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Julia
This was absolutely crazy. What the hell was I even thinking, coming out to the stadium in the hopes of Lachlan somehow seeing me in the crowd of tens of thousands of screaming fans. At least I had the good sense to take an Uber instead of driving, then having to park when the game was probably already half over. I just prayed Lachlan was still pitching. Wes said he was usually good for about six or seven innings. I hoped I wasn’t too late.
And that he’d miraculously see me.
I followed the overhead signs past different concession stands, dozens of distinct aromas fighting for attention. It reminded me of my childhood. Of all the times Gampy brought Wes and I to this exact stadium to see his beloved Hawks play, even though they were once one of the worst teams in baseball.
Now, according to Wes, they actually had a shot at going all the way this year, thanks to their star pitcher.
Finally finding the section where Wes’ season tickets were located, I hurried toward it, showing the usher the ticket on my phone. He nodded, allowing me entry, and I made my way up the ramp.
With every step I took, the sounds grew louder. Fans cheering. A bat cracking as it made contact with the ball. Short, musical interludes when a different batter stepped up to the plate.
When I emerged into the stands, the field coming into view, a rush of excitement filled me. And not the normal rush any lover of baseball experienced at a game. This was different. More personal.
I continued down the concrete steps toward my seat, dozens of fans wearing jerseys with Hale on the back. My choice in clothing, however, didn’t remotely resemble appropriate attire for a baseball game, making me feel a bit out of place. I wore a white sundress, for crying out loud.
The same one I wore in Hawaii when Lachlan took me to his ball field.
If that wasn’t a sign this was where I was meant to be, I didn’t know what was.
As I continued down the stands, my pulse increased, especially as I grew closer and closer to the field. Wes told me his tickets were on the first base line. I didn’t expect them to be only two rows behind the dugout.
The Hawks’ dugout.
Where I’d have the perfect view of Lachlan as he ran out onto the field or warmed up to bat.
Holy shit. This was really happening.
As I found my seat, a needle of doubt settled, telling me it wasn’t too late to back out.
But I was done operating in survival mode. It was time to live again.
I sat, smoothing a hand down my sundress, butterflies flapping in my stomach.
“You a friend of Wes’?”
I glanced behind me at a man I estimated to be in his seventies or eighties. A Hawks baseball cap covered his head, and he wore what appeared to be a vintage jersey.
“I’m his sister.”
“Julia!” His eyes lit up as he grabbed my hand, shaking it. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Wes has told us all about you.” He dropped his hold, then nudged the younger man at his side, whom appeared to be about my age. “This is Wes’ sister, Julia. This is my son, Carter.”
I smiled at him, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you.” Then I looked back at the older man and arched a brow. “And you are?”
“Oh, my apologies. My name’s Harold.”
“How do you two know Wes?”
He shrugged. “I’ve had these seats for nearly thirty years now. And I believe Wes has had his for over ten. Season ticket holders who don’t scalp their tickets and actually come to the games become like family. So that’s what Wes is now. Family.”
“That’s nice.” I smiled, then started to face forward.
“Carter is single.”
I darted my gaze around once more, meeting Harold’s devious grin. “Excuse me?”
“Pop,” Carter muttered, shaking his head. By his aggravated, yet unsurprised reaction, I got the feeling he dealt with this a lot. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice sincere. “My divorce was recently finalized, and Pop’s decided to make it his mission to set me up with every female with a pulse.” He glared at his father. “Including my son’s nanny.”
