Quit Your Pitchin' (There's No Crying in Baseball 2)

“Why doesn’t he just get out?” I questioned. “It would be a lot easier.”

“Private property. If he’s in his vehicle, he can say he’s just here for a moment. If he’s out, he’s loitering,” George murmured.

“Man, you sure know a lot of stuff,” Diamond said under her breath.

“Part of the job, unfortunately,” he muttered.

I smiled at the girl behind the counter. “Hi! I’m Wrigley, and we’re here for my gender scan.”

The woman smiled, turning her bright eyes toward my husband.

Another fan.

Fuck.

“Hi!” she chattered nervously. “I’m Wendy. Would any of y’all like a drink?”

George looked at me.

I shook my head. “I just had an entire bottle of Mountain Dew so this baby will move. Plus, I have an extremely full bladder. I think if I drank anything right now I might very well pop.”

George’s smile tipped up at the corner.

“Okay. Then no.” He turned back to the woman. “Thank you, though.”

“I’d like a Diet Coke!” Diamond chimed in.

“I take that back. She’ll have a Diet Coke,” George corrected, turning his laughing eyes at Diamond and me.

I suppressed a smirk as the woman turned to fetch the drink, looking like she wished she could take her kind offer back.

I had an idea that she hadn’t really wanted to get us anything but was more than willing to fetch George whatever he wanted.

Herself included in that offer.

Five minutes later, Diet Coke in hand, Diamond stood on my left, and George on my right, as the lady—who thankfully was blissfully unaware of who my husband was—at my other side ran the wand over my belly.

My breath hitched as I got my first good look at the baby nestled deep in my belly.

“It does look like an alien,” I accused my husband.

The woman started to laugh, as did Diamond. My husband, however, put his hand over my mouth.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “She might hear you.”

“Oh, it’s not a she,” the sonographer said, sounding amused. “It’s most certainly a he.”

With that, she paused and clicked, circling an area.

George hooted in excitement. “I have a boy!”

***

Twenty-two weeks later

I stood up from the couch where I was watching the game with Diamond and shrieked. “That was a strike, my ass!”

“Jesus,” Diamond said. “You’re like a freakin’ freak show. It was a strike.”

“It was not. That ball was so far outside the pitcher’s box that it was unreal.”

Diamond started to laugh.

“It’s Batter’s Box, sis. And just because you played a few pick-up games of softball with a church that you don’t even attend—which you sucked at by the way—and watch your man play baseball, doesn’t make you an expert on the matter,” she teased. “Who knew that you’d like baseball like you do. I feel like a proud mama with you spouting off all this sports knowledge.”

I flipped her off, causing her to laugh.

I had started playing softball, and I did kind of suck. But I was fairly sure that was because I was so new to the game.

And I missed it.

I hadn’t played in over ten weeks since I’d become too cumbersome to move swiftly.

I frowned when a shooting pain ripped down my back, causing me to double over.

“You okay there, slugger?”

I stood back up with a grimace. “Yeah, but this pain is killing me every few minutes.”

“Every few minutes?” Diamond repeated.

I nodded. “How many have you had?”

I thought back to the day I’d had.

It’d started this morning during my phone call with George and had really revved up during the game.

“I don’t know. A lot?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is it consistent?”

I opened my mouth, then snapped it closed. “You think I’m in labor?”

She raised her eyebrows high. “Duh.”

I paused, thought about that for a short moment, then started to breathe faster.

“He’s in freakin’ Louisiana!”

“It could be worse,” she tried to appease me.

“I’m not sure how,” I snapped.

“It could’ve happened tomorrow night and he’d have been in Toronto.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

Seemed I was having a problem coming up with words.

“I guess that’s true,” I agreed reluctantly. “But he’s in the middle of a game right now, and I’m in labor!”

She rolled her eyes.

“Your water hasn’t even broken.”

And that was about the time that my water broke.

All over the floor, and right on top of Diamond’s brand-new pair of shoes.

“My shoes!” Diamond cried.

“My water!” I cried at the exact same moment.

I looked to the TV where George was still up to bat.

“How do you get a hold of him?” Diamond whispered.

I slowly started to pace as the pain slowly ebbed away.

“I don’t. I wait until he calls me.”

George had warned me that there was a strict no phone policy in the dugout and that if an emergency happened, I was to call the team manager, who would then call the phone that was in the dugout.

Which would then be relayed to him.

But I didn’t want to bother him.