by Aven Ellis
Meanwhile, I’ve had a tossed salad with grilled chicken, berries, pecans and a light balsamic dressing. Not nearly as fun, but it was good. If I weren’t at a ballpark surrounded by all kinds of fascinating eats, I’d probably have enjoyed it a lot more without being jealous of all the stuff Katie was consuming.
Regardless, I’ve had a blast tonight. The interesting thing I’ve discovered is you don’t even have to like baseball to enjoy being at a game. Sitting outside in DC with the big scoreboard in center field, with the huge soaring eagle lit up against the black sky, while eating all kinds of interesting foods with friends, is a fantastic way to pass an evening.
Of course, Katie kept borrowing Dominik’s binoculars to check out the players as part of her way to pass the time, which is obviously another perk of baseball. I noticed she kept looking at the outfield. She didn’t have to say who she was staring at, I know it was AJ Williamson. He checks all the boxes of what she finds attractive: tall, dark hair, nice smile, and a smidge of a playboy edge.
I study Katie for a moment while we wait for Antonio Castro to make it to the mound from the bullpen. I think there might be some self-conscious reason she’s attracted to guys who could break her heart. We had many conversations late at night during our Georgetown years, over gooey brownies and whipped cream and a box of tissues, about how she knows she deserves better and needs to quit flirting with emotional danger, so to speak, and find a good guy. Nevertheless, the pattern repeats itself. All Katie wants is to have the feels and butterflies and a love story, but she keeps picking boys who toy with her and then cast her aside when it’s time to say those three words:
I love you.
That’s how her story always ends. With the you’re fun, I really like you, but I can’t be serious, Katie and Katie left with a broken heart and shattered girlfriend dreams. And I can’t help but think there must be some reason why she makes these choices, when they seem to almost always guarantee she will never get what she says she wants.
“Let’s see how your man works with Antonio,” Dominik says, interrupting my thoughts.
I blink. Antonio made it to the mound while I drifted off thinking about Katie’s love life. I shift back to the game, feeling the tension on the field.
I draw a breath of air. There are runners on first and second. Two outs.
I watch as the Chicago Red Fox player swings his bat in the on-deck circle and turn to Dominik.
“Who is up for Chicago?” I ask.
“Fynn Meier,” he says, cracking a peanut in his hand and letting the shell drop to the concrete. “Interesting kid, that one. He’s German. Got a huge signing bonus with Chicago when he was a teen in Berlin.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Katie says.
I listen as I watch Antonio warmup with Brody.
“Yes. He’s European, and man, the kid can hit. Or as the kids say these days, he can rake. Antonio better be careful here. He will swing if something is in the middle or outside the zone.”
I bite my lip. I hope Brody calls this right.
Fynn’s name is announced, and he approaches the batter’s box. I watch as Antonio gets the signal from Brody and shakes his head.
“He’s shaking Brody off,” Katie says.
Antonio pauses and shakes his head again.
“Why is he doing that?” I ask.
“He doesn’t agree with what Brody is calling,” Katie says, dropping her voice.
Brody knows what he’s doing, I think. Antonio better not give up a run here.
Antonio goes into his windup and delivers the ball but bam! Fynn rips the ball down the left field line, sending Jamie Anderson after it. Everyone rises as the Chicago player on second base runs for third and turns for home. Jamie sails the ball to the third baseman who guns it to a waiting Brody right as the Chicago player begins to slide. Everyone is cheering, waiting to see if Brody can catch the Chicago player before he scores the go-ahead run. My heart is pounding against my ribs as I watch Brody swipe his glove across the back of the foot of the Chicago player, a split second before his other foot hits the plate. The umpire signals he’s out. And I, along with everyone else in the crowd, erupt in euphoria as a result. It was tense, it was thrilling, and there was nothing but pure electricity in the air when Brody made that tag.
This is baseball.
And I have fallen in love with it, just like I’m falling in love with the hero who made that incredible tag.
