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“So, how does it feel to be on this side of the netting?” I ask as we watch the players take the field to warm up.

He doesn’t answer right away, and when I look over at him, he’s got an indescribable expression on his face.

“Honestly? Kind of nostalgic. I mean, it’s weird to watch my team out there without me, but I grew up going to Vancouver Trident games with my Dad. We haven’t gone since I joined the Thunder, but some of my best memories are of the two of us at the ballpark.”

I place my hand on his thigh and squeeze gently. “That’s really sweet.” He covers my hand with his and gives me a soft smile.

The game gets underway shortly after we sit down, and Denver’s on the edge of his seat, right from the start.

I can only just hear him mutter under his breath as the man on the mound, in Denver’s spot, takes a few practice throws into Griffin’s waiting glove.

“That’s it. Right down the middle. Solid. That’ll be hard to hit.”

The batter steps up to the plate, and Denver’s fingers curl into the hem of his shorts. I’m torn between watching his reactions and watching the game.

Denver wins the competition for my attention as his jaw clenches and releases, his stare hard and focused on the field. Then the crowd erupts in cheers, and I look over to see the batter walking back to the visiting team’s dugout.

“Wow, out already?”

“Three strikes. Valencia better not get too comfortable out there. I don’t care how good he is, that starting position is mine.”

I poke his arm at his grumbling tone. “Is someone feeling a little insecure?” I tease, earning an arched brow in return.

“Not a chance. I know I’m the best, and so does the team. Just need Valencia to remember that.”

I lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re my favourite pitcher, no matter what.”

That earns me the flash of a grin, but then the next batter takes the plate, tapping the dirt with his bat before getting into position. Next to me, Denver’s fingers curl inward again. This time, they’re curling as if holding onto something that isn’t actually there. It’s clear the motion is familiar to him. Routine, even. Something he does without thinking twice.

“What are you doing?” I ask, nudging his arm lightly with mine and nodding down at his hand.

He glances down, like he didn’t even realize.

“Nothing,” he says, but he releases his grip, flexing his fingers once before resting them flat against his jeans. “Just…habit.”

“Looks like you’re pretending to throw something.” I cover his hand with mine, squeezing it lightly. “Are you wishing you were out there?”

“I’m not pretending,” he says. “I’m visualizing. Keeping my head in the game.”

It’s not lost on me that he doesn’t answer my question about wishing if he was on the mound instead of in the stands. That’s okay, I know what his answer would be. Being here while not playing is harder on him than I think he anticipated. Which makes it my job to try and get him to enjoy today.

On the field, Valencia throws another pitch, only this time, the batter makes contact.

“Damn it.” Denver winces as we watch the ball fly over the head of the pitcher before landing in the field just between first and second. It’s an easy play for the Thunder to get the runner out at first, but beside me, Denver is still shaking his head.

“He should’ve thrown a sinker. I know that batter, he can’t hit them to save his damn life.”

“They still got him out, though, so that’s good, right?” I say diplomatically.

“Yeah, it is. I’ll still work with Valencia on his sinker when I’m back.”

The top of the inning ends with no runs scored and Denver finally relaxes back into his seat. “Jeez, this is stressful.”

“More so than playing?”

He nods, pulling his hat off and pushing his hair back before setting it back down and grinning at me. “Yeah, but only because I have no control over the outcome. Out there,”—he nods to the field—“I’m in charge. Here, I’m stuck on the sidelines, praying it goes well.”

“Now imagine how it must feel to coach,” I rib, and he shudders.