Page 43 of Fighting For You

"You're losing."

"We're just behind."

In the circle, Andy Walsh lobbed another pitch in a high arc. Brandon was standing behind the plate, relaxed, his mitt up. The ball dropped into the zone and the batter popped it up to shallow left. Easy catch. Two outs, runners on first and second.

Travis dropped his head into his hands. "She's killing us."

On the LVMPD sideline, Doug Price was on his feet with his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting Andy's name. His daughters were right beside him. Julie was clapping. Katie was yelling something at the field that nobody could make out. Diana sat behind them in a folding chair, shaking her head at all three of them. The whole LVMPD bench was up, cheering every pitch Andy threw.

Andy fielded her position like she'd been doing it her whole life. She stood in the circle between pitches with her cap pulled low and her glove tucked against her hip, and the whole thing looked personal. She never said a word after a good play. That was worse than trash talk.

"Is that Andy?" Nora tipped the brim of her cap up.

"Yeah."

"She's good."

"She knows."

Thompson stopped pacing long enough to lean over the bench. "We need base hits. Smart at-bats. Stop swinging at the first pitch."

The batter grounded out to short. Jeremy Murray fielded it clean, fired to first. Three outs. We held them scoreless in the top of the seventh. Carl caught a line drive at second that surprised everyone.

Bottom of the seventh. Two quick outs, then two runners got on with back-to-back singles. The park announcer called Wyatt's name.

Travis sat up. "Oh, this should be interesting."

From the bleachers behind home plate, a small voice cut through the noise. "Go, Daddy!"

Birdie was standing on the bench seat with Barb's hands on her shoulders, her face red from the sun, screaming at a volume that had no business coming from a seven-year-old.

Wyatt had spent two months talking his way back onto the roster after Thompson benched him in April. He'd made his case to Thompson privately, then publicly, then through a petition that Travis drafted and every member of A-shift signed, including Carl, who never signed anything. Thompson relented on one condition: if Wyatt held back on a single at-bat, he was done for good.

Wyatt dug into the box and looked out at Andy. She looked back at him from the rubber. Then Andy smiled.

She lobbed the next pitch high and slow. Wyatt turned on it and sent it over the left fielder's head. The ball bounced once on the grass and rolled to the fence. Both runners scored. Wyatt pulled into second standing up and clapped his hands once. Down one.

Travis was on his feet. "That's my boy! That is my boy!"

The bleachers came alive. Station 110 shirts everywhere, standing, shouting. Nora was clapping next to me, her cap tipped back off her forehead. In the circle, Andy walked behind the rubber and kicked the dirt once. She picked up the rosin bag, dropped it, and went back to work.

Greene came up next and drove a single into right. Wyatt scored from second. Tied.

The park was loud now. Both sidelines on their feet. Thompson had stopped pacing. Everyone in the bleachers was standing.

My name came over the announcer. Greene on first. Tie game. Two outs.

I stood up and reached for the bat leaning against the bench. Nora caught my hand. Just her fingers, closing around mine for a second.

"Bring him home."

I nodded. There was no way in hell I was going to lose this at-bat.

I walked to the plate. Brandon shifted behind the mask. Andy stood on the rubber, turning the ball in her glove. She lobbed the first pitch high and slow. I turned on it and lined it into the gap in left-center. Greene rounded second, rounded third, and scored standing up.

The park erupted. Travis cleared the bench before I'd dropped the bat. Wyatt caught me at first base. Thompson was clapping with both hands over his head. Birdie came tearing across the infield and launched herself at Wyatt. He caught her under the arms and hoisted her onto his shoulders.

On the LVMPD sideline, Andy had her glove on her hip, watching the field empty. Doug Price said something to her. She shook her head once and smiled.