“I miss you, too,” I tell him, hoping he knows I’m telling the truth.
“I’ll be home in a few days. Make sure you call Daisy if you need anything.”
“I will, bye Cooper.”
He pauses briefly before saying, “Bye.”
He hangs up, ending our connection. I hold the phone to my ear longer than necessary before finally tossing it on the bed. I roll over and cradle my stomach, praying that Cooper wants to be in our lives, because I don’t want to do this alone.
Chapter 33
Cooper
The afternoon sun is blazing, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why we had a noon start today. It’s the bottom of the seventh, and we’re down by two runs. For each run we bat in, they bat in two. It’s a topsy-turvy type of game and exciting for the fans, not so much for the players. We like a lead. We like things to be comfortable and not stress us out, unless of course you’re the closing pitcher. They seem to like having the game on the line and will even lose the lead we’ve gained so they feel more like they are in control. If you ask me, that is just plain fucked up, and I sometimes want to wring the closers neck. We work hard to give them that cushion; they just need to finish the game already.
I thought, with Ainsley being back in my life, my game would tank. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case. This week on the road, I’ve racked up at least two RBIs per game and stolen three bases. I’m faring a lot better than I was during spring training when my father convinced me that she was too much of a distraction. Truth is, I probably wasn’t ready for the bigs yet, but with the help of Bainbridge and the determination of Cal Diamond, I persevered and started performing the way I should be.
Singleton just singled to right, giving me a man on base to bring home. I look to our third base coach, for the sign, wondering if I’m hitting away or bunting. The infield shifts, expecting the bunt, but I’m supposed to stand in and take the pitch so Branch can steal, easy enough. I cringe when I see the meatball heading my way. I want to swing, but doing so could hit Branch right into a double play, or I could pop up and he’d have to go back to first. So I take it. My eyes close when the ump calls out “Strike,” and I feel the ball whizzing by my face as the catcher for Tampa Bay throws down to second in hope of getting Singleton on the steal.
The base ump calls him safe, and our dugout cheers. We have a few fans in the stands as well who yell out their appreciation of Singleton. My eyes are on our third base coach again for the sign. It’s a bunt. He wants to advance Branch to third. I get it. There are no outs, and we’re down by two runs at the moment. The coaches will do anything to cut the Tampa lead in half.
I step in and show my bat. The infield adjusts slightly, but not too much, because they’re smart enough to honor Singleton and his speed. As the pitcher warms up, I show my bat again, and everyone yells bunt. The pitch is high and outside so I pull back. The sign I get this time is the same, and I repeat my process of grinding my foot in and making sure I’m square to the plate. I take a deep breath, letting the bat rest on my shoulder until the pitcher shows that he’s ready.
He starts his wind up. At the last minute I show I’m going to bunt. The ball hits the bat and I push it gently, absorbing most of the force in hope that the ball barely has any velocity to go anywhere. It stalls so much that I’m called safe at first. I watch the instant replay, showing the pitcher and catcher both going for the ball, with no play being made when the catcher finally comes up with it.
We are in perfect scoring position with a runner on third and now first. There’s an air of cockiness when Kidd walks up to the plate. Once again signs are given from across the field. I’m stealing on the first pitch. Kid
d pauses, adjusts his batting gloves, and steps into the box. He has a routine; it’s ridiculous, but works for him.
I have a big lead. It’s dangerous, but with Singleton on third, they don’t want to get me in a rundown. They wouldn’t be able to get us both out, and I know that is what the coaches want—they want Tampa to make a mistake and try to pick both of us off.
The second the ball is released, I’m hauling ass toward second. I slide, even though I have no idea where the ball is, and hear the ump call me safe. Asking for time, I stand and shake the dirt off my pants and readjust my cup. Aside from the jockstrap, the cup is the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever had to wear. Kidd said he had a girlfriend complain to him once that a bra was more uncomfortable, so he tested it out and said he’d rather wear a bra than a cup any day.
Once the ball is back in to play, I’m clapping for Kidd. I take a few steps off second, getting comfortable in my lead. Kidd swings and misses, sending Singleton and me back to our bases for a moment. We step off and wait for the next pitch, and Kidd swings and drives the ball down the right field line. I’m in a dead sprint toward third with my eyes on our third base coach the entire time. His arm waves around and as I round third, my focus is on Singleton. He’s going to guide me.
Tampa Bay’s catcher crouches, and Singleton’s arms lower, telling me to get down. I slide head-first around the catcher’s leg and touch the corner of home plate with my fingertips. The ump yells “out,” and I stand, about ready to argue with him, but I remember what happened the last time I did that.
“Ump, there was no touch,” I tell him calmly and repeat myself when Wilson comes out to ward off any issues between the umpire and me.
“Smith, there wasn’t a touch,” Wilson says. He motions for me to go back to the dugout, and I do, but I stay at the top of the stairs. When the opposing team scores or a play is in question that could affect the home team, the instant replay suddenly doesn’t work. That is the case right now. The cameramen are showing the freaking mascot dancing around like a fool instead of showing the fans that I’m safe.
The ump confers with the umpire in the Replay Command Center, which is located in New York City, who apparently overturns the initial call because the home plate ump is giving the sign that I’m safe. I watch the scoreboard change, tying up the game, before I step into the dugout where the guys commend me on excellent game play.
“Nice running.” I give Singleton props with a fist bump.
“That bunt was deadly.”
“Fucking lucky,” I tell him as I down a cup of water and head to the railing to cheer on Bryce Mackenzie. I’ve never been a strong bunter so the fact that it laid down perfectly is a surprise to me. I’m usually a guaranteed out in that sort of situation.
Mackenzie goes down swinging, as does Bennett. Cashman grounds out to short, ending our half of the inning.
“Keep it tight, guys,” Wilson says as we head to our respective positions. Meyers and I walk out together, bullshitting along the way. He’s ready for our road trip to be over, and his big plan for tomorrow is to sleep. I don’t know what my plan is going to be, but it will definitely be something to do with Ainsley. I think about telling the guys that she’s pregnant, but I asked Wilson not to say anything, so I don’t feel right letting the cat out of the bag, so to speak. Once Ainsley and I figure shit out, I’ll let people know, but until then, my lips are sealed. Besides, I don’t feel like it’s my news to share, but hers. Once it’s out there, the damn BoRe Blogger will be all up in her business, and I don’t think she wants that just yet.
In the end, we end up losing badly and are back on our plane by four in the afternoon. I text Ainsley to let her know that I’ll be home around ten or so, but she doesn’t respond before I’m forced to shut my phone off. We have wifi on the plane, but I choose to sleep on the way back so she and I can have a long talk tomorrow. My sleeping habits are all fucked up because of my schedule, and if I can get a nap in now, maybe waking up with her won’t be such an issue for me.
I sleep through the flight, and once we’re landed, we get on our charter bus and head back to the stadium. Well, some of us do. Daisy is waiting for Ethan, and their warm embrace makes me long for a relationship like that. Standing there like a peeping tom, watching them together, really makes me question what I’m doing with Ainsley. She’s here and pregnant with my child, yet I’m keeping a safe distance between us. Why? Am I afraid she’s going to run again? Maybe I need to give her a reason to stay.
The Davenports offer me a ride home, but I decline. I need my car, especially if I want to take Ainsley somewhere tomorrow. The ride back on the team bus is torture but only because I have someplace to be.