by Cecilia Tan
“Hammond, you no good sonofabitch, what did you think you’re… ” The clubhouse attendant stopped when he saw Casey. He just threw up his hands and went back into his office.
“Come on,” Tyler said. “I’ve been sent to the showers.” He pulled her into the largest shower Casey had ever seen, a huge room with at least ten shower taps, all of them set seven or eight feet high in the wall. Tyler was stripping out of his uniform as fast as he could, and she did the same, taking care to lay her things on a bench.
His cock was rampant and red as a robin’s breast, throbbing in her hand as she pressed herself against him.
“What are the chances that Javier gets two quick outs?” he said, walking her backward into the shower area and turning on one of the sunflower-sized shower heads. “If he does, we’re going to have an audience real soon.”
“I don’t care,” she said, wrapping one leg around him. “They all know about us anyway.”
He kissed her then, this time hard and hungry, and she felt hot water sluice over them like a whole new caress. He hitched her leg up, then the other one, as he pressed her against the wall, his cock rubbing against her right between her lips.
“I’m still wet from before,” she said into his ear, as he put her arms around his neck.
He lifted her a little more and she felt the head of his cock nestle against her just there, and then as he lowered her, he filled her. He backed away from the wall a half-step, supporting her weight with his hands under her ass cheeks, then lifted her again. Casey groaned as that ground her clit against him and then he was deep in her once more. She felt the water again and tightened her hold around his neck, helping him to lift her.
“I hope Javier walks the bases loaded,” he said into her ear. “Because this is too fucking good to rush.”
“Mmmm.” They’d never done it standing up before. He felt larger than usual, and she wasn’t used to quite so much direct stimulation on her clit while he moved inside her. Much as he didn’t want to rush, she would probably come quickly like this as long as he didn’t tire.
The muscles in Tyler’s arms and back were as hard and straining as his cock itself as he plunged in and out of her again and again. “Oh, yes, more… more… ” she urged.
When she came, her voice echoed off the shower walls and he pressed her against the wall again, adding his grunts to her cry, pushing hard.
“Come on, Tyler, finish,” she said, thinking of the foul-mouthed coach. “Put it in the can.”
His answer was a bellow as he came deep in her, holding himself still and twitching inside her with strong pulses of come.
“Wow,” he said, when he could.
“Wow,” she agreed.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
He let her down gently, and then pulled her into the water, kissing her and slicking his hands up and down her skin. “I think we’d better get dressed, because no matter what, there will be TV cameras real soon now.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He showed her the mountain of clean towels that awaited, wrapping her in one and then toweling her hair and butt until she laughed and forced him to stop. She was just combing her hair with a comb he gave her out of his locker when the door to the clubhouse burst open.
It was Billingham, the assistant general manager. “Oh good, Tyler, Ms. Branigan, you’re just who we’re looking for. They’ve got an interview room here and the press would like to meet you both there, instead of cramming in there with the team.”
Tyler beamed. “Sure thing! Lead the way.” He put an arm around Casey as they followed Billingham out a different door and up a totally different hallway from the one Casey had spent most of the game standing in. They got into an elevator and Billingham pressed a button.
“So,” Casey said, with forced casualness. “We held on, right? Game’s over?”
Billingham mopped his forehead with a handkerchief, but it was summer humidity and not nerves that had made him sweat. “Oh, yes, yes, no problem. Javier had a bit of a rocky time, but with a seven-run lead, even our bullpen isn’t that bad.”
“Phew, okay, good.”
Casey elbowed him in the ribs and he tightened his grip around her shoulders, leading her out of the elevator.
The interview room was packed, and Casey almost held up her hand to block all the bright lights and flashbulbs, then remembered they were actually trying to take her picture, too. She was reminded of those scenes outside courtrooms, except everyone here was so happy. So very happy.
She caught sight of Ken, looking positively misty-eyed, clutching his notepad to his chest. She gave him a little wave as a young man in a Reds polo shirt showed them to two chairs behind a table set with two microphones.
