Once I’m there, I take a quick second to find her in the crowd. Her smile reaches her eyes as she stands on her feet, clapping and cheering with the rest of the crowd, Bodie beside her, cheering with his hands cupped around his mouth.
The first batter is an easy out, three strikes and done. The second gives me more of a challenge by tipping three balls foul but eventually strikes out. The third hitter pops a fly ball to right field that is caught. Three and done. Now I need to do it again. It’s like riding a bike.
As I’m walking to the dugout, I look up to see hazel eyes peeking at me over the top of a book. I can’t help but laugh and shake my head. Even though I can’t see her mouth, I know she’s smiling and teasing me because her eyes are twinkling with a playful glint. Damn, I never want those eyes to leave me.
Dropping onto the bench, I watch Dundee approach. A stiff posture to his body tells me he’s not happy about something, and I know it’s not my pitching. “He’s here. I tried, but I was overruled.”
Standing up, I walk to the edge of the dugout, and I know exactly where he’s going to be. Right behind home plate. It took some big balls for him to walk into the stadium with all the news that’s going around. Maybe he thinks he can spin the story. Only, I don’t give a fuck what he thinks. I know the story, and I know what I want to write for my future.
“I need a marker.”
Dundee gives me a confused look as I pull my hat off my head, flipping my dad’s old baseball card with For me, not him written on it. Coach steps away and returns in a few seconds, Sharpie in hand. I pop the cap off, make the adjustment, then hand the marker back to my very concerned-looking coach.
“I’m good. And if I’m not, I will be.” I flash the card to him, then tuck it back in my hat and replace it on my head. Taking a seat until it’s time for me to go out there again. Once on the field, I remove my hat, read the words then proceed with my game, not paying any mind to the man doing his best to distract me. Why? Because Avery nailed it. Cash knows I’m better than him, straight-up. The only way to convince himself he’s better, is to fuck up my game. And that is powerful motivation. I didn’t fight against him when I was a kid. But that’s what I’ll do now. I’ll fight against the memories here, make my own in this stadium. My stadium.
Everything goes great, but Dundee pulls me after the fifth inning even though I don’t get any runs scored off me. I don’t complain or ask about my pitch count, though. He has my long game in mind, so I’ll follow his lead because I trust him.
The Coyotes clinch the win, and the postgame interviewer eagerly looks my way. I know he’s questioning if I’m going to bail. I’m not. Walking over to him, I spot Avery giving me a concerned look, though she’s able to maintain a slight smile. I love that she’s worried about me, but there’s no need to be. Her waiting for me when all this is over is all I need to get through it. Because she sees the real me. There’s no need for me to pretend anymore.
But I still brace myself. I know what’s coming. And the reporter doesn’t beat around the bush. “Great game back after that rough ejection two weeks ago. It must feel tremendous to be back, but how are you staying focused with all the attention surrounding the allegations of your father’s abuse?”
Taking a deep breath, I look into the camera. “There has been a lot of attention focused on things that happened to me at the hand of my father off the field. And the allegations are true. But I’m on this field to do what I love. It’s never been about him or his legacy. It’s about waking up and doing what I love every day of my life … and doing it with the person I love by my side.”
I glance over, seeing Avery’s face, she’s heard my words. Not exactly the way I’d planned to tell her I’d fallen in love with her, but I need it out in the open. She had to have known, but if not, she does now.
The reporter moves back to game-related questions and doesn’t veer off topic to the beast I see standing on the edge of the field, speaking to the team manager. My father has the look I know well. He’s pissed but trying to maintain his cool as he speaks to the coach.
Dundee walks over to me, slapping me on the shoulder as he walks by. “Don’t be late for warm-ups tomorrow.”
“You got it, Coach.”
He halts, turning to look at me. “I’m proud of you, kid.”
I smile and nod at him. I may just be a pitcher who’s a pain in his ass, but he’s given me exactly what my dad never did: A love and respect for the sport and myself. I can always depend on real talk and tough love from someone who wants me to succeed. I hadn’t realized until he called me it, but I have come to feel like his kid, and damn, that’s a good feeling.