It wasn’t out of the norm for guys to swear or make a fuss when they didn’t agree, but something about this kid’s tone set the hairs at the back of Alex’s neck on end. There was a venom to it he wasn’t accustomed to hearing.
Frustration was one thing. Disagreeing with umps was as integral to baseball as peanuts or pine tar, but knowing Alice was the one standing behind him made Alex wonder if there was more to this than just simple annoyance.
The next pitch was called a ball, but even so the batter muttered, “Come on, come on.” He choked up higher on the bat.
Alex called for a plain fastball, wanting nothing more than to get this guy out of the batter’s box. He moved himself into position, prepared for the catch, and Miles threw a beautiful, clean fastball across the heart of the plate.
The batter arched back dramatically, as if the ball had come within inches of hitting him. Alice, nonplussed by the showy gesture, called, “Strike three, you’re out.”
“That was a fucking ball,” the guy countered, turning around to glare at her. His cheeks were red, either from too much sun or the rush of his anger. For the moment Alex wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t his job to be Alice’s knight in shining armor. He’d never stepped in for another ump when someone was bitching and moaning. Why should he treat her any differently?
Yet the part of him with sisters saw an angry man, and a woman who was the focus of that anger. Decency more than chivalry told him he ought to remain between the two of them.
“It was a strike,” Alice replied coolly.
“Are you fucking blind?”
“You bouncing back like a sideshow act isn’t going to convince me. And you swearing definitely isn’t going to make me change my mind. Sorry. It was a strike, you’re out.”
Alex admired the way she kept her tone low and didn’t rise to meet the batter’s rage.
“Fuck you.” The guy threw his bat in the dirt and took a step towards her, finger pointed at her chest.
Alex was on his feet then, not exactly standing in front of her but hovering nearby should the necessity arise. Somewhere in his haste to stand, he’d shucked off his glove and mask.
“This is your one warning. Pick up your bat, go back to the dugout and calm down.” Alice hadn’t counter-stepped, still holding her position behind the dish.
“I’m not going anywhere until you admit you made a bogus fucking call. But what should I expect? Women can’t drive, why the fuck would they be able to call a goddamn ball when they see one?”
Alice, who until that point had kept her face guard down, raised it up so nothing was obstructing her view of the irate batter. “Not only can I drive, Mr. Donaldson, I can throw you out of this game. How’s that for balls?” And without waiting for his response, she gestured boldly to the exit doors, a visible cue for the crowd and team managers of her decision to evict him from the game.
“You stupid cunt.”
The word made her flinch, but only for a moment. “Out.”
The Twins manager was making his way across the field, clearly hell-bent on diffusing the situation before his man got tossed from the game. But anyone who could see the fuchsia color the batter had turned would know he was in an absolute rage.
“I won’t listen to you. You’re a fucking hack. Fuck you.”
The moment the manager—an older guy with a grandfatherly countenance—arrived at the plate, Alex assumed that would be the end of it. Donaldson had to chill out in the face of reason, which would presumably be what the manager would bring to the plate.
“Teddy, what the hell are you doing, standing out here caterwauling like a madman?”
“It was a goddamn ball. I want this bitch to admit it was a goddamn ball.”
“Christ on a cracker, kid, you can’t talk to her like that,” the manager grumbled, going to reach for Donaldson’s arm to lead him off the field. The older man was looking at Alice instead of Teddy, trying to convey apologies through his expression without riling the kid up more than he already was.
Teddy jerked free, and without meaning to, his elbow shot backwards. Alex didn’t have time to process what was happening before the hard point of Teddy’s elbow collided with Alice’s cheek. Her head snapped back like the scene was moving in slow motion. Alex stepped up to catch her in case she fell back, but in spite of the force of the blow, she remained standing. She was one tough lady.
It didn’t matter that it was an accident, or his rational brain was telling him no good could come from reacting. Alex’s big-brother, white-knight instincts kicked into high gear.
He swung without realizing he’d thrown the punch, his fist cracking across Teddy’s cheek.
Unlike Alice, the batter went down like a sack of potatoes.
Alex had just knocked the guy out.
Chapter Seven