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“Ah, I’ve got to go. I can’t coach a game with blue balls.”
I hear her giggle as I jump in the shower to rinse off quickly.
As I get dressed, I sit on the side of the bed and lean over her. “Come to the game today. It will be fun, I promise. These kids are good and you’ll get to see the field that Nate Bowmen built out on his property.”
She places her hand on my cheek. “Sure.”
I lean down and kiss her before reaching to grab her ass. “Come on. I’ll drop you off on my way. You’ll have an hour to get ready before the game starts.”
We walk out the door, and I drive to drop her off, then head to the ballpark.
All of the kids are just arriving, lugging their gear to the field, wearing their slides on their feet and carrying their cleats upside down on the bats in their bags.
“What’s up, Coach?” Wyatt, one of the players, says.
I nod his way. “Hey. You ready to play?”
“You know it. You ready to coach?”
I laugh. “You know it. Let’s do this.” I lift the bucket of balls out of the back of the truck and hit the back of his bag he’s carrying like a backpack as we walk together to the field.
Hannah arrives ten minutes before game time as I’m hitting innies/outies to them on the side of the first baseline.
“Hey, Wyatt, here. Take over for me real quick.” I hand him the fungo I was hitting with.
He does, and I head over to talk to Hannah, placing my hands up on the chain-link fence that sits between us.
“Hey. Thanks for coming.”
She brings her hands to mine. “You know I always loved sitting in the bleachers and watching you.”
The thought brings back so many memories. Not until she started singing did she ever miss a game. I remember being upset when she would, and my dad would have to explain to me that she was chasing a dream, too, and that I had to support her just as much as she always supported me.
“Good luck today, Coach,” she says with a wink as she turns around to find a spot to sit near the parents.
The game starts off with a double up the middle and doesn’t stop there. My guys are on fire, and every bit of practice shows in the dedication they have to each position.
We win eight to two, but the best part of the entire game was seeing Hannah in the stands every time I looked up. She wasn’t on her phone or looking bored in any way. She was cheering for every player and seemingly having a blast, talking to all of the parents.
As we walk out to her car, she leans back and asks, “I always meant to ask you, why after a strike out, do they throw the ball to each other between the catcher, third base, second base, shortstop, then the pitcher, but never to first base?”
I laugh because not a ton of people even notice that, but since I played first base back then, I’m sure it stood out to her.
“It’s to keep the players active while the next batter comes up, but they skip first only out of tradition. Years ago, when Lou Gehrig started having symptoms of ALS, he was a first baseman. They stopped throwing to him since he was having trouble throwing at all. Out of respect for him, other clubs started doing the same thing, and it stuck.”
Her grin is so cute. “That’s pretty cool.”
“Yeah, baseball is so much more than just hitting the ball and running after it,” I say with a laugh, then change the subject. “So, are you coming to my place?”
I so badly want to press against her right now and kiss her the way I would if we were alone, but we are very much not alone, and I’m sure all of the parents would not appreciate seeing their son’s coach feeling up on a girl in the parking lot.
She places her hand on my chest. “I have to go visit some places for my mom. I’m trying to figure out what our next step is.”
I put my hand over hers and keep it on my chest. “I’ll come with you if you want?”
She leans up to give me a quick kiss. “It’s okay. Susie is going with me. I’ll call you when we’re done.”
She opens the car door, and I hold it until she gets in.
