Commander

by Kristy Marie

  These seats are for the wealthy businessmen who like to impress clients. I don’t know how Theo scores them in every city but I bet it isn’t cheap. Most of the players’ friends and families sit up in the family box. Theo doesn’t even try to convince me to sit there. I like to watch the game. I don’t want to hear about some girl getting her face peel and how she thinks her husband doesn’t find her attractive anymore. I’m not one to keep my opinion to myself; so things get a bit awkward after I let her know she isn’t getting laid because her husband is plowing every ball-bunny he can get his dick in at away games.

  Yeah. It’s good to be down here with the fans.

  “This it, Commander?” Hayes nods his head toward two empty seats right at the net.

  A cheek to cheek smile is on my face. “That’s it.”

  Hayes lets out an adorable laugh. He’s like a kid again, taking all this in. His excitement is palpable, amplifying my own joy in watching a game live.

  Thor grunts from behind. Ugh. I almost forgot he was there.

  “Stay,” I order him like I would Killer.

  He levels me with a gaze that promises death. Jeez. What a buzzkill.

  Hayes and I climb over the seats so we don’t have to ask ten people to scrunch in for us to pass. My frayed shorts ride up as Hayes takes my hand, helping me step to the ground.

  “Thanks.” In a very unladylike gesture, I reach behind me and free my shorts from my hungry ass.

  Hayes cocks his eyebrow in amusement.

  “It’s either this or listen to me bitch the whole time,” I say, undeterred with my mission. No embarrassment for this girl. Everyone has been there and done that. Acting like you’ve never pulled out a wedgie in public before is just weird. And fake. I don’t do fake.

  “Ice cold beer!” The attendant yells up and down the aisles, propositioning us.

  Hell yeah! Alcohol to the motherfucking rescue.

  I raise two fingers and whistle. “Right here.”

  He jogs down a few steps and greets me with a smile. “What can I get for the lady?”

  “Two Buds.”

  I fish out a twenty, ignoring Hayes’s outstretched hand clutching a twenty. This isn’t a damn date.

  “Keep the change.”

  The attendant pops off the caps and passes them down to us by our seatmates then hops off to his next customer.

  I flop down in my seat next to a pouting Hayes. “Don’t be a baby,” I scold. “This isn’t a date. And besides, Theo covers all my expenses when I’m here.”

  He still doesn’t look happy, but when the announcer asks us to remove our hats and stand for the “National Anthem”, his smile returns.

  A little girl about ten years old walks on the field with shaky legs, but when her mouth opens, the angelic words flow out confidently. The beautiful words ring loudly through the stadium, causing tears to well in my eyes. I squeeze Hayes’s hand tightly while she belts out the last verse. “And the home of the brave,” because nothing rings truer to me at this moment.

  The crowd goes wild with applause and whistles and with a “play ball!” we all take our seats.

  Hayes’s cheeks are flushed when I turn to look at him. He quickly avoids my gaze and chugs his beer. I don’t give him shit because there is something powerful when a child wails the anthem of the country that you would live and die for. Even for guys like Hayes, whose country abandoned him when he fought so hard for its freedom. I squeeze his hand reassuringly before letting go.

  The opposing team disperses from the dugout to take the field. I haven’t seen Theo yet but I’m sure he’s in there pacing, chewing his gum like someone may steal it.

  Markell fires off a few practice pitches before we are underway. Our leadoff guys are up to the plate and as predicted, Markell sits all three of them down without a single hit. It’s definitely a battle of the pitchers tonight.

  Theo, the last to file out of the dugout, looks tense with his hat pulled nearly over his eyes. His body language reeks of tension. He takes the mound, pacing a couple circles, and digs a trench to place his leading foot in. Brody, his catcher for the night, eases into a crouch and encourages a few warm-up pitches. They suck. Like, really suck. He’s definitely feeling some jitters.

  When the home plate umpire approaches, I immediately recognize him.

  “Hey, Phil!” I holler, startling Hayes.

