When the announcer says “Archer Bradley,” a loud, enthusiastic roar rumbles through the crowd.
They’re excited to have me back.
I’m excited to be back.
Let’s fucking play ball.
CHAPTER 47: Millie Monroe
One Last Question
I watch the game from the suite Cooper got me a ticket to. I’ve met his wife, Gabby, and their toddler, Sunny. Gabby is so kind and seems like the kind of person who could become an actual friend. She’s busy chasing her daughter all over the place, so I take a seat to watch the first pitch.
I don’t actually watch the first pitch, though. My eyes drift out to left field, where Archer Bradley stands.
We’re in the same building. The anticipation is heavy within me. He’s so close and still so far.
I’ve never been to a pro baseball game before. I know the basics of the game. I played softball my freshman year of high school. But hearing the roar of the crowd when his name was announced filled a space in my chest I didn’t know was empty.
Peoplelovethis man. I’d heard his name before, but I didn’t realize exactly how popular he is in hissport. It made me realize that whatever happens, he has people who care about him.
In a totally different way, though, it also made me realize more about the scope of his deeply rooted issues. People love him without knowing him. They love him because he plays ball. I think his trust issues are starting to become a little clearer now that I can see them through the lens of this stadium. And this is only the fans who are present, a small percentage that doesn’t account for the others at home watching on television or the casual fan who doesn’t watch every game but roots for him all the same.
He gave a piece of himself to me, and I threw it down and stomped all over it. And for what?
For nothing. Nothing important. Nothing that matters.
But what does matter ishim. Us.
And that’s what I plan to tell him after the game.
I know there may be cameras on us, and I know I need to choose what to say carefully.
I want to say all of that.
But I can’t.
I can’t let people into our little bubble. I need to come up with the exact right words.
And I have exactly zero clue what they might be.
I’m dreading the moment as much as I’m hoping it gets here faster. It’s such a conflict of emotions. Fear and excitement, dread and hope, disappointment in myself, and so, so much love for Archer.
The smell of hot dogs and popcorn in the suite is overwhelming, but I can’t eat. I’m too nervous.
Archer catches a pop fly in the top of the eighth, and the crowd goes absolutely wild. The Heat is ahead by two runs by the top of the ninth, and Gabby escorts me through the stadium to the tunnel where the rest of thereporters are waiting for field access just outside the dugout.
A crowd is gathered there with cameras and credentials, and I wait at the back of the line with them. “I’m Natalie, director of PR here,” a woman says. “Interviews for Noah are by the dugout. Brewer will be by first. Ross at the mound. Bradley will be coming in from left, so we’ll meet him near third. Each player will have a publicist to direct questions.”
She doesn’t take questions, instead assigning her people to each player. Apparently she is the one who will be helping Archer.
The game ends, I think—I can’t see from back here, but the crowd goes wild, and we head out onto the field to the sound of fireworks booming overhead celebrating the victory.
Cooper runs by me and gives me a wink and a nod of his head on his way toward his wife, and other players are stopping in various positions with various reporters. I head up the back of the group, jogging out toward Archer, everyone in front of me already prepared with their microphones or phones out.
Natalie stands to the side as a circle forms around Archer, and my heart is pounding in my chest.
Holy hell.
