Pitch Please (There's No Crying in Baseball 1)

“She’s worried about her baby,” I teased. “He’s the last one who hasn’t found someone, and she wants to make sure he’s not alone forever.”

Ember snorted.

“He went with us to The Back Porch yesterday. He had no trouble finding women,” Ember pointed out.

“No,” I agreed. “He’s never had that problem. What she’s worried about is him finding someone who’ll be good enough for her to get some grandbabies from.”

“Ahhh,” Ember nodded.

“She should probably start checking out Longview, then,” Gabe grinned. “All the good ones are taken in Kilgore.”

Ember smacked her husband’s chest.

“That’s not true,” she disagreed. “There’s that girl at the supermarket…and our son’s teacher.”

Gabe’s eyes sparkled. “You want to set up poor, sweet, innocent Hannibal with that harpy who teaches Luca? You’ve got to be kidding.”

Chuckling, I waved them off and headed for the dugout where my woman had just taken her seat.

In my spot.

“You’re in my seat!” I bellowed the moment I was at the top of the steps.

Sway didn’t bother to look up.

“Imagine that,” she mused. “I sure am.”

Hooking her around the waist with one arm, I scooted her down and took my place directly beside her.

“You forgot to kiss me,” I declared.

She offered her lips, but kept her eyes on the book that she was reading. One with a jacked guy in a kilt on the cover.

“Good book?” I asked, her, waiting for her to look into my eyes.

“Great book,” she nodded. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”

I gave her a kiss.

“Now what do you say?” I teased.

“Break…” I pressed my hand over her mouth before she could finish that thought.

“Sway,” I glared.

She grinned broadly behind my hand. So widely, in fact, I could feel her teeth on my fingers.

“I hope you have a good game and hit two home runs,” she said sweetly.

I sighed.

“I guess that’s good enough.”

“And now if everyone will please stand for the National Anthem.”

I touched the tip of Sway’s nose with my pointer finger, and then climbed the steps to take my spot on the field with my hand over my heart.

Furious George came up to me and slapped me on the back before following suit.

“The kid wanted me to thank you again for coming to see him at the hospital yesterday,” George murmured. “He said you brought signed baseballs for the entire floor. Are you actively trying to make me look bad?”

I started to laugh.

“No. But it works out well, doesn’t it?” I challenged.

He rolled his eyes.

“You asking her?” George asked, his eyes trained in the same direction mine were. On Sway.

She was wearing her signature khaki pants and fitted green polo shirt that declared her ‘Lumberjack Staff.’ Though she’d changed her shoes.

They were white Converse that had the toes decorated with green rhinestones. The side of the shoe also had a green rhinestone number 49, which made me happy that she was wearing my number, even if it was understated.

It’d be better if she had that number tattooed on her cheek or something…

“Think she’ll say yes?” he asked.

I nodded my head.

“Yep.”

“So sure of yourself?” he asked.

I nodded again.

“Yep.”

He snorted.

“Marriage is hard.”

I turned my head to look at him.

“Yeah?”

He nodded.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “But it’s worth it. I’d give my left nut to have my marriage back. Absolutely anything for just one more night with my arms wrapped around her.”

Silence fell as the anthem started to play, and I closed my eyes and thanked God that Sway was mine.

That I would never—God willing—feel what Furious George was feeling at that moment.

***

Three hours and forty-one minutes later, I hit the game winning run straight over the right field wall.

The crowd around me went wild, and I started to run at a slow jog, stopping to slap hands with Sterling, the Shreveport Sparks in-fielder, as I went.

“That was just lucky,” Sterling called as I passed.

I raised a brow at him.

“Or maybe you’re just unlucky,” I countered.

He started to laugh, and his humor followed me as I made my way around the bases.

My eyes went to Gabe who was standing by the wall, a broad grin on his face as he looked down at his wife who was talking animatedly with her hands.

The moment I rounded home and started heading in their direction, I was pounced on, my teammates surrounding me as they congratulated me.

“Did you know that you passed up the lead in home runs this season with that hit?” someone yelled.

I turned to find a reporter directly behind my back, and I grinned.

“It feels damn good,” I informed her. “Will you excuse me for a few seconds?”

I ducked and jived when the cooler of Powerade started heading for my head, and then cursed when I couldn’t avoid the second cooler coming at me.

“Goddammit, you fuckers,” I shouted as the red sports drink poured all over me, staining the white parts of my uniform instantly.