Page 129

“Yeah, maybe.” He peered around his shoulder, and his smile grew wider. “Uh, Reed, I think you have a visitor.”

When did the stadium grow so quiet? Like someone flipped a mute switch?

The crowd between me and home plate parted down the middle. Granddad, Nana, and Mom stood at the end of the long line, all of them beaming. Mom’s hands were in front of her face. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

Someone stepped out from behind home plate, and everything slowed down. He stood as tall as I remembered, taller, and wore camouflage with tall brown boots laced up to his shins. His right arm was crossed over his chest in a sling, but his familiar golden-yellow and forest-green insignia still rested above his heart. The corners of his mouth drew into a slow smile.

I knew that smile. That same smile had greeted me from the dugout when I finished my first inning on the mound ten years ago. Had waited for me by the mailbox after I took off my training wheels. And had lifted me off the ground when I crashed into that mailbox on my way home.

Dad.

I dropped my glove and sprinted toward him. I had never run so fast in my entire life. Seconds later, my hat flew off, and I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in his shoulder.

He was real.

He was here.

And he was okay.

Thank God.

“Dad,” I whispered against the cold buttons of his uniform. “Dad, you came back.”

He pressed his cheek onto the top of my head. “Of course I did.” His voice cracked. “I missed you so much, son.”

Missed you more.

I pulled back and wiped my eyes. “But how…?”

“After my unit went down, it was pretty bad. I was really lucky to be one of the ones who made it through alive. All I thought about was you, your mother. And that got me through.” He took off his hat.

The stadium’s explosive clapping made us both jump as the scoreboard changed to a live feed of our reunion with a banner caption underneath it that said, “Welcome Home, Sergeant Major Fulton.”

Dad waved his hat in the air and mouthed a silent Thank you to them before turning back to me. “They released me a few days ago. I debriefed most of the day yesterday and got here just in time. Your fastball…two-seamer?”

I smirked. “You saw that?”

“I saw it all.” He pulled me into another hug. “Great game, kid.”

We stayed like that for a while or for what felt like forever. Blurs of movement shifted around us, but I didn’t move. Wouldn’t move. Because part of me still worried if I did, he would vanish, and all of this would be nothing but a dream.

But then he ruffled my hair. And he didn’t disappear.

He was finally home.

“Thank you, Reed, for winning back what should’ve always been ours,” he said.

Ours.

A rock dropped into my stomach. We won. Which meant Eliza’s family lost. The stadium now belonged to the Fultons.

“Um, Reed?” Dad asked.

So the Crowleys would move away from Fairfield, from us, and start a new life. Eliza would go to one of those amazing schools for the arts.

I checked the time on the scoreboard. Could I drive to Clairview right now and catch the curtain call? Convince her that maybe we—

“Reed.” Dad patted my shoulder and pointed toward the Crowley dugout.