  Phil turns around, surprised a fan would be calling him by his first name. When he sees it’s me, recognition lights up his face. When Theo tore the tendon in his shoulder last season, he was adamant he could finish pitching. I argued. Bellamy argued. Theo stood his ground like a captain going down with his ship. But Phil, Phil threw Theo out of the game so he would have no other choice but to get his shoulder looked at.

  I admire that in an official. He could have given a shit less and let the little baby pitch until he fucked his whole career, but he didn’t. He did what was best for the player and sent him to his dugout. Theo acts like he doesn’t like Phil, but secretly he does. He respects the hell out of him.

  “You going to behave today, Dr. McCallister?” Phil removes his hat and gives me a little wink.

  “Never.” I laugh. “Where would the fun be in that?”

  I stand so I can see him a little better. “How about you go ahead and call a couple balls and put him behind in the count.” I nod toward Theo. “He works better under pressure.”

  At that comment Brody turns his head and laughs. “This game just got a whole lot more interesting.”

  I blow him a kiss before hollering, “Let’s do this, Von Bremen!”

  Theo’s head snaps up and he stares me down. Then, very slowly, a smile spreads across his scruffy face. When the Four Hundreds’ leadoff batter approaches, Theo flips his hat backward and licks two fingers. He rubs the ball his traditional six times before watching Brody’s signs. He shakes his head at the first two but then agrees to the last one, and throws a fastball.

  Clark, the batter, a good guy and a friend, shakes off his strike and looks up in my direction. “Take it easy on me, Doc.”

  I laugh off his comment because his on-base percentage is 430. He doesn’t need easy in the slightest. Theo rocks in two more strikes, sitting Clark down with a grin.

  That’s my boy.

  Two more batters approach the plate and retire to their dugout without a single base hit. It’s poetic to watch Theo whisper to the baseball. The control he exudes when commanding the ball is phenomenal. He’s an outstanding player. There’s a reason he has stayed with the same ball club his entire career.

  Hayes and I get lost in the game. We cheer. We boo. We sing. We dance. We throw back a few more beers. My Von Bremen jersey sticks to my skin like bad spandex but I don’t want to take it off. I don’t believe in superstitions, but just in case, I’ll keep it on.

  The game is scoreless at the top of the eighth inning as the battle of the pitchers ensues. Now, most fans think this type of game is boring. Pitch after pitch, no one getting on base, but for the diehards this is what dreams are made of. This is skill. This is pure perfection.

  When Bellamy saunters out to the mound, I know Theo’s reign is almost up. O’Brien, Theo’s relief pitcher, is warming up in the bullpen ready to take Theo’s place on the mound. Theo has been damn near flawless and could probably finish out the game but we don’t want to burn out his arm. The human body isn’t meant to throw fastballs at one hundred miles per hour repetitively.

  Bellamy speaks to Theo, who hides his mouth behind his glove to deter lipreading by the other team. Whatever is discussed—which I’m sure is: Good job. Finish up and then we’ll bring in O’Brien to close.—Theo doesn’t like it. But Theo and Bellamy hardly ever agree, so this isn’t surprising.

  Theo allows a hit on a slider that stayed high but his defense easily takes care of it and ends the inning. The small Washington, D.C. crowd cheers as Theo makes his way into the dugout. He tips his hat, giving us all his trademark smile and a wave.

  “Wo
w,” Hayes says, dazed. “It’s even more incredible to see it in person.”

  I nod in agreement, never taking my eyes off my MVP who is getting ass slaps and high fives from his teammates. The fans are still screaming when he steps back out of the dugout to give an encore bow.

  What a ham.

  He smiles and gives one more wave before making his way down the steps.

  And then, a flash of white catches my eye as Von Bremen hurls himself over the top of the dugout. Bellamy reaches for his legs, yelling for him to get back down, but he’s already over to the topside of the dugout.

  I jump to my feet. “Thor!” But he is already on it.

  “Stay here,” he barks. “You understand?”

  What the hell? Do I understand? Hell yes, I speak English.

  Thor dismisses my “eat shit” look and sternly orders Hayes to watch me like I’m a klepto loose in an outlet mall.

  Unbelievable.

  Thor bounds off to intercept Theo the dumbass, who is rushed in the stands by hundreds of fans. He takes it in stride, signing everything he can while parting the crowd, headed toward me.

