasn’t stopped. We probably should have let that shit go by now considering we’re both fifty-two—a long way from our teenage years—but it’s all in good fun. Mostly.

“There they are, Chief,” James says, pointing his tattooed arm at left field. I take a deep breath when I see Aiden, Colin, and Julian walking over wearing the yellow shirts we ordered for the game. The Flame Throwers is written across their chests in black font.

Our firehouse pug Bubba starts wagging his tail and yapping on the bench when he sees the famous bloodhound Charlie walking with them.

“Thanks for joining us, guys,” I say, meeting them by third base. We shake hands and I instantly feel a little better with some more muscle on our team.

“Kylee is going to play too,” Aiden says. “I hope you don’t mind. I ordered her a shirt.”

My stomach drops. “Kylee?”

She comes jogging over, wearing a Flame Thrower shirt and a glove on her hand. Is that girl even a hundred pounds? How is she going to help us win?

Aiden chuckles when he sees my face. “We can play for the cops if you prefer…”

“No, no!” I quickly say.

“They’ve been harassing us to join them,” Julian says with a laugh. “I was worried I was going to get arrested when we said no.”

“It’s all good, Chief,” Aiden says, smacking my arm with a laugh. “She was a professional athlete.”

“What sport?” I ask with a gulp.

“Gymnastics,” he says as he continues to the bench.

“I went to the Olympics too,” Kylee says as she runs past me with a grin.

Let’s hope she can catch as well as she can do a cartwheel.

We get our team set up on the bench and the boys start throwing the ball around, warming up. The stands begin filling up with people from around town.

Owen and Lauren from the Greene Mountain Lodge set up a barbecue station and were kind enough to donate all of the food and drinks. Some workers from the lodge are grilling up burgers and hot dogs, selling them for a few bucks apiece. All of the proceeds are going to the Children’s Hospital a couple of towns over.

The local radio station put some speakers around the park and they’re playing fun music while the photographer from the local paper goes around taking pictures of all the smiling faces. Our annual game is always a good time.

It’s a gorgeous summer day and more people come to watch, setting up folding chairs and spreading out blankets on the grass. The field is in a great spot, near the center of town and surrounded by a stunning view of our spectacular Greene Mountains.

“I got a hundred bucks on the game,” Doug says as he tosses the ball to James. “So, we gotta win.”

“Who did you bet with?” James asks as he throws the ball back.

“Henry,” Doug says, looking at the veteran cop. Henry has been around forever and although he’s got a beer belly and bad knees, he’s got a hell of a throwing arm.

“Alright,” I say as I look around at the crowd. Most people have their food and drinks and are ready for a show. “Let’s get this party started.”

I take a deep breath and walk over to the pitcher’s mound. Sheriff Ryland Gray walks over to meet me with his big chest puffed out. The umpire for the day—Greg the doorman from the Greene Mountain Lodge—joins us too.

The cops had their own blue shirts made with their team name—Cuffs and Curveballs.

“Graham,” Ryland says, narrowing his eyes on me as we shake hands. Hard.

“Ryland,” I say as I squeeze his hand harder than he’s squeezing mine. “Ready to lose?”

“Ha,” he says with a deep booming laugh. “Remind me again who won last year?”

I just glare at him.

“This is for charity, gentlemen,” Greg says, already looking exasperated. “Let’s try and have fun.”

“Kicking these fire pussies’ asses is always fun,” Ryland says with a grin.

“Too bad we’re about to spoil your afternoon,” I say, flashing him a cocky smile.noveldrama

“I see you got Aiden,” he says with a bitter look. “How much are you paying him?”

“Nothing, he just wants to be on the winning team.”

“He’s all yours,” Ryland says. “We got our own secret weapon.”

My stomach twists a little as I look at their bench. It’s all the usual players from the Sheriff’s office—Henry and his wife Natalie, Emmanuel, Santino, and a few other guys from around town like Will from the Post Office and a few of the cooks from Jack Jameson’s Bar and Grill.

“She’s not here yet,” he says when he sees me checking out their bench.

“She?”

He just grins. “You’ll see.”

“Alright, boys,” Greg says as he pulls out a quarter. “Let’s flip to see who has home-field advantage.”

We end up losing, so we’re at bats first.

“Get used to that feeling,” Ryland says as I walk back to my bench.

That fucking guy… I really want to kick his ass today.

“Alright,” I say, calling everyone over. “Doug, you’re up first. Then me, Lincoln, and then Aiden can clean up at fourth.”

“I think Kylee should go second,” Aiden says.

I force out a smile even though I’m feeling a little nauseous.

“Okay,” I say, swallowing hard. “Kylee can go second.”

The cops take the field and are throwing around balls, warming up. Ryland keeps looking at the parking lot as he takes the mound, warming up his throwing shoulder.

“Where’s your secret weapon?” I ask with a grin. “She ditched you?”

He curses under his breath and ignores me. I hope she doesn’t show up at all, whoever it is.

“Play ball!” Greg shouts and everyone watching cheers.

Doug pets Bubba and Charlie for good luck before grabbing a bat and strutting over to the plate. He swings on the first pitch and connects, but the ball hits the dirt, barely rolling three feet. But it’s good enough to get him onto first base.

You’d swear he hit a grand slam in the ninth inning of the World Series with the way he’s dancing on first base and acting all cocky.

Kylee bats second and pops it up. Emmanuel is playing third base and easily catches it.

“Sorry, Chief,” she says as she walks back to the bench with her shoulders slumped.

“No worries, Kylee,” I say with a smile. “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

My turn. I’ll show these boys how it’s done. I’ll show them what a real hit is.

I grab a bat and head to the plate.

“Come on, Grandpa!” a girl shouts from behind me while I’m staring Ryland down.

“Hit it with your walker!” another girl says.

I turn around, shocked until I see who the hecklers are. It’s Tina and Tiffany, the two weird twins who work at the Greene Mountain Lodge. They both have the same round glasses and black bob haircut. They’re sitting on the grass behind home plate.

This is going to be a long afternoon with them heckling…

“I’m only fifty-two,” I tell them as I swing the bat a few times.

“More like a hundred and fifty-two,” one of them says.

“More like you were born in 1952,” the other one adds.

I shake my head and ignore them, narrowing my eyes on Ryland as he gets ready to pitch. I visualize pounding the ball and smacking it over those white-capped mountains miles behind the players in the outfield.

Ryland takes one last look at the parking lot—probably waiting for his secret weapon to arrive—before he pulls his arm back and launches the ball at the plate.

I take a deep breath and swing as hard as I can.

The ball connects right in the sweet spot and explodes off my bat.

It’s a home run. I don’t need to watch it sailing over the centerfielder’s head to know it’s going over the fence.

“Grandpa can hit,” one of the twins says as I drop the bat and start jogging to first.

Doug is ahead of me, dancing and taunting the cops as he rounds second base.

I grin at Ryland who won’t stop glancing at the parking lot as I finally stomp on home plate, making it 2-0.

So far, this game is going just as planned…