Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
Brooke
The dew brushes my ankles as I drag a cooler through the overgrown grass around the parking lot. This would be a great time for Jeffrey to run the lawn mower unannounced. Except he’d only want to cut the field and inconvenience everyone practicing.
Timothy bounces ahead of me, anxious to get the day started. How long of a day will be determined after this first game.
If we lose, it’s over. If we win, we play the Red Armadillos one more time for the championship.
Of all the games we’ve played this season, including tournaments, today is the most pivotal. It’s not the cheesy rings or even ending the year on a win that’s my motivation. It’s beating Jeffrey’s team.
He needs knocked down a few notches.
Morgan steps toward us with a value-size bag of off-brand cheese balls. She holds it up for me, but I wave it away. “I haven’t even finished my coffee.” I take a sip from the cup in my hand.
She shrugs and lifts a fistful of puffs to her mouth. Andrew and Timothy file off toward the batting cages.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do. Where is everybody?” She scans the parking lot behind us. “I told them to be here at nine.” She eats more puffs, then turns to me as she chews. “I want to practice so we can beat those snobs.”
I let out a huge sigh.
As if right on cue, Jeffrey and his entourage of overgrown idiots march our way. Morgan wipes cheese dust down her leg and rolls up the bag. By the time they reach us, her arms are crossed so tightly, she’s crushing the puffs.
Jeffrey rips his Pit Vipers off and narrows his eyes. Between his smoldering stare and the dramatic reveal, it’s like watching a Michael Jackson music video.
“Are y’all ready to get this over with?” His voice is soiled with sarcasm and a dash of confidence.
“Excuse me?” Morgan snaps back.
Easton and Aniston come up with their wagon.
“What’s going on?” Easton grins.
Either he’s oblivious to the tension or he’s playing dumb for amusement’s sake. Knowing Dr. West, it could be either. Whatever the case, it causes Jeffrey to stand down and continue toward the concession stand, minions following.
“Let’s get to work!” Morgan throws her hands up, dropping the cheese puffs.
Easton and Aniston nod. We hurry to the batting cages and find Andrew pitching to Timothy. Easton takes over pitching, and the rest of the team trickles in a few minutes later.
I chug my coffee, and the last drop hits my stomach like a bolt of lightning. Maybe I should’ve taken Morgan up on those cheese balls. Empty stomach or not, I know it’s my nerves.
I watch the rest of the kids hit, then take our cooler to the dugout. Jeffrey has his arsenal on the home side, which leaves us with the less desirable visitors’ dugout.
Bradley comes out of nowhere, hands on hips, cowboy hat tilted down, like he’s a Western gunslinger, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.
“Has anyone flipped a coin?” He looks at me, then across the field at Jeffrey.
“Not to my knowledge.” I answer.
Jeffrey stays silent.
“All right, since Jeffrey made his team home, looks like your team can be home next game.” Bradley tips his hat to me.
Jeffrey cackles and returns to his dugout. He doesn’t even have to say “like there’s going to be a next game.” His laugh says it for him.
I try and ignore him and hope for a miracle. Our kids hit well in the cage. They’re now warming up in the outfield with Morgan, Easton, and Carlton.
Bradley puts on his protective gear to umpire, then reattaches his sheriff’s radio. The crowd starts filling the bleachers, making it become real. This could very well be our last game of the season.
I pull out my phone and hover over Nate’s contact. I’d texted him congratulations late last night after their win. He texted me back “Love you.”
I wanted to call and talk to him about it, but decided to wait. He didn’t pitch but two innings, and the game ended pretty late. I’m sure he’s tired, and I don’t want to bring up anything that might upset him about not finishing the game.
Baseball is stressful! Especially when you have two different guys playing on two very different levels at the same time.
Bradley calls Morgan and Jeffrey to the pitcher’s circle and lays out the rules of the game. I snatch her cheese puffs and eat a handful. They taste like cardboard dipped in parmesan. I frown and grab a Gatorade to wash them down.
We have first at-bat since Jeffrey weaseled his way to being home team. I stand by first base, a ball of nerves with every play. The game goes by in a blur.
Jeffrey’s voice scrapes my ear like fingernails on a chalkboard. He has to say something with every pitch.
“Elbows up . . . You’ve got two on you . . . Good eye . . . Fifth pitch . . . Load up.”
I crane my neck and blink at the sun. This is getting annoying. But the good news is some of his heavy hitters aren’t performing as well as usual.
