Ethan's kiss hadn't left my mind the entire walk to the dugout, even as Coach returned from his phone call to review our game plan to take down the reigning champs.

The Columbia Lions had a remarkable winning streak that we Bulldogs could only dream of. Letting them win this year would put them above Harvard in winning titles; we desperately wanted to win our fourth title. 

Our Coach, Scott Barnes, played for the Bulldogs in college alongside Lion's head coach. They seemed close, judging from the press photos they did the other day, and while the camaraderie was there, they were current rivals. Friendship aside, it was evident in Coach's face that he wanted to win championships just as badly as the rest of us.

But beating last year's Ivy League champs would be challenging, and Yale hadn't won one since 2017. But our team was different, and there was a chance that their change in lineups and new starters would give us a chance. 

Our alternative pitcher, third-year Tyson, couldn't make it. And with only a freshman alternate pitcher, we were putting most of our fate in Kenji's hands. 

The freshman, Casey, was a star pitcher in high school, and while he was promising, his pitches weren't as stable and reliable. Kenji was in tune with Eric; they had played together since the training camp before freshman year. Casey wasn't used to Eric's calls and signals and often forgot to check for anyone stealing bases during practice. Coach planned to switch Casey in only if Kenji's throwing arm needed a rest, but Kenji wasn't one to give up. 

Our other alternate, a sophomore who had played infield, was a little more reliable but had little experience in this conference.

Coach ran us through the run-down and lineups we had discussed before leaving Yale, adding some information he gathered about the opposing team. 

It went over my head at some points, my mind still thinking about earlier. 

After Coach left to discuss things with the umpire and publicity team, Felipe wrapped his arms around two of our outfielders, Richie and Jesse. "Y'all gotta head to the sports bar after. I think I found my match there."

Richie made a face. "The bar staff?"

Felipe raised a brow. "She was beautiful, Rich. She said her coworkers were single too."

"And I'm not, remember?" Richie shrugged Felipe's arm off his shoulder. "Kayla and I are celebrating two months next week."

Felipe blinked. "Right, must've slipped my mind. But, all of you should come. Celebrate champs; no flirting with waiters necessary."

Eric looked ready to argue, but judging by the look Kenji was giving him, it was likely our captain would make this outing mandatory. 

"Fine," Eric said. "But I'm not the one chasing after our shortstop."

Jesse snorted. "We should get one of those child leashes. He's short enough that it should fit."

"I don't wanna be there for that," Eric grumbled.

Kenji reached over, slapping Eric's ass. "Oh, come on. You're the heavyweight out of all of us. You'll be the only one sober enough to keep him in check."

Though it was all in good fun, Eric glared at Kenji. "Quit doing that."

"What," our captain said innocently. "It's just so slappable. If I had to squat as much as catchers do, maybe I'd have a nice thick ass too. I'd let you do the same if mine was half as nice."

Eric rolled his eyes, crossing paths with our centerfielder and Marco to get out of Kenji's reach, which was futile; Kenji shadowed him, hovering behind him like an umpire. 

Coach, who returned at some point, pinched the bridge of his nose at the display. He was used to the team's antics by now, even chiming in every now and then during practice. "Bring it in; let's discuss their batting lineup quickly."

Despite this being the championships, one of the most important conferences, all my mind could linger on was Ethan's lips on my cheek. My face flushed at the moment in the locker rooms, remembering the delicate smile that lit up his face. 

But now, I needed to focus. Professional teams would have recruiters out today, hoping to score any last-minute pickups for their drafts or summer training camps. This was a big deal, meaning I couldn't just daydream and get lost in the underlying meaning of a kiss from Ethan. Yes, it could have simply meant good luck and nothing more. My optimistic side said that Ethan had meant more than that, implying that he wanted to reconsider what we were again. 

I tried to put that aside as Coach and Kenji warned us of the potential weak spots in our defense and strengths in theirs—something about their left-handed batters and strong infielders. 

Before I knew it, the game started, with us at bat first. 

A complete strikeout, one that our three first batters believed was the nerves. We weren't at home; the unfamiliar stadium and turf were different from what we were used to. Even their pitcher had changed from previous games we played between the Lions: a new upstart sophomore pitcher who could easily throw a record-breaking fastball. 

The bottom of the first inning is where the nerves really kicked in; Kenji's pitch was easily picked up by their first batter, landing in a narrow opening between second base. Jesse's strength of throwing powerful and accurate throws came in handy, landing perfectly in Marco's glove. 

Kenji's next batters were both powerhouses, scoring two before our defense could get them out. 

By the second inning, my mind was racing. With multiple powerhouse Lions players at bat, the tension between our outfielders was running high. The score was 2-0, in favor of the Lions, and with two bases loaded, one home run and we'd be zero to five. 

