25. TIM
Chapter twenty-five
TIM
We’re one point down going into the ninth, the OG’s Seth Easton is standing on first base, Billy Ryder is on second. Ryan Tanner steps up to the bump and Leo Matzero sways his hips and gyrates his way into the box. He’s cocky as fuck, but Ryan is on fire tonight. We just need to keep an eye on the bases, so they don’t try to steal.
“Come onnnnn!” Duckie screams from left field. I glance over to where Lion is sitting with an older woman who must have bought his extra ticket. It’s nice not seeing him with random guys every game now that his sister has backed off setting him up. The woman’s wearing a Funky Monkey jersey, too, so at least they are going for the same side and have been cheering together all night.
The guy beside her is wearing a Banana-Ramas shirt and hat. I can tell from here. What I can’t tell, though, is why he keeps leaning forward and saying something to Lion. I can’t make out his words either. Screw past Tim for not learning to lipread. Whatever he’s saying can’t be good, though, because every time he says something, Lion’s smile falters and the woman taps him on the leg in a reassuring kind of way. I really just wish people would leave him alone. Lion catches me watching him, and he claps his hands, smiling and calling out, “Wooo, go Tim!”
I send him a wave and the Banana-Rama guy shakes his head and folds his arms over his chest. Fuck, if I knew that was all it took, I would have done it back in the first inning. I’ll have to tell Enzo about this guy. Maybe he’s one of the ones they kicked out before. Maybe they can kick him out again.
Ryan sends his fast ball right into Dave’s glove for the second strike on Leo Matzero, one more and he’s out. Tonight’s game we’ve seen more strikeouts from both sides than either team would like. That’s what happens when everyone gets home run fever, they swing for everything and they swing hard. Not always accurately, though. We also had four foul ball outs tonight caught by fans and that makes it a new record. While we love seeing the fans getting super involved, it means we’ve also come into the ninth down two to one.
Ryan sends the ball again. It’s fast, but at ninety-seven, it’s not his fastest, and Leo Matzero gets his bat to it with a crack. The ball flies high, and I’m under it in a second, ready for an easy catch. Fly balls usually are. But then I don’t hear any of the umpires call the infield fly. Seth heads for second base. My eyes lock on John, our second baseman, and his eyes go wide. He has to know what I’m thinking. I shoot it right into his glove, and he taps Seth out, then sends the ball at lightning speed right over to Antoine Masser waiting at third base. He taps Billy just in time. It’s a double out. We’ve won the game. Double out in the ninth inning is an automatic win, and I have never loved that rule more than I do right now. The umpire calls out, the crowd cheers, and the whole team rush together.
Our celebration dances are always that much sweeter when we’ve beaten one of the OG teams, and we’ve had this one rehearsed for a while, hoping for just this occasion to use it. The speakers crackle as the volume grows louder, and Duckie runs over, tossing Ryan a mic and attaching a long blue cape around his neck just in time to sing the first line.
The song’s from the Eurovision movie, and when it reaches the Will Ferrell part, Calvin jogs out wearing a shiny silver puffy jacket. We take our places behind them, swishing our arms forward, to the left, to the right, then the chorus kicks in and we all sing and dance together in time.
“Double trouble,” I sing at the top of my lungs, and the crowd are on their feet dancing along to the music, too. Well, the ones happy we won are, anyway.
***
“That dance number was so good,” Lion says when I meet him outside the players’ entry after I’m showered and changed.
“We’ve had that one planned for over a year. We just never got a double in the ninth to be able to use it. I still feel like I’m a baby giraffe out there.”
He tilts his head a little to the left, brow creased in the adorable way it does when he’s trying to figure out what someone just said.
I try to explain. “You know, how, when giraffes are born, they get up on their feet right away, but they are clumsy and wobble about like they’re drunk.”
“Oh, no, you’re so much better now. I mean, you were always great, just now you… keep in time.”
I laugh and wrap my arm around his waist.
“Here, I can carry that,” he says, taking my bag and swinging it over the shoulder of his other arm, and we head over to the pub to meet the team. “Are you sure you want me to come?”
“Of course I do. Why do you not want to?”
“I do. It’s just, there might be some Banana-Ramas there like that guy today. They aren’t all my biggest fans just yet, and I wouldn’t want anyone saying anything when we’re there. Tonight, you’re all celebrating a huge win against the OG’s.”
“What did that guy say to you, anyway?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing worth repeating, and nothing I want you to have to defend me against either when you should be having fun.”
“I will never make you do anything, so if you don’t want to come, that’s cool. I can walk you home and catch up with the guys later, but if you do want to come and you’re worried about what someone might say to me, don’t. I don’t care what anyone says. I know you.”
The more time I spend with Lion, the more time I want to be around him. At first, I worried that I was just getting addicted to being adored, then I realized, after a few therapy sessions with Dr Hamlyn, it was more than that. Like now, it isn’t Lion’s adoration for me that’s pulling me closer, it’s my own sense of protection for him. I don’t want him to have to put up with douchebags, and I don’t want him to worry or be sad. I want to protect him from those things. But how can I when being with me is the reason he has to go through all of that?
“Okay, I’ll come. But if the Banana-Ramas start trouble, I’ll leave so you can have your night.”
“None of them would dare start anything with all the guys there. Maybe this will finally shut them up.”
“Maybe.”
We get to the pub, and half the team are already there, celebrating, and they cheer when we enter. I can feel the eyes of the other people in here on us, and my gut twists into knots as I scan the crowd for Banana-Rama shirts, and more specifically, the guy that was giving Lion a hard time at the game. He better not be here, because if he is, I’ll be damn sure to let him know what a dickhead he is.
