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

“The team owner asked me to say a few words about my family,” he started. “But, save for one lovely lady.” He looked down at Grams and winked. “My family isn’t really something to write home about.”

My belly clenched.

“Despite my Grams’ determination, my family and I are no longer close,” he said. “But, I wanted to talk to you not about the family you’re born into, but the family you make for yourself.”

I sat up ramrod straight in my seat, and jostled Micah as I did, dislodging him from my pillowy breasts and causing him to sit up.

“Down,” he ordered.

I put him down but kept my eyes on my husband.

Ex-husband.

Goddammit.

“Three years ago I met my ex-wife,” George started to say. “And let me tell you something. She gave me something that…”

I closed my eyes at those words. Ex-wife. Hearing him actually say it was harder than it actually happening. Almost as if it wasn’t acknowledged, then maybe it wasn’t actually true. Maybe I hadn’t acted like a shrew and thrown him out of his own house. Maybe, just maybe, I’d wake up and it’d all be a horrible dream.

I opened my eyes once again and realized that George was speaking still, and I’d missed half of what he was saying while I was having an inner pity party.

“…and my life wouldn’t be what it is today if I didn’t have him.”

George’s eyes went to me, and then to Micah.

Micah, who was now running across the field to his father.

He dodged Tyrone like a prized sprinter, heading as fast as his tiny little legs could take him.

Which really wasn’t that fast.

It was just that he was a slippery little devil.

I pressed my hand over my eyes and counted backward from twenty.

Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen.

I was down to six when the entire stadium said, “Awwwww.”

I opened my eyes to see that Micah had finally made it to his father.

They were dressed nearly identical.

Today, Micah and George were both in their tight white baseball pants—and on another note, do you know how freakin’ hard it is to find baseball pants for a two-year-old? I had to have those bastards specially made!

Micah was wearing his daddy’s jersey, only in a very miniature version.

Then there was the baseball cap.

Micah’s was askew from where he’d been sleeping on me and honestly looked like it’d seen better days.

But he didn’t go anywhere, and I do mean anywhere, without it. He even tried to wear it in the bathtub. Something he learned better than to do when I wouldn’t let him wear it the next day until it was dry.

If there was one single person in this entire stadium that was George’s biggest fan, it was Micah.

He even surpassed his aunt’s one-time exuberance. Not that Diamond had much of an interest in baseball—or anything—lately. I barely even got her to go out of her apartment on the days that George had Micah.

“This guy right here wouldn’t have been possible without his mama, and despite us being divorced, I count her as my family. Family is what you make it. These guys surrounding me are my family. That woman over there,” he gestured toward me. “Family. This one right here? Actual family, but also my best friend. So, in short, it’s not always blood that matters. Your friendships have a hell of a lot more impact.”

My breathing hitched in my throat as George handed the microphone back to the team manager, who started saying something immediately despite the loud round of applause that George was given.

George, who earned a bigger applause when he dropped a kiss down onto Micah’s forehead.

Minutes passed as families made their way off the field, and I watched with both of my hands pressed between my knees as George made his way to me. He and Micah chattered the entire way, making me watch them and wish that I hadn’t stolen that away from them, too.

Grams was watching me, though, and I frowned at her.

She gestured toward George, and then pursed her lips.

I rolled my eyes.

That woman was crazy.

There was just no other word for what she was.

Then they were there in front of me, and Tyrone was helping Grams back over the wall.

Fans surged forward, but George backed away. “I’ll sign all you want after the game. Back away, please.”

George was protective of our son. Had I mentioned that?

He never signed autographs when Micah was in the vicinity.

Never.

It was as if he couldn’t control the situation, so he chose to publicly make a statement by refusing every single autograph when Micah was with him.

The fans gave a disappointed groan, and I winked at George, who was looking awful at having to deny them.

On the field, George may be known as Furious George, but he was actually a very tenderhearted person. And he hated denying anyone anything.