“Okay,” said another man in a suit at a podium off to the side. She recognized him as someone who worked for the Robins but she didn’t know his name. “We’ll take questions.” He pointed to someone in the front row of reporters.
It was a woman holding a small tape recorder and a notepad in the same hand. “So, The Streak is alive, and with tonight’s win, the Robins are in serious contention for a playoff spot. How do you feel about that, Tyler?”
“Oh my God, it’s awesome. That’s the thing about The Streak, of course. It’s kind of cool, I know, but the more important thing is that we’re winning games. Not just me, but the whole team. If I can keep pitching well, it means we can’t get into any bad losing streaks. So that’s awesome. I really hope it keeps up. The winning, I mean, not The Streak necessarily, because it’d be much more important to me that we win the World Series than I got some new line in the record books.”
The guy running the show pointed to another reporter, a balding man with glasses. “Yes, so, after your last start, which was almost a no-hitter, and then this one with the same thing, Tyler Hammond, are you jinxed?”
“What?” Tyler laughed and took Casey’s hand in his. “Are you kidding me? I am so incredibly lucky. I am the luckiest man in the world!” Everyone laughed at that and Casey wondered why that was so funny. Tyler looked a little taken aback, too, but he rolled with it. “This is Casey, everybody. She’s the one I talked about last post-game. I fell in love with her the day I plunked Campbell and we had that big dust-up, you remember? And I left early after visiting the press box? Everyone thought it was because I couldn’t stand to see the bullpen lose another game for me? Well, it was actually that Casey here was in the stands and I skipped out early to take her on a date. And well, you know the rest of the story. We’ve been dating ever since, and I’ve been winning ever since.”
“Wait a second, just trying to get the quote straight,” yelled a voice from the back. Casey couldn’t quite see the reporter because of the lights. “So you’re saying that the power of love is what’s making you pitch so good?”
“Well,” Tyler joked, “Casey here can attest that it ain’t steroids.” He made a motion with his fingers like something shrinking. “But seriously, yes. When she’s there, it’s like I feel amazing. Like I can do anything. Or almost anything, since I haven’t quite managed the no-hitter yet.”
Ken spoke up next. “My question’s for Casey. So, what’s your take on The Streak? Tyler here seems to believe you need to be at the ballpark to keep the luck going.”
Casey leaned close to the microphone, squeezing Tyler’s hand. “All I can really say is that, you know, it’s been a streak for me, too. I’ve tried Internet dating, speed dating, blind dates, you name it, and Tyler is the first guy I’ve found in years that I’ve been with this long. And I want to be with him for a long time to come. For me, I hope this streak is a lot longer than a baseball season.”
The flashbulbs were blinding as Tyler pulled her into a prolonged kiss.
* * * *
The next few weeks were a whirlwind for Casey. As August came to a close, Tyler won three more starts in a row, and the story just kept getting bigger and bigger. Casey did more interviews, took a leave of absence from work, and threw herself
into selling the cookbook with the wives when it arrived. Each game the wives would set up a little stand on the concourse to sell the cookbook and also run a silent auction of memorabilia signed by the players. Casey was in charge of getting things from Tyler as each woman was in charge of getting things from her guy. Tyler’s autographs were going for ridiculous amounts, thanks to The Streak.
The day of Tyler’s eighteenth start since they had met fell on a Sunday, and the game was chosen to be the ESPN Sunday Night game of the week. A producer from ESPN called Casey to ask if she would mind coming on the broadcast in the fifth inning to talk about The Streak. She readily agreed.
She and Missy sat in their usual seats, about ten rows back from the dugout. Missy had made sure her auburn hair color job was absolutely perfect because, she said, she knew they’d be on television a lot that night. Casey had at least worn a nice jacket and blouse and put on just a little makeup so she wouldn’t look too washed out if they actually showed her on the broadcast.