  Thor is not so considerate. He shoves anyone and everyone in his wake. He is a man on a mission.

  In record time, he gets to Theo, grabbing him by the arm. Theo doesn’t fight his hold. Instead, he allows Thor to pull him through the crowd, all the while signing with his free hand. Dozens of security guys swarm the area, creating a protective circle around Theo and Thor. Meanwhile, Bellamy is on the phone in the dugout, screaming. I cringe, knowing what waits for me when we leave. Bellamy is going to tear us a new asshole.

  Thor guides Theo over to our seats. The boyish grin on his face makes me forget that I want to yell at him for this little stunt.

  “How’d I do, beautiful?”

  “Fishing for compliments already, are we?” My mouth quirks up and in my best Mr. Miyagi impression I respond, “You did good, Danielson. Miyagi teach you well.” I wink so he knows I’m joking with the last part. I may give him pointers but he certainly has built his empire with talent and knowledge all on his own.

  He slides through the narrow aisles, his cleats chipping away at the concrete walkway. “Excuse me,” he begs politely to our rowmates. They move over, opened-mouthed.

  When he reaches me, his dirt-stained hand immediately clutches my hip, staining my white jersey. “You made it,” he mutters almost to himself.

  I loop my arms around his sweaty neck, pulling him closer. “I made it.” I nuzzle my face into his shoulder. He reeks of earth and sweat but at this moment, he could smell like manure and I would still think he was the hottest thing to grace this planet.

  We stand there for several minutes, reveling in each other’s embrace. I’m fully aware of the thousands of eyes that watch our little show of affection, but I don’t care. They will not take this moment away from me. Before long, Hayes clears his throat.

  Theo pulls away first and with a smile greets Hayes for the first time. “Glad you could make it, man.” They shake hands and talk smack to each other for a moment before laughing it off.

  With no available seat for Theo, I’m seconds away from bribing the family next to us to move but Theo beats me to it. He pushes me into Hayes and flops down in my seat.

  Okay.

  But then he yanks on my jersey abruptly, causing me to fall ungracefully into his lap saying, “You are blocking this gentleman’s view, Ans. Sit down.” He gives a chin tip to the guy behind us like he just did him a solid when he was the one who came over here causing a ruckus. He should be in the damn dugout, not here with us mere mortals. I scowl but let him pull me to his chest. His slight rumble of laughter makes me smile under protest.

  “You’re an asshole,” I mutter.

  That just makes him laugh even more. “Watch the game, Dr. McCallister.”

  Ten minutes into the eighth inning, Theo can no longer hold in his animation. “Clark digs in. O’Brien winds. He delivers down the middle. Sttrriike!”

  Our neighboring seatmates roar in laughter at Theo’s play-by-play.

  “Clark steps in. He’s looking for a change-up. O’Brien takes the signal. The wind. And it’s just outside. Two and two.”

  I’m amused with Theo’s shenanigans.

  “Come on, Phil! You know that was a strike!” Theo yells.

  Phil doesn’t acknowledge his remark.

  “Clark! You suck! I could have hit that with a whiffle bat.” Theo is nearly out of his seat when Clark, with a full count, digs in with a half-smile, half-glare in his direction.

  With a swing and miss, Clark is retired. Theo howls and joins in with the crowd doing the “Macarena.” He is wholeheartedly enjoying the fan experience. I doubt he has been on this side of the fence in over a decade. My heart hurts, realizing he loves watching baseball probably more than he loves playing it. I should have picked up on this before now. I should have known when he started hinting around that he wanted to quit baseball that something was really wrong with him.

  Shame coats my stomach as I digest the reality in front of me. I should have spent more time experiencing things Theo loves—most importantly, doing them with him. Not constantly coaching him to do what I thought he loved.

  I’m going to fix this.

  I am going to start bringing this little hot mess of terror to some ball games. And we are going to be purely spectators. It’s time we got back to our roots.

  At the top of the ninth, Thor interrupts Theo’s comedic bantering with instructions to pack it in. Theo looks disappointed but does what he’s told, for once.

  “Come with me?” He stands, his hand outstretched.

