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Nico hits one into shallow center field for an easy out.
And we’re down to our final out as Luis steps to the plate.
Everything stands still. Except for me. I’m afraid to stop moving.
Then I hear it. That sound I love so much.
Solid contact. The roar of the crowd. Our team leaping over the dugout railings and mobbing Perez as he crosses home plate as I breathe the biggest sigh of relief. As I join the rest of the team and the coaching staff on the field, Perez seeks me out in the middle of the mayhem and gives me a bone crushing hug as he lifts me off my feet.
“Thanks, Coach!” He shouts above the chaos.
“For what?”
“Good hitters wait. Sorry it took me this long to figure it out.”
“You figured it out and that’s what matters.”
There are so many times I find myself wondering what my life would look like if I followed the plan and went into teaching instead of coaching. Would I have an impact on students’ lives? Would they care at all about anything that I have to say? Would I still be teaching? Living with Max and Elise has opened my eyes to the struggles that our teachers are facing – burnout and lack of mental health support is at the top of that list – and I wonder how long I’d have lasted in that setting. And then I have a moment like this with one of my hitters and I’m reminded that Iamteaching. My classroom just so happens to be the baseball diamond.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Fireworks
MAX
Baseball players don’t geta lot of days off. Most bank holidays between March and October are work days for us. We don’t get to do camping trips, or picnics with our family. We play baseball and people watch our games. When the Olympians are home, I host a cookout after the game for anyone who wants to come – players, coaches, clubhouse staff – all are welcome. Sometimes Sam comes around, but only if Maggie is out of town.
Sutton has never attended. Coaches are always invited yet rarely attend, and she and Mandy usually did their own thing for the Fourth. Now that she’s living here, I hope she’ll join in, but I also know that I’m putting her in a bit of an awkward spot, though she is helping me plan. Sutton and Elise are standing in the kitchen, pouring over a checklist on the counter in front of them, crossing things off as they go down the list.
Sutton and I did a lot of prep work last night – marinating chicken, making pasta salad, and making sure that we have enough s’more supplies for a small army – all that’s left to do is play nine innings of baseball, get home, and fire up the grill. A handful of players have told me they’ll be here, some with theirfamilies in tow. The All-Star break is on the horizon, and for a few days the team will go their separate ways, a few of us are headed to Kansas for the game, and some will take off for home – their actual, off season home – before we meet up again in Washington, D.C. for a quick road trip.
I look forward to nights like this, time with my teammates away from the game; we’re neverfullyremoved from the game, but out here in my backyard we’re not award winners and all-stars and potential headlines. We can let loose a bit, watch baseball for the fun of it (because some of them insist on it), and just…be. We get to relax for a while. And who knows how much longer I’ll be hosting this little shindig if I end up retiring after this year? I want to enjoy it.
But more than that, I want Sutton to enjoy it. I don’t want her to feel any pressure to act as a hostess, and I especially don’t want her worrying about the two of us while we’re surrounded by our teammates. She already blabbed about us to Roger, and Nico knows about us, but I don’t want to hide, and I don’t want her to be uncomfortable in her home.
“Sam is coming over to grill,” I wrap an arm around Sutton and press a kiss to her cheek as I pluck the pen from her hand and cross offgrill the chickenfrom her list. “Leecey, he’ll probably be here around the fifth inning or so.”
“Sounds good. I’ll make sure he has everything he needs. Is he bringing Kaline?”
Kaline is Sam’s six-year-old yellow lab, a dog that he found abandoned, nursed back to health, and immediately adopted. Kaline is a joy to be around, he loves Loretta – who is not easy to love – and oddly, she loves him back.
“I think so,” I look back through our texts for mention of the dog and don’t see any, but it’s a safe assumption that he’ll be in attendance. “Just to be sure, I’ve got some treats in the pantry for him.”
“Of course you do, you old softy,” Sutton kisses my cheek and ducks out of my arms, making her way toward the stairs and holding out a hand in my direction, a silent invitation to follow her. “How do we want to play this tonight?”
“Play what?” I ask, as we stop in front of her door.
“Us, Max.”
“You mean theusthat you already told Roger all about?” I smirk and my girl is not amused.
“Yes Maxwell,thatus. No one knows that we’re living together, except for Sam, and it’s going to be pretty obvious when they walk in here tonight and I walk upstairs to my room.”
“You don’t have to hide in your room, Sutt.”
“I don’t plan to, but I do plan to change out of gameday clothes into picnic clothes. And drop my bags off in my room. And maybe stash my shoes in my own closet.”
“Okay, okay,” I grab her by the waist and pull her in close. “If anyone asks, we don’t deny. But we don’t have to come right out and say anything, either. How does that sound?”
