by Beth Bolden
Izzy picked up her ticket, and she swore the security guard who pawed through her bag winked as she passed through the security checkpoint. She hoped he hadn’t recognized her, though it seemed unlikely with her hair in a ponytail and a Pioneers hat on her head. She’d dressed in jeans and a matching Pioneers T-shirt and couldn’t be happier that she looked nothing like the polished, professional image that Isabel Dalton, sideline reporter, had been forced to cultivate.
Pilar was waiting for her beyond the main turnstile, a secretive smile playing over her lovely face. She gave her a big hug before leading her toward the VIP elevator. When they were safely inside, Pilar turned to her with excitement in her face. “Tell me you are here for Jack. He has been in a bad mood since you went away, Izzy darling.”
Pilar was still the manager’s wife, so she’d meant to keep a little secrecy about her hopes, but Izzy was so damn happy, she couldn’t seem to keep the smile off her face. “I thought so,” Pilar said smugly. “You’re just in time.”
“Better late than never, I hope,” Izzy confided. “I’m worried I made him wait too long.”
Pilar’s smile was instantaneous and confident. “Oh, I doubt very much he will care, as long as you’re here.” She paused. “And how is Charlie? He is better, I hope?”
“Much, though he’s pretty upset about the lifestyle changes he’s been forced to make.”
The elevator stopped and they stepped out onto the VIP Box concourse. “I made arrangements for you to sit with me in the wives’ section,” Pilar said. “That was the only place still available. The whole stadium’s been sold out for a week.”
The symbolism of where she’d be sitting wasn’t lost on her. I will belong here, Izzy ordered herself. “That’s great. I hope I didn’t put you to too much trouble. I know how last minute this is.”
Pilar shot her a disgruntled look. “Isabel Dalton, if there were no seats free, I’d find a way to get you in. Jack needs you.”
It felt so good to hear it somewhere other than in her own head. “I need him, too,” she said quietly.
“Ah, here we are,” Pilar said, as they exited the concourse and wove their way through a handful of rows. “Here are our seats. Just in time.”
Izzy glanced around, and saw the rest of the section eying her in curiosity. Panic bloomed inside her, but she tamped it down. “I will introduce you later,” Pilar said with a tiny smile playing on her lips. “But first I want to talk to you about something. I know you quit working for Toby and you are back in Seattle, taking care of Charlie. Are you moving back?”
“I thought I was,” Izzy responded wryly, settling down next to Pilar. “But I think I got fired this morning.”
“Charlie always with the impeccable timing. Then you can come work for me instead.” Pilar said, clapping her hands in excitement. “It will be perfect!”
“Work for you?” Izzy gaped.
“Of course. For Sport Cares, here in Portland. You said you wanted to make a difference.”
“I did say that. And I do,” Izzy stuttered, genuinely shocked at the offer. “I just didn’t expect you to offer me a job. You’ve never even seen my résumé.”
“Isabel, I have wanted to hire you from the moment I met you. But you needed to find your place first.”
“It wasn’t as a reporter. And it definitely wasn’t with Toby,” Izzy admitted. “I know that now.”
“The speech you gave on the air proved that you are ready. Come work for me. We will talk salary later, but it is very fair pay, I promise. You won’t be disappointed. Just say yes.”
Izzy hesitated. “What about an interview? Doesn’t anybody else from the organization want to meet me?”
Pilar airily waved a hand. “Minor details. They trust my judgment. And I’ve needed someone of your talents for a long time. You’ll help us with our national media presence.”
“It does sound wonderful,” Izzy said slowly. “Maybe we can talk after the game?”
Pilar looked positively diabolical. “Oh, I think you will be very busy after the game. But maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow?”
Izzy couldn’t help but blush. “That would be perfect.”
A shadow fell over the pair and Izzy glanced up to see a young blonde woman carrying a baby, standing next to them. “Pilar, is this who I think it is?” she asked.
