“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Gran shouted from their bedroom.
The smell of lasagna filled the entire house, and my mouth watered at the thought of digging into it later. Jack knew Gran would make him whatever he wanted, but he always made me ask anyway.
“Dinner smells amazing, Gran,” I told her when we finally headed outside.
She snorted. “It better. I spent all morning making it.”
“No one does it better than you do,” Gramps said with a smile as we piled into their car, an aging Honda that flipped over the odometer long ago.
Gran buckled up in the front seat and narrowed her eyes at us. “You two stop buttering me up. What do you want?”
“I don’t want to be late,” I said from the backseat.
“Then you’d better get going.” She smacked Gramps’s shoulder as he stepped on the gas and pulled away from the house.
Thankfully we didn’t live too far from campus, so the drive there was quick. I hated missing a single pitch when Jack played. Watching him was one of the coolest things ever. He had a presence on the mound that you couldn’t teach, and it filled me with pride every single game.
From the moment he stepped onto the field, Jack was all business. Screaming girls shouted his name from the stands, many of them wearing jerseys with his number on them, but none of it mattered. All he saw was the catcher’s glove sixty feet away from him, and all he focused on was hitting the pitch that was called.
We’d spent too many nights to count talking about baseball and his love for it. It actually made me a little envious sometimes, and I wished I loved something as much as he did. I often reminded Jack how lucky he was to be great at the one thing he wanted to do for a living.
Many amateur athletes loved the sport they played and wished for a future in it—a career—but it would never happen for them. That was just how life worked. It wasn’t enough to want something; it had to want you back.
And baseball wanted Jack. He not only excelled at the sport, he exemplified it.
Gran, Gramps, and I made our way to our regular seats above the dugout. I glanced to my right once I was comfortable and noticed Cassie and Melissa arguing before taking their seats.
The sight made me smile. Cassie had come to see him pitch after all. I made a mental note to let my brother know she had shown up. Jack never paid attention to anything or anyone in the stands during a game, so he wouldn’t have a clue if she was here or not.
I smiled to myself, happy that she was here to watch him. He liked her; I knew that much already just by the way he acted around her. Cassie might be a challenge for him, which was always attractive, but his interest in her seemed to be something more than that.
Jack wasn’t used to being told no by a girl, but it also wasn’t in his nature to waste time on one. There had to be a reason he couldn’t leave her alone whenever he saw her, why he chased her.
Gran leaned forward, scanning the stands. “There’s a lot of people here to watch him tonight,” she said, probably not even aware of her hands twining nervously in her lap.
The scouts were out in full force tonight. It was always a spectacle when Jack pitched, but each game drew more and more of them.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I told her. “His crowd seems to get bigger every time.”
“I always get so nervous when he pitches,” she said with a sigh before resting her head against Gramps’s shoulder. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
I waved a hand as if the pressure were no big deal. “Don’t be. Jack’s not.”
But I understood her anxiety. I felt it too each time he pitched. You couldn’t help it when you cared about the person and knew their hopes, dreams, and fears. I wanted the best for my brother, and each time he took the mound, I wanted the same thing for him that he did—to get drafted this June. And to do that, he had to impress the scouts in the stands each and every time he pitched.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Fullton Field!” The announcer’s voice filled the air as the screaming fans slowly lowered their volume. “He
re to sing the national anthem is our very own Fullton State student, Laura Malloy!”
Cheers filled the stadium as Laura smiled nervously before closing her eyes and singing the opening words beautifully.
I glanced over at Melissa, but was distracted by the camera in front of Cassie’s face instead. It looked complex and professional, and she actually seemed to know what she was doing. She leaned forward, adjusted the lens, and clicked the shutter multiple times before placing the camera back on her lap.
“We have a sold-out crowd tonight, folks, and we all know why! Taking the mound against our rivals from Florida is the one and only Jack Carter!”
The announcer spoke Jack’s name like he did every Friday night when Jack pitched—reverently, as if Jack was all that mattered. Thankfully, Jack knew it took a team to win ball games, and he never let it go to his head, or acted like it was all about him. Off the field, he was a different beast altogether, a cocky campus stud, but on the field, he was the consummate professional.
I leaned over Gramps and poked my grandmother in the arm. “Hey, Gran, want to see something?”