The Wrong Pitch

THE WRONG PITCH NORTHEAST REBELS BRITTANY TAYLOR The Wrong Pitch Brittany Taylor Copyright © 2023 by Brittany Taylor All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Published by Brittany Taylor Cover Design by Amanda Shepard of Shepard Originals Editing by Vicki James Proofreading by Tiffany Hernandez Formatting by Brittany Taylor Created with Vellum CONTENTS Blurb 1. Ophelia 2. Hunter 3. Ophelia 4. Hunter 5. Ophelia 6. Ophelia 7. Hunter 8. Ophelia 9. Hunter 10. Ophelia 11. Hunter 12. Ophelia 13. Ophelia 14. Hunter 15. Ophelia 16. Hunter 17. Ophelia 18. Hunter 19. Hunter 20. Ophelia 21. Hunter 22. Hunter 23. Ophelia 24. Ophelia 25. Hunter 26. Ophelia 27. Hunter 28. Ophelia 29. Hunter 30. Ophelia 31. Hunter 32. Ophelia 33. Ophelia 34. Ophelia Epilogue A Note From Brittany The Rules of Heartbreak - Sneak Peek Also by Brittany Acknowledgments About Brittany I couldn’t possibly have been more wrong the night I’d tackled Hunter Moore to the ground in the middle of the night. To be fair, the street was pitch-black, the wheel to my suitcase had popped off, and I found myself face to face with a stranger charging at me. My instincts had kicked in, and instead, I’d landed him straight on his back with my knee pressed to his chest. Turns out, the stranger I’d tackled to the ground was my brother’s roommate… which meant he was also mine. With my dreams coming to a screeching halt, I was left with no other choice than to move in with my brother and his roommates. Hunter Moore was star pitcher for the Northeast Rebels. Although I’d found his incessant talk of baseball obnoxious, I couldn’t help but relate to how deep his passion ran. Even if our dreams were completely different. With a shared bathroom and a single wall between our bedrooms, we couldn't resist pushing the boundaries. Potent green eyes. Perfectly sculpted muscle. I was inevitably drawn in. But the closer we became, the more I learned just how dedicated Hunter was to his dream, no matter the cost. Only I was unaware, he'd already traded mine for his. DEDICATION To the lovers and the dreamers who have been knocked down, yet still managed to claw their way back up. This is for you. ONE OPHELIA Today is quite possibly the worst day of my life. Moving in with my younger brother at the ripe old age of twenty-two isn’t exactly what I had envisioned for myself. I always imagined living in a high-rise apartment in the center of New York City, owning my own fashion design company. I wouldn’t rely on anyone other than myself, and my success would all be owed to the work I’d put in over the past four years. I was well on my way there. My path had been free and clear. Nothing could stop me. Until I woke up this morning and my life was catapulted in a completely different direction. It feels as if within the matter of a few words, my life came to a screeching halt, and now I’m left with next to nothing. I’m walking down a lonely, dark road, heading to my brother’s house with nothing but the clothes on my back and a suitcase trailing behind me. The eerily quiet street is deafening, sending chills down my spine from the moment I stepped off the bus half a mile back. But I was left with no other options. My life dissolved before I’d even had an opportunity to realize what was happening. Between work and school, I hadn’t taken the time to invest in buying a car, which led me here. Forced to book a last-minute bus ride from New York City to the tiny town of Eden, Maine. My hometown. The last place I ever wanted to return. I’m dragging my suitcase behind me with the small plastic wheels beating against the asphalt. Every now and then, I run over a few pebbles. The constant bumps cause my suitcase to wobble, including the sewing machine resting on top of it. I refused to leave it behind in New York. The only thing that could make this day worse is if I were to lose it. I grunt in frustration and grab the handle of my sewing machine as well as my suitcase handle in the hope that it’ll stabilize it more as I march down the long, deserted road. Normally, I wouldn’t complain about being dropped off one block away, but considering it’s nearly midnight and there are only two streetlights on this road, I’m annoyed and irritated beyond belief at the circumstances that have led me to this point. Chills prickle their way down the back of my neck. It’s silent and uncomfortably quiet—something I’m not used to, coming from a city such as New York. I pull my phone out from the back pocket of my jeans and call my best friend. At least she can keep me company while I head toward Reed’s house. “Ophelia?” Claire whispers into the phone. Her voice is low and gravelly, as if she’s trying to sleep… or she was on the verge of falling asleep. “What’s going on? Did you make it to Reed’s yet?” “Claire, shit.” I place my hand against my forehead and wince, remembering the plans my best friend had gushed about non-stop earlier. “I didn’t interrupt your date, did I? How did that go?” “No.” She snorts, her voice clearing slightly. She groans. “I’m in my bed. The date was going great until the end when he asked if I was interested in a foursome.” “No.” I