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

“Yes,” I nodded my head. “What…”

I stopped when I noticed my brother come up behind the reporter who was interviewing Hancock, a blond male in his forties, and make the thrusting hip gesture as he brought his fingers—in the shape of a V—to his lips and flicked his tongue out.

Hancock’s head tilted, and he tried for all he was worth to continue with the interview, but it didn’t take long before he burst out laughing.

Which Siggy and I did as well.

“That boy can get anyone to laugh,” Siggy chuckled. “You going over there?”

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “I think Mom and Dad are in the stands over on the visitors’ side. I might go talk to them while I wait for the interview that I know is about to happen between my brother and Hancock. Are you going to dinner with us?”

“Negative,” Siggy denied. “I’m tired, and your brother gives me a headache.”

I snorted.

“Teller gives everyone a headache,” I pointed out. “That doesn’t stop us from going out to dinner with him, though.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been battling a headache for two weeks now. I’m hoping it’ll stop tonight,” he grumbled, picking up his bag and heading for the locker room.

I didn’t stop him.

I knew he was on edge.

Everyone was.

Hancock leaving—warranted or not—had thrown everyone.

It’d take some time for everything to go back to the way it was.

Shaking my head clear of thoughts about how it felt to have Hancock gone, I took the steps to the field and crossed it, making my way over to my parents, who were still seated and watching my brother and Hancock, who were just to the right of where they were sitting.

Giving them a wide berth so I wouldn’t interrupt them on national television, I moved to the padded wall that was separating the stands from the field and clasped my dad’s hand.

“Hey, Daddy,” I called. “How are you doing?”

Dad’s eyes filled with love as he stared at me.

“I’m doing good, baby. But I’m not sure whether I should be happy that my team won or sad that your brother lost,” he laughed.

I giggled.

That was true.

I didn’t know what to say or do either.

On one hand, I was sad that my brother lost, but on the other, I was excited that my team won.

It was a lose-lose situation.

“Did you figure out where you wanted to go eat?” Dad asked.

I shook my head. “I was thinking that sushi place, but I’m not sure if everyone likes it like I do.”

“I like sushi!” Hancock called, interrupting his interview to tell us that little tidbit.

“But I don’t like sushi from that one place. So, avoid that please!” Teller followed up.

Shaking my head, I returned my eyes back to my mom.

“We’re gonna have to nix sushi,” I informed them.

“I noticed,” Mom smiled. “There’s that new place, Across the Border.”

“It’s On The Border, dear, and that place just opened. They’ll be busy as hell,” Dad interrupted.

Mom sighed.

“I just don’t understand why you don’t like Mexican food. It’s the best food in the world,” Mom started in with her usual argument, which caused my father to follow up with his usual argument.

“What I really want is a hamburger,” Hancock said, interrupting my parents. “But I can do sushi.”

Hancock’s arm went around my hips where I was leaning against the padded wall, and he pulled me in tight while his eyes went to my parents.

“Nice to meet you,” he offered my father his hand.

Dad took it, considering the man in front of him, while my mother continued her argument about the pros and cons of her favorite cuisine.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Dad replied, dropping his hand.

“Mexican food has queso. And tortilla chips. And beans. Oh, and sizzling fajita meat.”

“We’re not doing sushi,” I said firmly. “You just said you liked sushi on national television. Every fan in Longview will now be patrolling all the sushi places in the area looking for you. We can do hamburgers.”

Hancock frowned. “I didn’t say we were going to a sushi place.”

“No,” I nodded. “But why else would you say you like sushi in the middle of an interview?”

The sweetness in my voice was enough to cause Hancock’s eyes to narrow.

“Wow,” he teased. “That tongue of yours has gotten sharp over the last two weeks.”

My mouth kicked up in a smile.

“I thought you liked my…”

He pressed one large palm over my mouth and glared at me.

“Your parents…whom I’m trying to impress…are right there. Enough of that,” he whispered into my ear.

But he hadn’t said it softly enough.

“Oh, you’ve already impressed us,” my mom smiled. “Those home runs…those were works of art.”

“Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” Teller patted his chest.

I threw myself in Teller’s direction and started peppering his face with kisses.

“What’s wrong, Telly Belly?” I squeezed his neck as hard as I could. “Is somebody a sore loser?”