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“I know I look good, but supermodel is overkill.” I lean in close to the mirror. “And so was waxing my brows.”
“But not your kitty?” York asks.
I lift a shoulder. “Although it hurt like a bitch and I’ll probably never do it again, there’s something liberating about it.”
“Damn right,” Chloe says loudly—too loudly because she’s now cradling her head.
“All right, let’s message the boys to meet us down in the lobby and go find Chloe some pain reliever.”
Walking into Las Vegas Ballpark, I’m immediately reminded of the games Bianca or Danny’s parents took us to in Houston when we were in high school. I can picture the way Pope looked around, taking it all in and him allowing it to take him in. I remember telling him he’d play there someday. Being a rookie, he didn’t play when they were in Houston last season, but there’s still no doubt he will one day.
Marks points to a screen and beams. “He’s starting on first tonight.”
“Let’s grab some beers before we head to our seats.” Danny nods to the concession stands.
When he looks back and, without words, asks what I want, I shake my head. “I’m good.”
“Like hell you are,” York insists. “You need a drink or ten.”
“They have wine slushies. We should get wine slushies.” Chloe smiles.
“Feeling better?” York jokes.
“I’m about to, and I’m buying.” She sashays her behind up to the counter.
“Put the card away, Chloe Shaw. I’ve got this,” Danny scolds her.
“I don’t need your charity,” she huffs.
“It’s a damn wine slushy, not a house in the Hills.” He boxes her out.
“We’ll get the next round.” York grabs her hand and pulls her back before she biffs him.
“He’s infuriating.” She glares at the back of his head.
Marks and Danny grab the first round and half a dozen hot dogs, which is good because Chloe hasn’t eaten anything since she started drinking in the airport. Me? I ate my weight in peanut M&M’s.
Walking down the stairs to our seats, my heart pounding, I see the players on the field, warming up. It’s not Pope’s team, New York; it’s Oakland, but I’m still taking it all in. The atmosphere is absolutely buzzing with anticipation. The stadium is alive with the sounds of enthusiastic chatter, the crack of the bat on the field, and the roar of the crowd above us, cheering on their favorite players, helping to get them hyped up for the game. From the sides of the field, the bright lights of the stadium illuminate the early evening sky, casting a warm glow over the diamond and adding to the sense of magic in the air. Every now and then, the Jumbotron lights up with advertisements and stats on some of the players, adding to the excitement of what’s to come. I can’t wait to see John Paul’s name up there.
The scents surrounding me are all familiar and bring me back to the days when we all knew he’d be on a pro field, playing in the majors one day. It’s the smell of popcorn, hot dogs, and roasted peanuts, mixed with the smell of dirt, and even though there’s turf and not real grass, I swear I can still smell it.
As we take our seats, my eyes heat up, and I have to fight back tears as my face breaks out into a huge smile, making it even more difficult to keep them at bay.
From my vantage point, I have the perfect view of the players as they come out of the dugouts, and when I see blue and orange, my already-pounding heart beats faster.
Marks leans over. “You gonna make it?”
“It’s different, knowing we’re going to see him play live and in person. Doing what we could have been doing all along. That’s on me.” The first tear falls. “God, I was so stupid to believe that he and Nel?—”
“We’re here now, Whit. That’s all that matters.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Las Vegas Ballpark and tonight’s first major league exhibition game of the season between New York and Oakland! As the players take the field and the anticipation reaches a fever pitch, get ready for a night of heart-pounding action and unforgettable moments. So, sit back, grab your peanuts and Cracker Jacks. Let’s play ball!”
The stadium erupts in applause, and all five of us rise to our feet as the dugout empties. I immediately see Pope doing his major league jog to first. Facing away from the crowd, he bends and taps the base twice with his glove, holds it to his heart, and points it up to the sky.
“Same Pope.” Danny grins.
It’s basically true. He always did that in high school. Except now, he taps the base twice—once for his dad and once for his mom.
