Prologue
RYAN
ONE YEAR AGO
I remember the first time I saw Ozzie Ford. Spring training in the summer—the kind of heat that makes the air look like it’s fucking vibrating. I was leaning against the dugout railing, a seasoned vet with a decade of service time and a heart that had gone a bit numb to the “magic” of the game. I was the star catcher in the MBL for the Rock Hills Beavers.
Then, he walked onto the grass.
He looked like a kid who’d won a contest. His jersey was a little too crisp, his cleats were blindingly white, and he was carrying his glove like it was made of solid gold.
Ozzie Ford. The “Next Big Player” I’d heard the scouts chirping about him for months—fast hands, high baseball IQ, a swing like silk. But he started as a rookie catcher.
“That’s the kid?” I asked Miller, nodding toward Ozzie on the field.
Miller’s my best friend. A goof, but while putting up with him, he’s always by my side.
“That’s him,” Miller grunted, spitting a sunflower seed. “Looks like he weighs about buck-forty soaking wet. You think he can handle a 98-mph heater to the ribs? Can he catch it too?”
He had a point. I didn’t answer. I just watched Ford. I watched the way he took his ground, waiting for that ball. He didn’t just catch them; he danced with them. There was a grace in his movements that you can’t coach. But it wasn’t just the talent. It was the way he looked around the stadium—with this raw, unfiltered wonder.
I felt a pang of something I hadn’t felt in years. Jealousy? No. It was a memory of who I used to be before the contracts and the pressure turned me into a statue.
He caught me staring. Most rookies would have looked away, intimidated by the “Captain” of the team. But Ozzie? He just gave me this lopsided, nervous grin and a little nod. His eyes were the brightest thing on the field, even with the sun beating down.
He’s going to be trouble,I thought.But good fucking trouble.
I had no idea he was going to be the kind of trouble that would change my entire life, brick by brick, until there was nothing left but him.
Scare him a little. Show him who’s boss, Lindson.
“Hey, kid!” I barked, pushing off the railing and walking toward him. My voice was gruff, my “leader” mask firmly in place. “You’re late for the infield drill. This isn’t college anymore. Get your ass in gear.”
He jumped, his eyes widening. “Yes, sir! Sorry, Captain Lindson. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” I said, walking past him.
But as I passed, I smelled his sunscreen and the fresh-cut grass on his knees, and for the first time in ten years, I forgot to breathe. And for some reason, I want fucking him.
I will catch himminesoon, when I get my chance.
First, I have to see what he’s got with his skills on the field.
1
OZZIE
PRESENT DAY
The smell of the Rock Hills stadium was something I’d missed more than I cared to admit. It was a cocktail of freshly cut grass, expensive dirt, and the faint, lingering scent of overpriced hot dogs. To anyone else, it was just a ballpark. To me, it was the only place where the world felt like it had a strike zone I could actually hit.
I’m home. Where I belong again.
I adjusted my cap, pulling the brim low as I stepped out of the dugout for the first official morning of Spring Training. My cleats crunched against the gravel, a sound that usually grounded me, but today my stomach was doing back flips.
Second year. No longer the “new kid,” but still not quite a veteran. I had a spot on the roster, but in this game, you wereonly as good as your last at-bat. I was a rookie catcher to say the least. I wasn’t that important.
“Ford! Looking smaller than ever!”