Beaming at their interloper, Pilar nodded. “Yes, this is Izzy Dalton. Jack’s girlfriend.”
Izzy felt equal waves of pleasure and panic at the casual way Pilar had just identified her. She’d spent so long hiding the truth, it felt way too easy to just sit here and admit it.
The blonde immediately sat down in the empty seat next to Izzy and passed her baby to Pilar’s welcoming arms. “I’m Emily Foster. My husband is the catcher. I wanted to meet you so much. Jack’s been so amazing for Justin this year—an unbelievable inspiration. I’m so glad you’re going to be here with us from now on.”
Izzy glanced up at Pilar, who was mostly absorbed in the baby, but her smile said it all. “Yes, I guess I am,” she finally admitted. “If we win this game, that is.”
Emily’s expression was serious. “Of course we’re going to win,” she said. “Jack’s playing.”
Glancing out on the field as the men jogged out, her gaze was drawn to Jack as if there weren’t anybody else playing. She’d always had faith, even through the worst the universe could dish out. She didn’t want her experience here to be the reason she lost it, and so she just smiled at Emily and dug down deep for her emergency supply. “That’s right,” she smiled widely, “he is.”
Jack was amazed how normal the game felt as soon as he was on the field. The innings slipped by one by one, scoreless until Miguel Vega, the Pioneers’ starting pitcher for the game, gave up a four-pitch walk, then left a fastball hanging over the plate for the Angels’ designated hitter to smash out the left field fence.
And suddenly, winning didn’t seem like such a sure thing, down 2 – 0.
When his next at-bat happened, he was determined to get something going offensively and worked their pitcher to a full count, fouling off strike after strike, hoping he’d get a pitch he could do something with. But it wasn’t meant to be. He caught the wrong part of the ball on the bat and it shattered as the ball blooped right to the pitcher, who easily threw him out at first.
Then it was the eighth, and the Pioneers were still down. A panic he didn’t understand and had never really experienced before had caught a hold of him, and he watched as their hitters went down one by one—two by strikeout and one from a long fly-out that had made his heart clench in his chest.
We’re running out of time, he realized. Only one inning left, and I’ll be up second. I can do this. I have to do this. But even if I hit a home run, it won’t be enough. We’ll only be tied. The bullpen was exhausted from a long, hard week of trying to stay even with the Angels’ six wins out of seven games, and extra innings would finish them. They needed to win in the ninth.
Justin Foster, the catcher, was hitting in the nine spot, and he finally broke out of the Pioneers’ offensive slump by hitting a short, choppy single that fell to the ground right in front of the right fielder. It was almost what the doctor ordered, but not nearly enough. Jack felt the pressure building at the base of his skull and he clenched his hands around the handle of the bat.
Then it was his turn. The world around him seemed to slow to a crawl as he pushed his batting helmet back on his head and buckled his batting gloves on tight, approaching the plate like he had all the time in the world to do some sweet hitting.
Except that hitting wouldn’t win the game. He needed to get on base. Glancing toward the dugout, Hector gave him a look that could only mean one thing.
He wants me to walk. He wants me to watch perfectly good pitches fly by and not hit them. It was crazy thinking, but
sane baseball logic. It just happened that right now Jack wasn’t a huge fan of baseball logic.
The truth was, what Hector wanted was the very opposite of what he’d always conditioned himself to do. He wanted to win the fucking game, but anything he hit at this point wouldn’t be enough to do it. Jack took a deep breath and stepped inside the batter’s box and raised his bat, settling into his stance. Just look, don’t swing, he reminded himself as the first pitch sang past his shoulders.
Ball one.
His hands tightened on the bat. I could have hit that one, that nasty little voice in the back of his mind taunted.
Another pitch sailed by, barely hitting the upper right-hand corner of the strike zone. The umpire called it a strike and a bead of sweat trickled down his neck.