Brody exchanges high-fives with the third baseman and left fielder, and then he bends down and picks up his mask, his expression still one of controlled calm. He trots toward the dugout where I know he’ll be stripping off his catcher’s gear, as he will bat second in the bottom of the ninth. I picture that zen-like expression on his face, and I know he’s gone to that calm place in his head, the one that will hopefully get him on base for the Soaring Eagles.
“I have a good feeling,” Barbara says, interrupting my thoughts as she continues to knit.
“What do you think will happen?” I ask.
“I don’t know, but the Soaring Eagles will win, and Brody will be a part of it.”
“But he hasn’t been hitting well tonight,” I admit.
“I just know.”
“She makes the same premonitions when she’s baking during a game,” Dominik explains, “and they turn out to be true.”
Oh, I hope Barbara is right. Brody already stopped the go-ahead run, but I would love to see him get on base and score.
The Chicago pitcher delivers a few pitches and after the TV timeout, we’re ready to go. The music for the next Soaring Eagles player comes on, but my eyes are still on Brody, who is swinging the bat in the on-deck circle.
I can’t get over how focused he looks. While Brody might have fallen apart under the idea of taking a test in school, he shows zero stress now, standing on this baseball stage in front of thousands of people here and millions more on TV, fans who will judge him based on how he responds to the handful of pitches thrown to him.
He truly has no fear of failure here, I think. Brody accepts the ups and downs as the rhythm of the game, and his passion fuels him to keep working on being the best catcher in baseball, both in the batter’s box and behind the plate.
I manage to shift my attention to David Lewis, the first baseman who is in the batter’s box. The first pitch is thrown and the umpire calls a strike.
“Ugh,” I say.
“It will be fine,” Barbara says as she continues to knit.
I listen to the rhythmic clicking of her needles and wonder if I should take up knitting to relieve stress during baseball games.
The next pitch comes to David, and it’s also a strike.
“He should have swung at that,” Katie says, screwing up her nose.
“Yep,” Dominik says, nodding in agreement.
The pitcher windups again, but this time, David hits it and it drops into center field for a base hit. The crowd cheers in response.
“Go-ahead run is on,” Dominik says, marking his scorecard.
Now my stomach flips anxiously as Brody is announced and “Welcome to DC” begins playing. I watch as he calmly strolls up to the plate, this time moving to the left as he can hit from both sides, and I practically hold my breath as he settles into his batting position.
Come on, Brody, you’ve got this, I think.
The pitcher turns and takes a moment. Then he fires the ball into the dirt for ball one.
I think I’m going to bite through my lower lip, I’m so anxious.
The pitcher goes into his windup, and Brody doesn’t swing at the low ball.
Ball two.
Come on, Brody, I think.
The pitcher delivers again but Brody swings and whack! Contact is made, a loud, crushing blast coming off Brody’s bat. It’s a monster hit that goes soaring across the field toward center.
Everyone is up screaming, watching it fly, hoping against hope this ball is out of here. The Chicago centerfielder races toward the outfiel
d wall, but stops as the ball is crushed into the seats with a huge home run.
And with that hit, Brody just won the game for the Soaring Eagles.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“A home run!” I scream, gripping Katie’s arm as we leap to our feet. “Oh my God, Brody hit a home run!”
“He did it!” Katie yells with me. “He won it!”
My heart is pounding in excitement as I watch Brody run around the bases. Fireworks go off over the outfield scoreboard as the park erupts in celebration. The graphic on the monster video board in centerfield says “walk-off home run” and then flips to a replay of Brody’s hit. I’m yelling so much I know I’m going to lose my voice. Brody is turning around third, and his teammates have run to home plate to celebrate with him as soon as he steps across. When Brody is half-way toward home, he flips off his batting helmet and a huge grin lights up his face, and I know I’m smiling just as brightly as he is.
“That’s your man,” Dominik says.
“That is my man,” I say excitedly. “I’m so proud of him!”
