by Kristy Marie
He pokes his grinning face around the corner of the landing. The mischievous look in his eyes tells me he already knew the plan.
“We’re going on a vacay,” he sings, jumping in front of me when I reach the top of the stairs, grinding my hip in a ridiculous dance move. His excitement at seeing a live game (something I recently learned he has never done before) is contagious. I return his silly moves with equally stupid ones of my own.
Eventually, we scatter when Cade barks for us to get a move on. Hayes and I retreat to our rooms, and I throw entirely too much shit in my suitcase. We convene at the top of the stairs and I hand off my suitcase with a smile so he will carry it down. You have to train them up right, ladies. They will not read your mind and offer, no matter what romance novels tell you. You have to tell the little panty droppers what needs to be done. Then, reward them for their good behavior.
Hayes gives me a wink before hurling my suitcase down the stairs. I’m just about to shove him down after it when I hear a grunt at the bottom of the stairs. Mason caught it. I give Hayes a dirty look.
Sneaky.
Roaring out laughter, he throws his suitcase next before bounding down the stairs like a little kid. “Let’s go, Commander! Time’s a wasting.”
I can’t keep the stupid smile from my face. I don’t think I have been this excited to see a game in a long time.
Colorado’s Coors Field is buzzing with excitement when we arrive. Hayes has been bouncing around like a stripper on a Friday night. It’s infectious. But because the first inning is about to start, we damn near sprint to will call. Thank you very much, Hartsfield Jackson International Airport. No, we didn’t want to arrive on time. How silly of us to think such a thing…
Out of breath, I bark out my name to the attendant.
He gives me a fake smile and types my name in his computer. Then he looks up with a genuine smile. “There’s a password on the account.”
Fuck you, Theo.
Hayes looks at me, confused.
I shake him off and with a deep breath mutter, “Theo is the best I have ever had.” No, this isn’t the first password incident. Theo likes his games.
The attendant’s smile grows wide. Hayes starts to laugh but disguises it as choking. Traitor. The attendant slides the VIP tickets under the window with a bemused chuckle. I snatch them without a thank you.
Fuck guys and their pettiness.
I elbow Hayes in the ribs, effectively calming his giggles. “Come on,” I order, taking his hand and pulling him in the direction of our seats.
As we make our way down the steps, a Sasquatch blocks our path. I don’t even need to look up. I know it’s Thor, Theo’s security. The tickets must have had a note to call him if I showed.
“I brought my own security today,” I say, trying to shove past him. It’s like ramming into a cement column.
“I see,” he drawls slowly, eyeing Hayes with scrutiny and something like disgust before continuing, “however, that doesn’t change anything.”
Someone is all business today. Whatever.
I shrug. “Do what you must but we’re missing the game dealing with your attitude.”
Thor grunts but moves to the side, bringing up the rear. “Let the boy go first. You in the middle.”
Hayes’ eyebrows shoot up. Now it’s my turn to laugh. “That’s right, boy. Get a move on.” I slap his ass with a snicker and the tips of his ears turn red.
Thor offends everyone. Thor is not even his real name. I doubt Theo remembers what it is. He gave him the moniker on his first ever shift with him. Theo did something crazy and as you may have guessed, Thor roared and hauled Theo out of his precarious situation with brute strength, like Thor. I think his real name is David. But David, here, has been a real pain in my ass for the past couple of years, so I join in his humiliation and refer to him as Thor, too. Secretly, he probably likes it. Guys like those impressive nicknames. Makes them feel powerful.
The music starts to pound, rocking the stadium into a frenzy. Hayes, not immune to its pull, starts swaying his hips down the stairs. My coveted two seats behind home plate call to me like a beacon.
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 ole 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 Hooters girl 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. Geeze. 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! Finally! 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’ 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’ 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’ 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 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 them all three of them down without a single hit. It’s definitely a battle of the pi
tchers 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 that 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 bout 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 Rockies’ 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 that 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 that 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.
“Wow,” 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.
Holy shit.
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, douche.
Thor dismisses my “eat shit” look and sternly orders Hayes to watch me like I’m a clepto 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 being so considerate. He shoves anyone and everyone in his wake, even pushing a child to the ground. Shameless. He is a man on a mission.
He gets to Theo in record time, 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 his little stunt.
“How’d I do, beautiful?”
“Fishing for compliments already, are we?” My mouth quirks up and in my best 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. Fantastic job on this one, God!
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.
I’m about to shove Hayes over when Theo 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.
What? I was sitting down. 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 pr
otest. “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 huff, annoyed and 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 highly amused 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 that he has been on this side of the fence in over a decade. That makes my heart hurt, 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 that 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.