Tyler was pitching well, but the Robins were only leading by one run in the fourth when a production assistant came down to get Casey and bring her up to the broadcast booth. He looked like he was about eighteen, in a button-down shirt and loafers. “Miss Branigan? John and Joe are ready for you now. If you would turn your cell phone off?”
“Here,” she said, putting her phone into her purse and handing it to Missy. “See you in a bit.” She followed the kid up the aisle, then up the next aisle to the very top of the main seating section where there was a side door she’d never really noticed before. He pulled it open and they went up only half a flight of stairs and into the back of a production booth. “I never realized this was here.”
“Yeah, we’re not as high up as you think,” the kid said. “Just above the backstop screen, which means foul balls can still fly into the booth, though.” He opened another door and they went into the actual broadcast booth. Two announcers in suits were there, one black, one white, and they shook Casey’s hand while they kept talking, narrating the game live. She had already forgotten which one was John and which was Joe. The kid fitted her with a wireless microphone and she was silent while he did.
“It’s okay, you can talk,” he said quietly. “It’s not on yet.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Just talk normally. You don’t have to act like you’re talking into a microphone or anything.” He pinned it to her lapel. “You don’t have to be facing it exactly or anything. You can move your head normally.”
“Thanks.”
“Okay, they’re ready for you.”
He steered Casey until she was standing between the two announcers and they shook her hand again, this time talking to her directly.
“And we have, joining us in the booth tonight, Casey Branigan,” said the first, mellifluous-voiced announcer. “She has become a sort of cause celebre in the sports world, and I guess beyond the sports world, because of her story. Casey, welcome.”
“Thanks for having me,” she said. “It’s been kind of a magical mystery tour since I met Tyler.”
The other announcer spoke. “Oh, you get points for making a Beatles reference! Doesn’t she, John? But yes, I know you’ve told the story before, but for those who missed it, tell us how you met Tyler Hammond.” But he held up a hand so she wouldn’t speak yet.
“Hammond has just finished his warm-up pitches for this inning and is getting ready to face the first batter of the inning, third baseman Matt Henson,” said John.
They motioned for her to speak then. “I met him at my day job,” she said. “You remember that ad campaign a while back that had him in a suit of armor?”
“Was it for Gillette?” Joe asked, but the kid was waving his arms. Probably trying to get them not to mention any brand names that hadn’t paid for a sponsorship, Casey thought.
“Um, someone like that,” she said.
“And Henson takes a strike on the outside corner,” John said, motioning to her to continue.
“Well, it was on that photo shoot that we met, and he asked if I’d go to the game to see him pitch that night, and I did, and I really fell in love with him that night, though it took me a while to admit it.”
“And strike two, that one looked right down the middle. I don’t know what Henson was waiting for. That was a good pitch to hit.”
“Maybe he was guessing curve ball?” Joe opined.
“Maybe, Joe. Looks like maybe catcher John Madison was expecting the curve, too, as he’s just gone out to the mound to talk things over with Hammond. So, Casey, he won that night and he’s won every game since.”
“That’s right, John,” she said. “If he wins tonight, he’ll set a new record for straight starts with a winning decision.” She’d practiced that phrase a hundred times, since it seemed important to get it right.
“Of course, the record is held by Carl Hubbell, who set a streak of twenty-four wins in the ‘36-‘37 season. But that was twenty-four wins including some as a starting pitcher, some as a relief pitcher, and he also had some no decisions in there.” John chuckled. “And Hammond also almost put himself in the company of another pitcher from the 1930s, Johnny VanderMeer.”
“Oh! The guy who pitched the two no-hitters in a row,” Casey said suddenly, remembering what the security guard in Cincinnati had told her.
“That’s right!” Joe sounded impressed. “You really know your baseball history, Casey, which is pretty neat considering that you’re now a part of it.”
“That’s right,” John continued. “The conference on the mound is over, and Henson is back in the box. Hammond kicks and deals… strike three! He’s out of there! But yes, Casey, during Hubbell’s streak he had seventeen in a row that were all starts and with no intervening no-decisions. So that stood as the record until last week, when Tyler Hammond tied it. So at the very least, Hammond, with you as his pitching muse, are in the record books already. Now here comes shortstop Donald Franco to the plate.”