As soon as Brody crosses home, he’s swarmed by teammates and I can’t even begin to describe the happiness I feel for him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see AJ and Tanner sneaking up behind him with a huge orange container of Gatorade. They ceremoniously dump it all over him, causing Brody to jump as soon as the Gatorade and ice hit him, and then he starts laughing. A young woman with a microphone, I recognize as Sara Peters, the sideline reporter for the Soaring Eagles telecasts, waits nearby to talk to Brody. A teammate tosses him a towel, he wipes his face, and then he and Sara appear on the large video board.
“Brody, that is your first home run for the Soaring Eagles, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Walk me through it,” Sara says, holding the microphone toward Brody.
“I was looking for a pitch down the middle,” Brody explains, raking a hand through his Gatorade-soaked hair. “He threw two in the dirt. I knew it some point I’d get one down the middle, and the third pitch was right where I wanted it.”
“This is your first home run in Eagles Park, how does it feel?” Sara asks.
Brody grins, the dimple popping out in his cheek, and my heart leaps as I see it.
“I’m really excited about that, to be able to get that first one in front of the DC fans, who have been tremendous tonight. Hats off to them for their support. This is a great city to play in, and I’m happy to be a part of this team.”
That gets a cheer from the remaining crowd.
“Talk to me about that tag of Javier Patrin at home plate,” Sara prompts.
“I know Jamie has a lot of speed, so I knew he could chase down that ball quickly,” Brody says. “The relay was on the money, all I had to do was make sure I got that tag before Javier’s foot touched the plate. I knew it would be close, though, because Javier is fast. It just worked in our favor tonight.”
I notice how his answer reflects respect for both his teammates’ and opponents’ abilities. Brody placed all the emphasis on teamwork, which I admire, along with acknowledging the support of the fans, and his answers reflect gratitude and humility.
Just like the man himself.
“Thank you for your time tonight, Brody,” Sara says.
“You’re welcome, Sara, thank you.”
Then Brody heads toward the dugout, where I know he’ll go into the clubhouse. I glance down at the thick plastic credential hanging from my neck that will allow us access to the clubhouse area where we can wait for him.
I know he won’t see my text right away, but I send him one anyway:
You were amazing tonight. So proud of you and your tag and walk-off HR! #hero #fansloveyouinDC Can’t wait to see you in a bit.
Then I drop my phone inside my bag and turn to Barbara and Dominik.
“Do you guys want to hit the team store while we wait for Brody?” I ask.
“No, love, you and Katie go meet the players,” Barbara says as she packs up her knitting. “The old folks are going home because it is past our bedtime.”
“Yes. We have to be on time for the diner or I won’t get my spot at the counter for breakfast,” Dominik says, adjusting his hat.
“Heaven forbid the man doesn’t get that stool,” Barbara says, rolling her eyes. “Please tell Brody thank you, and give me his address so I can send him a thank you card.”
I smile. “I will.”
“Let me get you an Uber ride home,” Katie offers, swiping an icon on her phone.
“Why would we do that when we have the senior pass for the Metro?” Dominik declares.
“But Uber will drop you off at the building.”
“We need to walk; we’ve sat too long on our rumps as it is tonight,” Barbara says. “Now, you girls, go have Brody drive you home. Or he can drive Katie home. I have a feeling Hayley might have a chat late into the night with our catcher.”
Then Barbara winks at me.
“Talk,” Dominik snorts. Then his eyes twinkle at me. “Will we see you in the hallway in the morning, Hayley?”
My face burns red hot, as I remember they busted me in the walk of shame last week.
“Dominik, you’re embarrassing her,” Barbara chides.
“Hayley knows I’m teasing,” Dominik insists. “Don’t you?” he asks, grinning at me.
“I do,” I say, laughing.
We escort them back to the stadium exit and they thank me for letting them come to the game. Hugs are exchanged, and Katie and I watch as they leave the ballpark.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with them?” Katie asks. “I don’t want to be the third wheel with you and Brody.”
“Whatever. You are coming with me to see the off-limits areas of Soaring Eagles Park, and maybe meet AJ.”