This is the hardest thing I’ll ever do, he realized. It was harder to stand here and let these pitches pass him by than it was to hit one with the sweet spot of his bat and send it flying into next year.
The next pitch grazed the air by his knees. Still inside.
Ball two.
Third pitch just nicked the inside of the zone, and he defensively swung a second too late, and managed to foul it off into the stands. He was shaking now, sweating and scared. It wasn’t all on him, but if he didn’t do his job, the next guy up couldn’t do his, and for someone who’d only ever relied on himself, it was a terrifying thought.
He took a timeout to try to center himself. He stepped out of the box, the dust swirling up his legs, and he gave a few half-hearted practice swings, though he had no real intention of swinging at anything. At the last moment before he stepped back in, he glanced up at the crowd and thought he saw Izzy’s dark hair, her sweet smile.
But that was pure craziness. She hadn’t returned any of his messages or texts or voicemails.
Even if she hadn’t, he reasoned, that didn’t mean he could give up on himself, or on his team. He had to play the whole nine innings.
Jack stepped back into the batter’s box and raised his bat. Give it to me, throw me something I can’t hit, he silently begged the pitcher. Give me some utter shit.
The pitch fluttered wildly in the air and just nicked the catcher’s glove, spiraling out from his reach, and sending him leaping after it. Jack shouted at Foster, but he was already gone, rounding second long before the catcher even had the ball in his glove again.
Ball three. And a stolen base, Jack thought with glee. Just one more shitty pitch. Give it to me.
The next two pitches were fast balls that just barely hugged the corners, and alert for the possibility, Jack easily fouled them off, waiting for the last bad pitch that would send him to first.
Finally it came, a curveball that never quite curved and he felt the air shift by him as it hit the catcher’s mitt way inside.
Ball four, baby.
“Ohmigod,” Izzy breathed out in a shaky exhale. “He walked.”
Pilar’s knuckles were white as she clenched the plastic edge of the seat in front of them. “He had to. Even if he’d gotten a hit, it wouldn’t have won the game.”
Izzy glanced over in surprise. “So you’re saying he walked on purpose?” Even after a season of trying to understand baseball, she still didn’t quite get the nuances.
“Jack Bennett could have hit those pitches,” Pilar said with certainty. “He walked on purpose.”
As Davey Rodriguez, the slugger, approached the plate, Izzy thought she saw Jack shield the sun from his eyes and glance back up at the stands, as if he were looking for her. I’m here, she wanted to shout, I came, and I’m so sorry I made you wait so long. But even after all the spectacle she’d made of herself this year, she knew it wasn’t the time. She couldn’t distract him during the most important game of his career.
“Davey can hit a mean home run,” Pilar breathed out shakily. “He should hit one now and save my nerves.”
And as Davey Rodriguez, the Puerto Rican slugger sauntered to the plate, it seemed like he believed he would and he could.
And he did. Maybe in deference to Pilar’s nerves, or his own impatience to win the game and settle who was going to the playoffs once and for all, but Davey took one look at the fastball and sent it over the right-field wall and into the stratosphere.
Izzy screamed the moment Davey connected bat with ball, and kept screaming as it disappeared out of sight. She barely registered the players making their token run around the bases, and completely missed what was certain to be a wonderful reaction from Jack as they won the game. She was too busy yelling and jumping up and down with Pilar, celebrating with the rest of the crowd as the Portland Pioneers finally punched their ticket to the postseason.
“I love baseball!” she yelled to nobody in particular. The team had swarmed the field, and she could see the media outlets beginning to start hauling out equipment for the joyous post-game interviews. And suddenly, it hit her what she had to do.
“I have to get down there,” Izzy said in dead-earnestness, grabbing Pilar’s arm. “I have to get onto the field. Now.”
“Chica,” Pilar said in amusement. “You and the rest of the crowd.”
“But I need to,” she chanted. “Need to.”