We’re tied up with one inning to go. Morgan stretches her arm. I don’t see her lasting another game. She gives me a tired grin from the pitcher’s circle.
Our starting batter is up and gets a double. Everyone cheers, and I hold my waist so I don’t throw up. Timothy is up next. He pops up, and they catch his ball.
“It’s okay, son, good hit.” I say it just loud enough for him to hear me.
He gives me a sad nod and hustles to the dugout. We only score two runs before Jeffrey’s team is up to bat. We’ve got to hold them.
Jeffrey is now wearing his fake sleeve as if he needs it for the closer. I bite my thumbnail from inside the dugout. Maybe he’s feeling the pressure as much as me, because he looks a little distracted.
In between pitches, I follow his gaze toward our bleachers. Tami sits at the top in a miniskirt, eating a pickle-sickle in a very suggestive manner. Jeffrey’s next pitch bounces in the dirt.
The kid holds the bat, and Bradley calls him out.
“That was the fifth pitch! Why didn’t you swing?” Jeffrey yells.
Bradley comes toward him with a stern stare. Jeffrey wiggles his jaw as if trying to contain more outbursts, but stops when Bradley faces him.
They have a few words on the field, then Bradley goes back behind the plate. Jeffrey’s son, Conner, steps to the plate. I count at least three necklaces between gold chains and bedazzled gems on the kid. He’s also outfitted with a fake sleeve and Pit Vipers, which I find strange for batting.
The Red Armadillos have two outs, one run, and one guy on first. Conner fouls two balls right away. Jeffrey goes into critiquing mode, showing him how to swing from the mound.
I watch Bradley, who has taken an annoyed stance. His radio buzzes. Something about a suspicious person at the Pig. He calls time and lifts his mask.
“Sheriff Bradley Manning, repeat the Pig report, please.”
“Suspicious individual parked an RV behind the Piggly Wiggly in Moonshine County.”
He rolls his eyes. “Ten-four, out of my jurisdiction.” Bradley lowers his mask and yells, “Play ball!”
I’d like to think that mistaken call was God smiling on us, because it took up enough time to rattle Conner. He swings at a terrible ball the next time.
“You got two on you. Buckle down, load up, big grip, and let ’er rip.” Jeffrey might as well read aloud a book of annoying dad advice for baseball.
Morgan snorts beside me.
Conner nails the last ball. I squat down and close my eyes to shield myself from the opposing team’s cheers. Instead, I only hear Jeffrey’s voice. “Run, crazy boy, run!”
I blink one eye open to Conner staring at the bat in his hand. Or half a bat. The top end is at Bradley’s feet. He literally “let ’er rip” and broke a bat.
He’s in such shock that our team has enough time to field the ball to Andrew, who tags Conner before he even takes a step. Andrew then stands on home to intimidate the other kid running, even though Conner was a clear third out.
Bradley raises his hands and calls, “Ball game.”
Everyone on our side cheers, and the dugout goes crazy. I’m pretty sure someone spilled Gatorade in my hair, but I don’t care. Our kids run off the field, and Timothy dives in my arms.
Bradley grins at Morgan and me. “Don’t get too excited, we start the championship game in ten minutes. You can stay where you are, but Gray Armadillos are home team next.”
Morgan smiles back tiredly and lifts her left arm. Unfortunately, her right arm is already immersed in a cooler. Not good at all.
* * *
Nate
I turn into the park on two wheels. I started driving nonstop as soon as I could leave Atlanta.
We negotiated my official retirement. On top of all the rushing around, between last night’s win and thinking about the next chapter of my life, I couldn’t sleep. I’ll crash eventually, but right now I’m running on the adrenaline of getting to Brooke and Timothy.
My truck jerks when I slam it in park. I cut the engine and jog to the entrance. I have my five dollars ready to enter as quickly as possible and can barely stand still long enough for the teenage girl to attach my armband.
The 8U field is visible from where I stand, and I find Brooke at first base. Oddly enough, Carlton is pitching. That can’t be good.
I hurry down the hill and find Morgan sitting in the dugout with her elbow on ice.
“What happened?”
She perks up. “Hey, stranger. Just joint crap that acts up. I hope to get back in there soon.”
I nod. Precious comes up to bat. Carlton throws her two balls that are semi-decent. She doesn’t swing. He tells her to swing at the rest.
She hits a dribbler that’s a foul. Tami yells from behind us for her to “kill it.” I shake my head at her voice ringing in my ear.
