Chapter 21 The National Championship
The National Championship
She suited up like it was a funeral. She, of course, had suited up for one not long ago, but had blacked most of it out.
On the afternoon of the national championship, however, Abby would never forget dressing for the end.
She deliberately tugged on her socks and stirrups, tucked in her maroon jersey after running a hand across her last name and number, and tightened the belt around her pinstripe pants.
Most of her teammates had a pregame ritual or superstition they followed, part of the Church of Softball, but not Abby.
For all her belief in the game, she didn’t subscribe to its superstitions.
But suiting up for the last time as an Eagle resonated like worship.
She let it wash over her as she sat on the wooden bench in the locker room, hands clasped, mitt beside her, aware that her future in the game didn’t have to end today, but no matter what she chose, a part of it would be lost forever.
“Come here, Cruzer,” Mick said behind her.
Abby turned around and smirked. She let Mick apply lines of eye black on her cheeks, once again falling into reverence, this time for the quiet friendship they had formed two years ago.
Even while caught in the middle of Kate and Abby’s fight, Mick didn’t abandon her.
She didn’t say anything about it, just reminded Abby to eat, smacked her on the back too hard like she always did, joked and called her names.
Their own love language. They spoke it there in the musty locker room, sunlight highlighting the floating dust as Mick applied the oily lines that Abby usually resisted.
“The knees going to make it today?” Abby asked.
“Seven innings and they’re going into well-deserved retirement.” Mick hit her with a knowing smirk. “I’m more worried about Hutch’s shoulder.”
Abby peered past her, through the small window of the trainer’s room where Kate sat on the table.
Mick patted her back as she departed, encouraging Abby to go to her.
Not that Abby needed any prodding. Her metal cleats tapped across the concrete, taking her to Kate’s side as the trainer taped her shoulder.
“How is it?” Abby asked.
Kate’s gaze brightened, despite the wince that hadn’t unhitched from her face since the semi-final collision.
The trainer diagnosed it as AC joint separation, a gruesome strain of the ligaments between her collarbone and shoulder.
Kate could barely raise her arm, let alone throw, and while there wasn’t enough ice or rest to help her before the finals, everyone knew she’d push through.
“I’ll be all right,” Kate said. “At least the throw from second is shorter.”
With the team’s onslaught of injuries, Coach Whitley returned from her suspension in time to make creative adjustments to the lineup.
Jenna Crosby had broken two fingers in the semi-finals and since Kate couldn’t make the throw from shortstop anyway, she moved her to second.
It set up Abby to shift from third base to the place she always seemed destined for—shortstop.
“I guess we’ll get to turn two one more time,” Abby said.
“Yeah.” Kate smiled.
She sat with her jersey unbuttoned and pulled down around her right arm. Abby studied the familiar curve of it, the freckles she’d kissed, the healing that came from its embrace. When the trainer finished taping her, Abby nodded at him. “Can you give us a minute?”
He nodded and left. Kate grimaced as she attempted to pull her jersey back on, but Abby stepped in, gingerly slipping it back into place. She buttoned it, eyes trained on the jersey’s stitches, on the rattle of Kate’s breathing. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Abby met her eyes. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“No. You were right about me. About us.”
Kate shook her head and grabbed Abby’s hand with her strong one. “I looked for you last night.” Her throat bobbed. “I wanted to tell you I don’t want this to be it. This can’t be it.”
“It’s not. We have a whole game to play. A trophy to win.”
“I mean after,” she said.
Abby stared at their interlaced fingers. They wove into her like a lifeline, pulling her toward that future they once fantasized of. Kate in law school, Abby back on the field. A dream scenario she could talk about but failed to see.
“I never wanted to fight with you. I never wanted to lose you,” Kate said. “You have to know that I didn’t mean what I said.”
“I never wanted those things either.” She squeezed her hand. “Let’s get through this game first, okay? Together.”
Kate squinted at her and Abby nearly glanced away, scared of what she might detect. That this game wasn’t a new beginning for them. This game was the end.
“Okay,” Kate finally said.
Abby helped her down from the table, and Kate hugged her. “I’m going to miss this,” she whispered into her neck.
Abby closed her eyes and sighed. “Me too.”
For the first time all tournament, the Eagles played in front of a full ballpark. Cameras rolled to broadcast the game for a predictably small audience on a subscription network. The sun beat down on the freshly raked dirt with a touch of humidity in the air, hinting of summer.
The team gathered as Coach Whitley read the lineup one last time, and when the huddle shifted to Kate for the last speech, Abby’s throat swelled.
She shivered as the captain surveyed each player, her blue eyes a scepter of power.
Abby notched it in her memory, and years later, would have more images of Kate in her head that day than of any score or play.
After a prolonged pause that infused hair-raising static, Kate nodded. She delivered her short sermon with chilling conviction. “Let’s fucking do this.”
The Eagles received Kate’s brief direction and unprecedented f-bomb in a frenzy. They cheered, jostled each other, and shrieked away nerves. Abby’s cheeks ached from smiling and her heart melted from pride and pining when Kate’s gaze latched onto hers.
Abby admired her all game. Her dives across the dirt, her pained throws for the out, her confidence at bat as she knocked in runs, faked a bunt, and hit a hole.
Her laughter, her cheering, her celebrations, a light graze to Abby’s back as they jogged off the field together, all conspired to keep her.
And when they turned two to end the game, Abby thought the world intended to force her hand.
Abby slid on her knee to stop the grounder on her weak side, threw it without looking, knowing Kate would arrive.
And she did. She stomped the bag for the first out, narrowly avoided the sliding runner, and hurled a laser to Jill.
Pain and hope creased her features at the movement of her battered muscles.
They froze as the ball traveled for the win.
Jill stretched on her good leg for the catch.
And just like that, it was over.
They’d won a national championship.
Mick chucked off her mask and lifted T.K.
off her feet. Jill threw the ball high in the air before limping to join them, her sock stained red with blood.
Abby and Kate clung to each other, holding on through tears.
In the waves of bouncing bodies, Kate seized her cheeks, didn’t seem to care about the possibility of being seen by her parents or anyone else, and kissed her.
The raucous team served as a shield against unwanted attention.
Their eyes met at release, Kate’s radiating the future, Abby’s the end.
“Come with me,” Kate said.
Abby’s lips parted to speak, when someone poured a water cooler above, soaking them from head to toe.
The dogpile overcame them. Abby chuckled at Kate lying beneath her, their noses hovering close, their teammates’ arms and legs a jungle around them.
She brushed wet hair off Kate’s forehead.
Nearly stole another kiss. She whispered “I love you” instead.
Kate whispered the same with her mouth against her ear.
They’d lift the trophy together. They’d spray the champagne she and Mick snuck into their hotel room.
They’d kiss and hold hands and fall asleep as one.
But before dawn, while everyone snored in drunk exhaustion, Abby gathered her things.
She watched Kate nestled in the covers with a stone in her chest. Uncertain of what it would mean for them five years later, she left her a letter and slipped out the door.