10 Ryan
I spot her before anyone else, perched on the bleachers and practically bouncing in her seat, the mass of curls piled on top of her head bobbing with every movement. She’s one of the only people here actually cheering for our team at this away game.
She’s dressed in my school colors, her hair pulled back as she laughs at something Jamie says, leaning close to hear him.
Jamie, of course, is dressed like he always is. All black. Boots planted wide, elbows resting on his knees like he owns the entire bench they are sitting on.
I’m surprised to see Christian on her other side, but happy. It always makes Frankie happy when all of us can be together. Between Christian’s job, my classes and baseball and Jamie’s all-hours ‘work’, it happens way less than she’d like.
I’m the leadoff hitter and I jog out onto the field, stretching my shoulders and rolling my neck as I glance back toward the stands. Frankie sees me almost immediately and waves- big, enthusiastic and with both hands.
I grin before I can stop myself and lift a hand in return, smaller, but just for her.
Jamie doesn’t wave. He just gives me a single nod.
He’s watched me play more baseball than anyone. My parents tried, but between work and my younger siblings, they only made it to a handful of games each season. Jamie makes it to nearly all of them.
Which, on paper, makes no sense. Jamie Marshall, the dropout, showing up to every school baseball game.
He never cheered loud or made a big thing of it. He was just always there for me. And once Frankie came into our lives, he started bringing her too.
“Your girl brought a date? Or is that two of them?” the catcher mutters behind me as I step into the box.
The first pitch comes in high. I step back, tap the dirt from my cleats, reset my grip while the catcher keeps going.
“So your girl shows up with some other guys. That must suck.”
It doesn’t suck.
If anything, it makes it easier. I don’t have to wonder if she’s okay. I don’t have to split my focus between the field and whatever’s happening back home. She’s here, and they are with her.
That means she’s safe.
The pitcher winds up. I track the ball, swing, and connect clean. The crack echoes sharp as it flies into the gap- easy double.
That shuts the catcher up.
~
“You hit a home run!” Frankie says, launching herself at me the second I step out of the stadium. I barely have time to drop my bag before her arms are around my neck, her feet lifting off the ground with the force of it.
I laugh, catching her automatically.
“I did,” I say, squeezing her once before setting her back on her feet. “Just for you, baby.”
She beams like I haven’t told her that dumb line a hundred times before.
“Good game, man,” Jamie says from behind her. “That pitcher's curve ball was wicked. Good job picking that up.”
I nod, meaning it when I say, “Thanks.”
I’ve wondered before- more than once- whether sports were ever something Jamie wanted.
Whether he would’ve been good at it. He’s got the build for it, the reflexes, the kind of intensity coaches love.
And he is incredible at studying people and finding their weaknesses and patterns.
But in Jamie’s world, stuff like sports weren’t really an option.
“I’ll see you guys at home?” I ask, glancing between them as the rest of my team starts heading to the bus.
Christian nods, pulling out his phone. “I’m going to order pizza.”
“Ooooh,” Frankie says immediately, eyes lighting up. “no onions, please.”
“I know, love,” he replies, sliding his phone into his pocket.
Her eyes light up at his use of the nickname.
We all have some little term of endearment for her- they just sort of happened over time- and it’s always fun to watch her react to them.
Every time it’s like she’s hearing it for the first time.
~
Everyone’s already eating, watching TV with Gram when I walk in the front door.
“Ryan,” Gram says brightly, spotting me immediately. “Frankie tells me you hit a home run.”
I lean down to kiss her cheek. “Yup. Tenth this season.”
I let myself have that one.
“That’s really incredible, dear,” she says, squeezing my hand. I head toward the kitchen to grab a plate.
We eat in easy silence, all in our designated spots and things feel good, relaxed. The only tension is the constant bickering between Jamie and Gram about what to watch.
Then the front door flies open, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot.
Frankie’s body goes rigid beside me.
And Gary walks in.