But by some miracle, Kenji had managed to strike out the batter before ducking down. Eric jumped up from his position and threw to Felipe, who got their runner on second base out. Two outs. No longer on edge, Kenji played conservatively, taking his time on his pitches, putting the pressure on their next batter. 

Psyching him out, Kenji easily got him to strike out. 

When we returned to the dugout, Kenji rolled his shoulder, stretching his arm in multiple ways. 

Eric put his hand on his shoulder, concern on his face. "It's acting up again, isn't it?"

"Nothing terrible," Kenji said, still rolling it. Kenji had an old injury from high school, taking a pitch straight to his shoulder during junior year. He wasn't supposed to play with it for at least a month, but it had been during their team's state championships. It hadn't broken, but his rotator cuff had never fully recovered. "I'll ice it later."

Eric made a face, grabbing the KT tape and pushing some of our gear to the side so he could apply it. Coach helped him, getting our alternates to practice in the batting cages if they decided Kenji couldn't finish the game.

Kenji insisted on staying in, though, determined to see this game to the end. He hadn't hit the pitch threshold yet and didn't plan on it, even with his injury flaring up. Eric was calling the shots behind home plate, their synergy working incredibly well during the fourth and fifth inning. By the sixth inning, I was exhausted; the score was a solid 2-2, either team capable of taking home the title. 

At bat at the bottom of the sixth, I stared into their pitcher's eyes. His pitch count was higher, but he didn't look exhausted yet. His tactics and unpredictable throws were throwing all of us for a loop until we realized it was becoming more repetitive each inning. He'd throw into the inner corner, just narrowly a strike. Then he'd do the same but further in, which would count as a ball. Two strikes in, I swung and made contact, landing a nice line drive past their shortstop. I played it safe, settling with first base and waiting for the rest of my team. 

What we needed to get ahead was a home run with full bases loaded. It would be risky, but it would set us far ahead. 

Richie was at bat next and received a strike before firing a line drive toward left field. Up next was Daniel, our tallest player. While he wasn't our star batter, his long limbs would guarantee to get to first base even if he aimed toward the right field. That was what Coach had signaled near the dugout, distracting the Lions as I made it to second base, bettering our odds of at least scoring a point. And with Eric, our powerhouse batter, the possibility of getting a four-point lead would increase dramatically. 

But their pitcher, number nine, who I couldn't even pronounce the name on their jersey, seemed to know exactly how to pressure Daniel. Though our plan was tens steps ahead, the pitcher and his catcher were fifteen steps ahead. They played with Daniel, maxing out his strikes and balls to keep us runners on edge. 

Though, it gave me time to think.

I could see Ethan clearly in the stands above the dugout from here at second base. He knew the basics of baseball, and while he probably would've preferred to do anything other than watch a college game, he looked truly engaged in the game, glancing between the members on the field before his eyes settled on me. A ghost of a smile appeared, and I had to resist the urge to wave at him. 

Seeing him in the stands brought me back to when we were together when we were happy and deeply in love. 

Yes, this was just a game, one play in a game, but it felt much more than that. Either I played it safe, remained on second base, and let the breakup and time here in New York be the end, or I stole third base, stole one more chance at being in love with Ethan Wong. 

The answer was so clear then as their second baseman stepped forward. I could do this. Not just stealing third base but seizing the opportunity with Ethan. 

After all, that good luck kiss couldn't have meant nothing, right?

Soon, this weekend would be over, and I would lose the chance to rekindle what we had—of course, I needed to do something. Even if he didn't feel the same, playing it safe here wouldn't change anything. 

So, as I crept forward, waiting for Daniel at-bat, I had made up my mind.

In a flurry of red dirt, adrenaline, and the sound of fans in the stands, I sprinted toward third, almost missing the sound of cleats to my left.

In one second, I was running toward Ethan; in another, pain wracked my left side, spiraling from my hip and outwards. My shoulder hit the ground hard as Columbia's second basemen landed on top of me, his glove pressed firmly into my side. I didn't make a sound, couldn't as I felt the wind knocked out of me from the impact. 

It was worse than the baseball my dad had thrown at my chest. I couldn't breathe, my ribs groaning. 

The stands went silent, and the sound of my labored breath—or what I could wheeze out— and the sound of approaching players rushed forward. Although I was certain I hadn't hit my head, the field seemed to spin, my vision struggling to keep up with the domino effects of being slammed to the ground. Nothing felt broken, but I remained still, remembering that adrenaline was still coursing through me. 

With a groan, I waited for the player to get up, hoping that my risky play hadn't just cost me the championships but also didn't terribly ruin my chances with Ethan in the metaphorical sense.