Lion is quietly sitting beside me at one of the huge, long tables the pub set up for us out in the back courtyard area. He’s nodding along to what the guys are saying, sipping his soda water, but not really getting involved. It’s the first time he’s been around the whole team plus their partners. Maybe it’s just too much, or he’s still worried about what they think about us. I reassured him that the team is cool, they get why he did what he did with the profiles.
“When are you going to start posting again?” Ian asks Lion from a few seats down.
“Yeah, I haven’t seen anything pop up on your feed in a week,” Calvin adds.
Lion shrugs. “I’ve been letting all the other fans post while everything settles down with the Banana-Ramas,” he replies, and I feel terrible that I hadn’t even noticed he hadn’t posted on his feed. He’s been sending me messages with links to posts, but they’re right, none were actually posted by him.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, and Calvin lifts his glass.
“I’ll second that. Your posts were great, you always got really good videos of the dances, too, and were almost always the first person to get something up online. I’d get off the field and you’d already have a bunch of comments and likes and shares on them.”
“I swear they were not all me,” Lion says, and Calvin laughs.
“Dude, we know that. Tim explained it all, man. I wish I had thought of it, though, cause Tim’s followers have been skyrocketing and I get like a handful a week. Can you tag me in anything you do post with me in it? Maybe it will help get people onto Team Calvin.”
“I mean… sure, I can. I think I got a video of the grounder you threw out Oden Grasinski in the third before he hit first base. I can post that if you want?”
“Oh wow, really? Did it look awesome? Thanks, man, my handle is at Calvin-The-First-Born-Parks.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Really?”
“What? People should know who’s older,” he reasons.
“You just want Tony to remember who’s older,” Duckie says, passing Ian a beer, and then handing one down to me. “You have another thing over him now with tonight’s double-trouble win. Fuck, it was so good finally being able to do that dance, too.”
“Wow, you’re all here,” a woman says, coming up to the table behind me. “Can I get an autograph?”
“No problem,” we say, and she passes us her hat. It’s mostly white with a green brim and the Funky Monkey logo on the front, just like the ones we wear. We pass it round the table, getting everyone to sign, and when we hand it back, she’s joined by a guy I recognize right away.
“Can we help you?” I ask, trying to keep my distaste for the dickhead who was giving Lion a hard time all game from coming through in my tone. As much as I was all ready to have it out with this guy if I saw him, Enzo would pitch a fit if I started something in front of a pub full of people.
“I… umm, saw you were signing autographs, so I thought, maybe I could get one, too, if that’s okay?”
Wow, a Banana-Rama actually asking for an autograph instead of just shoving photos and swag in our faces yelling sign here!
“Sure, what would you like us to sign?” I say and place my hand on Lion’s shoulder. “Hey, hun, can you pass me the marker? We’ve got another request.”
Lion turns in his seat, smiling up at me and passes me the black pen we used for the hat. The guy’s eyes go to Lion, then to me, and I swear his face goes three shades brighter red than it was when he walked up.
“Thanks, babe, won’t be long. Hey, fellas, we got another one,” I call as the Banana-Rama guy hands me a poster he’s picked up at the game concession stand. It’s a photo of the whole team dancing on the field taken earlier in the year after one of our wins against Animal Control. I sign close to me on the poster and pass it down. “So, did you like the game?” I ask him.
“It was… great. Umm, the double out was cool. I’ve never seen a win that way.”
“You were in the section where the Big Banana season passes were, right?” I ask, and sweat starts to dot his forehead as he tries to avoid looking at Lion.
“Yeah, umm, I bought them for my ex, but I kept them when we split.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I say, checking on the poster that’s making the rounds. “That explains the empty seat beside you all night, then.”
“Yeah, umm, home games I can usually find a friend to come with, but the away games are harder. You know, people have work and stuff.”
“I get it. Hey, Lion, your sister finds people for your spare ticket every week, maybe she can hook… sorry, what’s your name?”
“Stuart,” he says with a nervous grin.
“Do you think Mouse can hook Stuart up with people to fill the extra seat?” I don’t know where this comes from. But true to form, Lion doesn’t even hesitate.
“Sure, I mean, she’s already doing it for me. You want me to give her your number? I will warn you, though, if she knows you’re single, she’ll choose people she thinks you will match with, like on a date.”
“Oh. Umm, that’s okay. I… why?”
“She’s a romantic, and she’s also making this app thing, so she’ll—“
“No, why are you offering to help me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I wasn’t exactly… nice to you today.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
The poster gets handed back to me, and I step closer, passing it over to Stuart.
“Because Lion is an amazing guy, who doesn’t judge people. Here’s your poster. I think we got everyone.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and Lion stands to shake his hand. The whole team is watching us now.
“No problem. Pop your number in and I’ll send it off to Mouse. She’ll get in touch about the ticket for your next game, and hey, I guess I’ll see you there.”
“Yeah, umm, sounds good. Thanks again,” he says, and he puts his number in Lion’s phone and leaves.
“I totally thought you were going to go off on that guy,” Duckie says when we sit. “I saw him saying shit to Lion all day.”
“I wanted to,” I reply, and Lion’s hand rests on my thigh under the table.
“I’m glad you didn’t. He seems alright,” Lion says.
“You say that like you want to be friends with the guy now or something,” Duckie says, and I laugh a little, because I know Lion. He’ll have this guy blown over by his awesomeness in no time.
Lion shrugs. “Who knows, a guy can always use more friends. Oh, hey, did you guys see the smoker Tim got?” he asks, opening his photos on his phone, but then he locks the screen when he sees the only photo he has of the smoker also has him sitting on it like he’s riding a bull.
“We can show them in person next week in Savannah,” I say, nudging his side. “Game night at my place next week, who’s in?”