The Other Game (The Perfect Game 4)

Cassie had been visiting Jack upstate this past weekend, and was on her way back home tonight. I’d done my best not to text either of them, knowing they didn’t have enough alone time as it was. I’d been half tempted to call Melissa and take her out while she was at her apartment alone, but the other half of me was too scared to hear her tell me no.

If I was more like my brother, I’d force her to give me a chance, and would refuse to take no for an answer. But I wasn’t like him when it came to matters of the heart. If girls rejected me, I walked away, believing it was what they wanted.

I figured that if Melissa wanted to see me, she had my number and knew how to use it. And so, in order to lessen the sting of her rejection, I simply avoided going over there or seeing her.

But the problem with that was she never seemed to leave my thoughts. I found myself hoping that our kiss in the car plagued her the same way it did me.

My phone blared, waking me up from a nap. Between school and work, I was exhausted, and had started taking random afternoon naps on the weekends the same way Gramps did.

Bleary-eyed, I looked down at my ringing phone and noticed Jack’s name.

“Brother,” I answered sleepily.

“You’re not sleeping, are you?” he teased.

“Well, not anymore.”

“Wake your ass up. I have something to tell you.” He sounded excited, way too happy for Cassie having just left.

Intrigued, I rubbed at my eyes and perked up. “What?”

“I got called up to Double-A. I leave in two days.”

“Shut up, man. Jack, that’s awesome! Congratulations. It’s only a matter of time before you go all the way.”

“Don’t jinx it, brother! I just had to tell you. I’m gonna hang up and call the house. Don’t tell them. Let me.”

“I won’t. I’m proud of you,” I said with a smile I wished he could see.

“Thanks. Talk soon,” he said before ending our call.

I waited, listening for the sound of the house phone before hearing its shrill ring echo down the hallway. Gran’s excited voice rang out, and I rolled out of bed to celebrate with them when they hung up.

• • •

Jack’s new location was in Alabama, playing for the Double-A Diamondbacks team. The next stop was Triple-A, and then it was on to the major leagues—or “the show,” as the players called it. My brother was one step closer to the show, and I knew in my gut that it was only a matter of time before he’d make it there.

The best thing about him being drafted was that all the Double-A games were broadcast online, so I could watch them with Gramps. Tonight was no different, with the exception of the fact that I was on the edge of my seat. Jack had pitched six innings so far without giving up a single hit, a walk, or hitting a batter. No one had gotten on base.

I fired off a text to Cassie, making sure she was watching this too.

Dean: He has a perfect game (but I’m not supposed to talk about it). Tell me you’re watching.

Cassie: I’m watching. What’s a perfect game?

Dean: When no one from the opposing team gets on base. Don’t talk about it anymore. Just watch. And pray it lasts three more innings.

Cassie: Okay! :)

Gramps and I sat glued to the damn computer, our faces inches from the screen as we held our breath with every pitch Jack threw across the plate.

Gran walked up every so often to ask for an update before scooting away again. She’d been spending an awful lot of time in that new car she hadn’t wanted, making excuses to run to the store or pick up dry cleaning when we didn’t dry clean anything. Gramps and I both laughed at her, knowing exactly what she was doing, but neither of us was crazy enough to call her out on it.

With each inning that passed, my nerves stretched even tighter. If I was this wound up sitting in my house just watching the game, how the hell did my brother stay so damn relaxed pitching it?

Gramps and I both knew the rules and superstitions about baseball, and we abided by them religiously. When a pitcher had a no-hitter going, on his way to a perfect game, you didn’t talk about it. You didn’t even mention it. I could only pray that my text message to Cassie hadn’t counted. Even the rest of the team stayed as far away from Jack during their at-bats as they could, making him the most isolated player in the game. No one talked to him, not wanting to risk jinxing it.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, I held my breath as the last batter entered the batter’s box. Jack was one out away from pitching a perfect game, something most pitchers never accomplished in their entire career.