Chapter 26
Jase
It was the top of the ninth, and we needed one more out to win the game.
The next pitch was put into play, and the ball took a nasty hop right in front of me.
I lunged, knocked it down, and for a half second I didn’t have it, just the ball rattling near my glove while my heart tried to crawl out of my throat.
I clamped down, got it into my right hand, and fired across the diamond to first. It hit Palmer’s glove with a hard pop.
His foot stayed glued to the bag, and the ump’s fist went up. The home crowd went wild.
My feet moved before my brain caught up, and I broke toward the mound with the rest of the infield.
We crashed into a circle, hands smacking and gloves thumping against shoulders as guys yelled right in my ear.
I couldn’t stop grinning, because holy shit, I’d just won my first big-league game on Opening Day at Fenway Park.
Fenway.
One of the stadiums I’d always admired was now the place where I’d played and won. I’d wanted this for so long that it didn’t feel real.
Glancing over to the visitor’s dugout, I saw the team heading into the tunnel. Dylan glanced up, and our eyes met for a beat.
He gave me a slight nod, but the look on his face said it all; he was crushed. A part of me hated that he was on the other side and had lost his first big-league game, but it was either him or me, and the Red Sox had pulled it out in the end.
He disappeared into the passageway, and I turned back to my team’s chaos.
When I stepped inside the clubhouse, it was loud in that postgame way, with everybody talking over everybody and nobody caring. Music came from near the back; guys were laughing, and the air smelled of sweat and dirt.
Cruz came up to me. “So, how’s it feel, rook? First big-league win, and you made the last out.”
“Barely.” I stopped at my cubby and dropped my glove on the shelf.
He smirked. “Cool. We’re going out later, and the first round’s on you.”
I stared at him. “I’ve got family upstairs, and the media are still on my schedule. I’m not going out.”
Palmer laughed. “You can’t opt out.”
Cline called from down the row, “Rook’s got excuses.”
Cruz pointed at me. “Doesn’t matter. Rookie buys. That’s the rule.”
“Fine,” I replied, still grinning. “But if anyone orders something that comes with a tiny umbrella, I’m not paying for it.”
Cruz’s smile turned smug. “He thinks he’s funny.”
Cline chuckled. “He’ll learn.”
I grabbed my phone from my locker, and the notifications were insane.
Mom: I’m so proud of you!
Cammie: I’M STILL SCREAMING!!!
Dad: That’s a hell of a way to start. Proud of you. We’re waiting in the suite for you and D when you’re done with all the post-game stuff
Marcos: Don’t talk to anyone alone. Call me after media
Cruz leaned in. “Fan club going crazy?”
“My family,” I answered, my thumb hovering over the screen.
“Was that who was in your suite?”
I glanced at him. “My suite?”
He pointed up toward the ceiling. “People were screaming your name all game.”
“Yeah, must have been,” I replied, tugging at my jersey.
Another message popped up.
Tyler: Did you see this?
Along with his message came a link with the headline:
FIRST DAUGHTER, FAYE DONNELLEY SPOTTED AT FENWAY! ARE THINGS GETTING SERIOUS WITH RED SOX ROOKIE SHORTSTOP, JASE MATTHEWSON?
I started reading the comments …
“Red Sox rookie shortstop and the First Daughter?? This timeline is unhinged.”
“He better not drop the ball. America is watching, sir.”
“Wait. Isn’t he the one from that St. John photo???”
“She can’t even go to a baseball game without y’all making it a wedding.”
“Security nightmare. Fenway is chaotic on a normal day.”
My stomach dropped.
“What the fuck?” I groaned.
Seeing my name wasn’t the problem. Seeing his missing was.
“What’s up?” Cruz asked.
I turned the phone toward him so he could see the headline. I knew he’d see it eventually.
“That’s the president’s daughter,” he added.
“I’m aware.”
Cruz backed up half a step, then laughed, more shocked than amused. “Dude. You’ve been holding out.”
“I haven’t been holding out,” I argued. “I’ve been trying to keep my private life private.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “So the suite was …”
“Family,” I repeated, then met his eyes. “And friends.”
“And her,” he added, because he couldn’t stop himself.
“Cruz,” I warned.
He lifted his hands. “Okay. I’m done.” His grin came back anyway. “Does the president know?”
“I’m not doing this with you.” I picked up my towel. “I’m showering before this gets worse.”
He called after me, “You’re gonna be everywhere today!”
“Awesome,” I tossed over my shoulder. “Maybe I’ll get a sponsorship deal for surviving headlines.”
Cruz’s voice followed me down the hall. “Get me a promo code, celebrity!”