“AJ?” Katie shrieks, her eyes wide. “What do you mean by that? What did you say to Brody?”
“That AJ was your favorite player, and you think he’s freaking hot.”
Katie begins to flush, a slow pink that rapidly grows to a dark, embarrassed beet red. “You did not.”
“No, of course I didn’t. Not the hot part.”
Katie playfully slaps my arm. “Okay. I feel better now.” Then her face changes into one of worry. “Oh, crap, I have Mufasa hair! I can’t meet AJ! And I’m in a T-shirt and jeans, oh hell no, I’m not doing this!”
I watch as she frantically combs her fingers through her long, dark locks, which tend to get curlier in outdoor conditions. Katie likens her hair to that of the character in The Lion King. Katie hates that about her hair. What she doesn’t realize is that her natural, curly hair is stunning, but since I haven’t convinced her of this fact in four years, I doubt tonight will be the breakthrough moment.
“You don’t have to meet him,” I say casually, as we head back toward the concourse filled with people leaving the park. “It was just an idea. We can talk to Brody and then leave. We can forget the AJ part.”
I watch her out of the corner of my eye, and for a brief second, she seems disappointed by the idea of not meeting AJ, though I know she will come up with some rational reason to say it’s fine.
“No, it’s not like it matters,” Katie says casually. “Besides, if Brody asked him, I should do it. It’s polite.”
“Right. Because you’d hate to be rude.”
“Shut up.”
I laugh and we head into a fan store filled with people grabbing Soaring Eagles hats and shirts off racks. A surreal moment hits me as I see a teen girl holding up a JENSEN jersey. She shows it to her friend, they both squeal, and the girl lovingly holds it to her chest as a blissful smile passes over her face.
The man I’m dating has jerseys in team stores.
And he has thousands of fans who buy them.
I try to wrap my head around that fact. This is crazy. Absolutely crazy. I have to keep reminding myself he’s a famous professional athlete because, to me, he’s Brody Jensen, the man I’m falling in love with. His career of playing baseball is secondary.
/> I spot some cute women’s Soaring Eagles T-shirts that are fitted with a deep V-neck and pick one out in my size. Once I get rid of my bagel belly, it will look fantastic. Until then, I can make it work with deceptive tummy holding panties on non-Brody date nights.
“Ooh, I want that one, too, but in red,” Katie says, flicking through the rack.
“Have you bought a Jensen jersey yet?” I hear a voice from behind me say.
Katie and I both turn around and see a group of five women, ranging in age from twenty to forty. They are all decked out in Soaring Eagles T-shirts and jerseys, and they are carefully studying the players’ jerseys that are hanging on the wall.
“No,” an older woman with blonde hair says. “I can’t commit to a jersey unless I know he’s going to be around for a long time. It’s too much of a financial investment.”
I wrinkle my nose. Brody is so going to be around, I think with determination. He’s one of the best catchers in the game, according to Katie, my baseball Yoda, and he just got here. He’s got to be safe for a while, right?
“I’m so buying one,” a twenty-something brunette says. “He’s our guy now, right?”
“Him and AJ,” a woman with red hair says. “I love that bromance!”
“Our new name is the BAJFC,” a younger blonde quips. “Short for the Brody AJ Fan Club.”
They all laugh at that, and I continue to be amazed that women talk about the guy I’m dating like that.
Another forty-something woman nods in agreement. “If he’s still here when I come down from Annapolis for another game, I’ll get one to show support for BAJFC.”
They go on to talk stats and break down the game, so I know they are serious baseball fans, but I’m still amazed women have fan clubs for Brody and AJ. I guess because I’m not into sports, I never thought about women going to see Brody and AJ like I would a band with hot guys with my friends.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Katie says, dropping her voice.
“Yeah,” I admit, thinking of all the women in the world who must like Brody.
“Don’t let it make you insecure,” Katie says, going back to flicking through racks. “I know how you are. You’re always searching for some way to be better, whether it’s a new eye shadow kit or diet or appliance to help you be perfect. Brody likes you, in the package that you already come in.”