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Not a lot of originality in baseball fans unless name puns counted. Jeers were jeers the country over, and he was able to ignore a lot of nasty stuff.
“You’re making friends today,” Alex noted, stretching his leg behind him as Tucker approached.
“I’m a friendly guy.”
“Give them all a big smile.”
Tucker shook his head and adjusted his cap. He had a big welt on his forehead from the line drive, and though it was shrinking, he’d still needed to get a bigger hat to keep pressure off the bump. His head was throbbing in spite of the larger hatband.
They spent fifteen minutes tossing the ball at varying distances while the Yankees’ pitcher and catcher did the same in the left field. When the outfield guys wrapped up their stretches, Tucker and Alex took a pause and looked around the ballpark.
A few orange-and-gray shirts dotted the skyline—brave Felons fans showing their support in a sea of navy and white. Tucker smiled, mostly to himself, but also to those who had turned out to see him win.
He was going to win it.
Not for his own career, but for them. For the fans back in California arriving home from work and getting their dinner ready for the night. Some would be listening to game updates in their cars, fighting San Francisco traffic. Those fans were the reason he loved his city and he loved those damn ugly colors.
Everything went quiet. He couldn’t hear the yelling against him or the cheering for the home team.
The rest was silence.
“I need my gum.” Tucker stalked around the dugout, hunting through the buckets of candy on the back shelf. He’d sent a batboy to look through his bag in the clubhouse, but he’d somehow managed to forget to bring the one thing he needed. His stupid, goddamn, grape bubble gum.
He shook a bucket of gumballs, all bright orange, yellow and pink. He would have accepted a shitty, soap-tasting grape, but nothing in the bucket would work. There was no grape gum.
His heart sank.
“What are you freaking out about?” Emmy took the container out of his hands and replaced it with the hat he’d left on the bench.
“I forgot my gum.”
“You’re going this nuts over gum?”
He gave her an impatient glower. She of all people should know why the gum mattered. Hadn’t she been the one, on their first day together, who asked what kind of weird superstitions he had? What she’d need to know to work with him?
Tucker stopped searching. “I forgot my gum.”
Emmy braced her hands on his shoulders so he held still. “You don’t need it.”
“I do need it.”
“Tucker, it’s gum. You don’t need it. You’re better than gum. Miles is better than the stupid card in his sock.” Her hands dropped, and she gave his a squeeze. “You make your own luck, okay?”
Tucker felt her small hands in his, her skin dry against his clammy palms. She stared at him, her hazel eyes warm and patient, and he knew she was right. He did make his own luck.
Because he’d found her, and he loved her, and that might be all the luck he needed.
Changeup. Changeup. Fastball.
Curveball. Slider. Changeup.
Fastball. Fastball. Changeup.
One, two, three in the first.
Fastball, pop up, out.
Changeup. Slider. Fastball.