“Oh, I remember him, too,” Casey said. The skinny rookie that Tyler and Mad Dog had schooled with wild pitches much earlier in the season.
“That’s right,” John said. “That was an ESPN Sunday Night game too and well, Casey, you know better than anyone that Tyler Hammond is sometimes prone to some hijinks. I wonder if there’s any bad blood between Franco and him over that?”
“I think Tyler sent Franco a bottle of champagne, actually,” she said. “Since that was his way of saying ‘welcome to the Major League.’”
“Well, now, Franco is talking to the umpire, and gesticulating toward the mound,” John said. “What do you make of that, Joe?”
“Well, he looks a bit upset, John. He’s pointing at Hammond and stomping his foot a little. Hammond hasn’t even thrown a pitch yet, so I don’t know what he’s arguing about.”
“Well, and now it seems the umpire and the catcher, the veteran John Madison, are going partway to the mound and asking to talk to Tyler. And here comes the manager, wanting to know what’s going on… ”
“Oh, I see. Franco’s pointing to his ear now.” Joe tugged on his own ear. “I bet he’s saying Tyler’s got to take his earring off. We’ve seen this a bunch of times in the past few years. The batter has the right to ask for jewelry to be removed if it’s distracting to him. Usually you only see that on a bright, sunny day, but it does look like that’s what he’s doing.”
Down on the field, Tyler was doing something to his ear. Casey stared. Had Tyler gotten an earring before the game? Missy had said the team was probably going to do something together along the lines of all cutting their hair, a bonding thing for the stretch run to the playoffs. Had they all gotten their ears pierced? Casey tried to imagine them all in line at a jewelry cart in Faneuil Hall.
“Well,” John said, “it seems like they’re making him remove something, anyway. But now he’s refusing to give it to Madison or the umpire.”
“I don’t blame him,” said Joe. “That’s probably a ten-thousand-dollar diamond or somethi
ng he’s got on there. No wonder it was flashing in Franco’s eyes.”
The producer picked up the phone and then said something to Joe. “We just got a call from the security guard down at field level saying that Tyler Hammond says he’ll only give it to you, Casey.”
“Are we going to go to commercial?”
Their voices receded as the production assistant who had brought her to the studio helped her back down the same aisle. For a moment, she wondered why he was following her when she realized she was still wearing the microphone and he must either have wanted it back, or maybe once this was all resolved, they were going to continue the interview. After all, there were still two more outs to go in the inning.
She saw Travis was the security guard by the field, waving her down to the edge of the dugout with a huge smile on his face. Tyler came jogging to the side of the field to meet her, the umpire, Mad Dog, Franco, and a bunch of other people trailing behind him.
Tyler was holding the earring in his glove, with his free hand over it, as if he were afraid it was going to blow away in the wind. “Casey?” he asked.
“Yeah?” She looked at him. He had the oddest look in his eyes. “Everything okay, Tyler?”
“Um, I hope so.” He pulled something gold with an incredibly bright diamond on it out of his glove, then handed the glove to Mad Dog. “Casey Branigan, I have something to ask you.” He looked up at her, his eyes huge and wide as he pushed the brim of his cap back a little.
She had only half a second to think, what? before he asked her the question.
He dropped to one knee at the base of the wall and held the diamond up. “Casey Branigan, will you marry me?”
“Oh my God, Tyler, I… ” For some reason something Missy had said to her months ago popped into her head, about the pitcher being the center of attention of fifty thousand people, and about how Tyler in particular had no qualms about making the entire game stop and wait for him. Fifty thousand people here. And how many millions watching at home.
She dared a glance at the PA standing nervously by. “Is this thing on?” She touched the microphone, the enormity of the set-up for it all just beginning to dawn on her. The kid gave half a nod.