Annoying as that is, it must work, because she slams the ball . . . right into Carlton. I seethe in sympathy as he grabs his crotch and buckles at the waist. Bradley calls time and helps him off the field.
Good thing he owns a pharmacy. He will need more than ice for that. Bradley settles him on the bleachers, and Georgia rushes to his side with a bottle of water.
Bradley sticks his head in the dugout. “Morgan, you’ve got a few minutes to figure out a new pitcher. Any parent will do, but we can’t delay the game too much longer. People are getting antsy, and I don’t want to have to arrest anyone today.”
She nods and sighs. Bradley returns to the field, and Morgan stands. Her elbow is swelling, and she grits her teeth.
“Morgan, you can’t pitch.” I put a hand on her shoulder to halt her.
She laughs. “So we’re left with Easton? I can’t let Aniston or Brooke do it.”
Enough of this. Brooke may kill me later, but I have a chance to save the game and get out everything I’ve been wanting to say all at once. Rip the Band-Aid.
I march to the pitcher’s mound and stare at Bradley. “I’ll pitch!”
Several people start to cheer. He waves a hand to shush them. Bubba stops midway from walking on the field.
“You can’t pitch. We need a parent,” Bradley answers.
Bubba nods at him and holds up the rule book. He returns to the dugout, satisfied.
“Then I qualify, because I’m Timothy’s dad.”
It’s so quiet, I can hear a ball hit from the cages across the park. People stare and whisper. Brooke’s face goes pale. She comes from first base in slow motion, gawking at me like I have three heads.
“Brooke, I’m sorry. I know we said we’d announce this together at the proper time, but I can’t let this team down. I can’t let you down anymore, or Timothy.”
I turn to Timothy, who’s up to bat, blinking with confusion.
“Son, I’m sorry. I didn’t know until recently.”
I turn back to Brooke. She’s now at my side. “When did you get here?” she asks.
I half grin. That isn’t the first thing I expected her to say.
“Just now. I wanted to come earlier, but I had to turn in my retirement letter first.”
“What?” Bradley yells. “Dude, you were on fire last night!”
“None of your business.” I narrow my eyes at him.
He lifts his palms and takes a step back.
I retrieve a ball from the pocket of my hoodie.
“This is the ball I wrote on last night before I took myself out of the game.” I get down on one knee. Brooke covers her mouth and tears up. “I don’t have a ring yet, but I thought this could be a placeholder.”
“Wait!” Timothy yells from the plate.
My heart stops. Should I have okay’d this with him first? My chest pulses as I watch him hurry to the dugout. He returns with the ugly pink ring they won in a tournament. He hands it to me. “Use this.”
I take it from him and study his face. With me on one knee, we’re eye to eye. He looks happy. At least I hope.
“Are you okay with this? With me marrying your mom and being your dad?”
He lunges toward me and gives me the tightest hug ever. I hug him back, and everyone cheers.
“I wanted it to be you,” he whispers.
“Me too.” I kiss his cheek, then stand.
“Since I now have a ring, you can have this.” I toss him the ball.
“I’m through. For Love of the Game,” Timothy reads.
“That’s from his favorite movie,” Brooke says.
“It’s what I say is my favorite movie in interviews.” I wink at Timothy. “It’s really Sandlot .”
He laughs. “Mine too.”
I raise a brow at Brooke and hold up the ring. “What do you say?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
I put the thing on her finger, then stand and dip her for a kiss. She laughs and wraps her arms around me. Everyone claps as we kiss. I hear a blubbering noise nearby and look up to Bubba ugly crying. I quickly look away when he pulls up his shirt to wipe his face.
“Oh, come on! What is this, Never Been Kissed ? Let’s play ball,” Jeffrey snarks.
Morgan whistles and we all come to attention.
“Thank you.” Bradley salutes her. “Congratulations to the Millers. Now let’s play some ball!” He lowers his mask and squats behind the plate.
Timothy tosses Morgan the ball. She catches it and makes a slightly pained face. He waits until she puts it in his bag, then takes his place as next batter.
I pitch my first non-professional game since high school, and I love every minute of it.
We defeat Jeffrey’s team ten to one. His son scored their only run, which hopefully shielded him from Jeffrey’s wrath.
Bradley lines everyone up and presents fake gold rings and medals. Brooke stands beside me, proudly wearing the even uglier pink ring. First thing on my to-do list now that Little League is over: buy my fiancée a ring like she deserves.