Pilar threw up her hands and Izzy could tell from the smile on her face that she understood. At least a little bit. To be honest, Izzy didn’t really understand herself right now. All she felt was the thrill of certainty flowing through her veins and it said she needed to see Jack right now.
“Fine, fine. We’ll go have a chat with security. Come with me.”
They wound their way through the celebrating crowd and through the busy concourse, to another elevator that Izzy had never been on. “Clubhouse elevator,” Pilar said by way of explanation, as she swiped her ID card and they descended to the bottom floor. The door swung open and a security guard was standing in the hallway, which Izzy assumed led to the clubhouse.
“Tony,” Pilar said pouring on the charm, “we need a big favor.”
“Sorry, Pilar. I’ve got strict instructions. Nobody allowed down here. Especially if they win.”
“Tony, this is Isabel Dalton. Jack Bennett’s girlfriend.” Pilar grabbed her and practically shoved her at Tony. She could see Tony’s eyes narrowing in recognition, but kept silent. If anybody could get her onto the field, it was probably Pilar.
Then Tony did a double take. “But aren’t you that reporter?”
“I was, yes,” Izzy finally spoke up. “I’m also Jack’s girlfriend.” She’d never said it, but today, win or lose, she realized, she’d never been prouder of it.
“And she wants to surprise him,” Pilar added. “In front of everybody.”
Tony seemed to understand then, but for a horrible split second, he hesitated. Izzy clenched her fingers together and prayed that he’d make the right choice.
“Go on ahead,” he finally said, a smile breaking over his rough features, “but don’t tell no one it was me who let you in.”
“Thank you!” Izzy yelled as Pilar grabbed her arm and led them down the empty corridor at a clip.
“You’d better know what you’re doing,” Pilar grunted as they turned down a second corridor and suddenly they were in the empty dugout. Izzy froze, taking in the mayhem currently occurring on the field. “Go on, then,” Pilar said, giving her a little nudge. “Go get him.”
There was no fear, no hesitation, only determination as she walked up the dugout stairs and onto the diamond. At first she couldn’t see him, because he was so much smaller than the rest of his teammates, who were laughing and pulling and shoving in one big fluid mob, but then he broke away, and she couldn’t help but laugh. He was covered in dirt and water and something else that might have been Gatorade, and he was being led over to where one of the female reporters had set up. My replacement, she thought with satisfaction. Perfect timing.
Jack didn’t see her at first. He was too blinded by the lights of the camera crew, so she was nearly on top of him before he saw her there. He was talking about being grateful to his team and for being able to draw the walk that won them the game, and then he stopped, freezing right in the middle of his sentence. Then he smiled, slow and big and deep, and Izzy knew she’d remember forever the euphoria on his face when he saw her.
This is it, she wanted to tell him, this is love, but the words faded as he stumbled toward her, and she grabbed his arm, wrapping herself around him, feeling the solid bulk of him. God, I’ve missed you, she thought. Don’t ever let me leave again.
He gazed down at her, his eyes were so blue in his dirt-streaked face that she thought she’d drown in them. There was only one way for her to really tell him how she felt.
If I had my way, he’d said so many times, I’d kiss you in the middle of the baseball field.
So, in front of God and everybody, Izzy Dalton kissed Jack Bennett, and she never regretted it.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A novel is an accomplishment, not just for the author, but for the author’s support system.
Without my support system, The Lucky Charm never would have seen the light of day.
Cory, who poked and prodded and let me talk out any number of plotting issues. When I was miserable at my job, he said, “you should write instead,” and helped make that dream a reality. Also, I’d love to take credit for Jack’s mowing, but that idea was all him.
Mom, who wasn’t afraid to tell me if it sucked. Or if something would never happen that way. Or if someone grew a third arm. Honesty is the highest form of love.
Stacy from Apoidea Editorial, possibly the world’s greatest developmental editor, who forced me to take a hard, but necessary look at the draft I had and offered great suggestions for improvement.