ISABELLA
I’m grippingJordan’s hand hard enough that I’m likely cutting off blood supply, but that’s the least of my concerns.
It’s game seven of the World Series and the bottom of the ninth inning. The series is tied up after the Suns won the first two games at home but lost all three away games in New York. They were able to pull out the win last night but barely. Now whoever wins this game, wins the series. And right now, it’s not looking good for the Suns. They’re down by three runs with one out on the board.
But Ryan’s up at bat and the bases are loaded. His new walk-up song blasts through the stadium’s PA system, bringing a small smile to my lips.
“Accidentally in Love” by Counting Crows.
Yeah, that song fromShrek 2.
“Come on, baby. You can do this,” I say under my breath as he waltzes up to the plate, looking entirely at ease considering the amount of pressure he must be feeling right now.
“Did you just call himbaby?” Jordan asks with a laugh.
“Shut up, it’s something we’re trying out,” I grumble at her, not taking my eyes off the field.
Right before he steps into the batter’s box, he looks up to where we’re sitting and shoots me a quick wink before he turns his attention to the pitcher and steps into the box. My body heats in response the way it does wherever he’s involved.
A hush falls over the stadium as the pitcher rears back and launches the ball toward Ryan. Theslapof the ball hitting the catcher’s glove echoes in the silence.
“Ball!” the umpire calls out.
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
The next pitch comes in just as fast.
“Ball!”
“Okay, two balls. That’s fine. They can’t walk him though,” Jordan says, trying to calm my nerves.
“I know.”
The next pitch comes in and Ryan swings at it, clipping the ball for a foul.
“Strike one!”
“Fuck,” I curse.
The next two pitches are another ball and a strike.
“Full count,” Jordan whispers.
“I think I’m gonna throw up,” I say, holding her closer.
It’s like everything happens in slow motion. Ryan bounces on the balls of his feet in preparation for the pitch. The pitcher winds his arm back and fires the ball toward him. The corner of Ryan’s mouth kicks up as if he knows that this is it. This isthepitch. He swings the bat with his full power and?—
Crack!
The ball soars up, up,up. But alsofar.
“Oh my god,” I breathe out.
“Did he just…” Jordan trails off.
“Yeah. He did,” I say, a smile over taking my face as I watch the ball sail deep into the outfield and over the back wall into the stands.
Ryan hit a game winning grand slam.