The shower was quick, mostly because I couldn’t stand still. When I came back out in sweats and a Red Sox hoodie, the clubhouse spread was already set up.
Cruz was still hovering near my row. “You gonna eat or just stare at your phone all night?”
“I’m gonna eat,” I replied, grabbing a paper plate.
I went straight for the steak tips and chicken. I added a scoop of pasta, a little rice, and some roasted veggies. I took a banana and a bottle of water.
Palmer called over from his stall, “Don’t go light, rook. You’ll regret it later when we’re at Flanagan’s.”
“I’m not going light,” I answered, taking my first bite of steak.
Cline added, “He’s gonna forget food exists the second his phone buzzes about his girlfriend.”
Great. Did everyone know?
“Shut up,” I shot back and took a few more bites, ignoring their jabs.
A guy stepped into the aisle, a phone in his hand, his eyes sweeping the row until he found me. “Matthewson. Media time.”
“Of course,” I replied, shoving my phone into my pocket and following him out.
Right outside the door, a woman in team gear waited with a clipboard tucked against her chest. “I’m Lila, media relations,” she introduced, already walking with me. “Stick to baseball only and give short answers. If anyone tries to drag you into anything else, I’ll end it.”
“Got it,” I responded.
We pushed through a door into a small media room with bright lights and too many faces. The guy with the phone pointed me toward the table.
I slid into the chair behind the mic and set my hands on the tabletop. Lila took her spot off to the side, and a reporter in the front row leaned forward first.
“Congrats on your debut,” he said. “What was going through your head at short today?”
I let out a breath through my nose and kept it simple. “Stay focused. Make the plays in front of me. Don’t try to do too much because it’s Opening Day.”
A couple of people scribbled some notes.
Another voice jumped in. “Was it hard to settle in with the crowd and everything?”
“It was loud.” A grin crept in because I couldn’t help it. “I’ve been around baseball my whole life. I watched my father play shortstop here on TV, and today I stood in the same spot, doing the same job. It’s been a lot to wrap my head around.”
“That must be surreal, and you got your first big-league win,” the first reporter added. “Has it hit yet?”
“It’s starting to,” I answered. “I’m probably going to wake up tomorrow and think it was a dream.”
A few chuckles.
A reporter in the back of the room impatiently raised his hand. “Matthewson,” he began, and my stomach tightened as the tone shifted. “Faye Donnelley was here today. Are you dating the president’s daughter?”
The room grew quieter, even though no one stopped moving. Pens still scratched. Cameras still rolled.
I kept my face neutral. “I’m here to talk about the game.”
“That’s not an answer,” he pressed. “She was in a suite with your family. There are photos. Are you together?”
Lila didn’t move, but her eyes locked onto mine, a reminder to stay calm and not get cute.
“I’m not answering personal questions. We got the win. That’s what matters to me today.”
The reporter tried again, louder. “So you’re not denying it?”
I held his gaze. “Next question about baseball.”
Another reporter jumped in. “What was your favorite moment out there?” he asked.
I took the lifeline. “Honestly, my favorite moment was the first ball hit to me. It wasn’t even a tough play, just a routine grounder, but the second it hit my glove and I made the throw, the nerves were gone.
I wasn’t imagining the big leagues anymore.
I wasn’t waiting for it to feel real. I was just playing baseball, and I was right where I belonged. ”
The guy who had wanted to talk about Faye circled back. “Is the White House supportive of your relationship?”
Lila stepped forward before I could tell the guy to fuck off. “We’re done,” she announced. “Thanks, everyone.”
A couple of reporters protested, talking over each other, some asking about me playing against my stepbrother, but Lila didn’t give them anything.
I stood up, pushed my chair in, and walked out without looking back. In the hallway, I exhaled hard.
Lila matched my pace. “Good job.”
“Was it?” I asked because my pulse was still jumping.
“It was,” she replied. “You didn’t lie, you didn’t feed it, and you didn’t give them a quote they could loop all night.”
“Cool,” I answered, rubbing my palms on my sweats. “Love that for me.”
I headed back toward the clubhouse, jaw tight, trying to shake off the sound of questions about Faye and the way the room had leaned in. I’d barely made it down the aisle when a trainer stepped out and raised a hand.
“Matthewson. Two minutes.”
I gave him a quick nod. “Yeah.”
“Thanks,” he replied, already steering me toward the training room. “Just a quick check, then you can run off to wherever you’re sprinting to.”
“I’m heading to meet up with my family before my sister starts a riot,” I answered.
He laughed and handed me a bottle of electrolytes. “Then drink the whole bottle.”
By the time I got released, my phone was already buzzing again:
Marcos: Call me now
I leaned against the wall of the hallway and called him back.