  Uh, ‘tis no fool here.

  I clasp his hand and tug Hayes behind me. When we reach the aisle, we are swarmed with fans. Security pushes them back but we are quickly overrun again.

  Theo looks back at me with a gleam in his eyes. “Hop on.”

  And I do. Right onto the sculpted back that I rake nail marks into routinely. He lifts me higher, grabbing under my knees to keep hold.

  “Try and keep up,” he barks at Hayes before taking off at a full sprint.

  I hear Thor swear before launching after us. The click-clacks of Theo’s cleats echo throughout the stadium as he runs. I am smiling like a fool. Because, seriously. I am riding on a sweaty pitcher’s back like some kind of schoolgirl. Security is running behind us, trying to keep up. And the crowd is going fucking insane.

  Theo darts in and out of doors that I didn’t even know were there. It’s apparent he knows all the best hiding places in this ballpark.

  Thor catches up first, heaving sharp breathes. He tugs on Theo’s arm and pulls us through a door to a team of awaiting security.

  “Don’t you ever pull that shit again!” A little spittle flies out of his mouth.

  Theo takes a step back so we aren’t assaulted with it. “Ten-four, roger that, Thor.”

  Yep. He’s a shit, and I bet a nightmare to keep safe, but I laugh anyway because I am used to this behavior from Theo and happen to find it extremely alluring.

  I grind down on his lower back and pinch his nipple.

  “Ow!” He rubs at his bruised pec.

  But before he can scold me, I lean forward and whisper, “All this rule breaking has made me horny.”

  I hear a groan but it’s not Theo. Oops. It’s Hayes. I must not have whispered as softly as I thought.

  Theo chuckles and eases me down. “Let me go grovel to Bellamy. Meet me in an hour?”

  I nod, pulling him in for a kiss. His beer-flavored tongue slips into my mouth, seeking. I open up farther, arching my back so he can get better access. We work into a frenzy… moments later are both moaning. Loudly.

  Suddenly, we’re yanked apart.

  Thor holds Theo tight. “Downstairs. Now.”

  Theo winks at me before saluting Thor.

  “Stay with Hayes and the security team.” Thor leads him to a set of doors.

  Before he’s pulled through, his eyes
find mine. “Best fucking game ever.”

  While Hayes, Theo, and Ans were away in Colorado, everything was relatively quiet around the plantation. Lawson stayed in without having to be chained to a pipe and no one was assaulted. Or killed, as disappointing as that may be to Theo.

  The guys and I kept busy working around the house, painting, and attempting to clean up our mess as we went. And let me say, that particular task was rather difficult. Five men with no female supervision can get rowdy. And disgusting.

  When Anniston returned with a smiling Theo, talking animatedly about all their adventures in Colorado, I felt jealousy bubble up through my clipped laughs at their ridiculous stories. Evidently, Theo took them to a resort where they snowboarded and engaged in some questionable behavior.

  I didn’t ask for all the details. Some things are better left a mystery. But by the satisfied look on Hayes’s face, he thoroughly enjoyed himself as well. It’s probably time for another talk about safe sex. The guy is a machine.

  To get away from the continuous fuck stories, mostly told by Theo, I ventured out to the farmers market, using the excuse of wanting some fresh air and to pick up Anniston’s bracelet she ordered when she was jumped by Lou over a month ago. Anniston loves the farmers market but unfortunately hasn’t been able to return since Lou.

  After picking up the bracelet I stopped in at one of the local booths, stocking up on Anniston’s and my favorite jam. The guys and I cleaned it out while she was away in Colorado. I’m sure she has some stashed in her room but we need more regardless.

  Interrupting my thoughts, the woman at the booth clears her throat before asking, “Would you like this in a bag?”

  I glance up from my wallet after locating a five for the peach jelly I just purchased. Passing over the bill, I’m met with smoke-colored eyes that give me pause. I take in the beautiful woman in front of me. Slender, not necessarily toned, but slim, her jeans hugging her womanly hips, her flannel shirt revealing a tiny tank that barely holds in her ample chest.

  She fidgets at my perusal of her body but matches my stare head on, almost defiantly. “A bag?” she repeats, amused.