The stadium erupted with enthusiastic noise. Every Friday night home game started out the same way with ear-piercing shouts, cheers, and screaming girls as Jack walked toward the strip of white rubber on the tall dirt mound. He kicked at the dirt in front of the pitching mound, adjusting it to his liking before he stood tall on top of it. After he warmed up with a handful of practice pitches to the catcher, the game officially started.
The first pitch flew by in a rush, and I sensed that he was on tonight. The sound of the ball hitting the catcher’s mitt was so loud, it echoed against the backstop. The batter stepped out from the batter’s box and looked nervously at his coach before stepping back in. Two more pitches screamed by, and that was out number one of the night.
“Strike three! You’re out!” the umpire shouted, and the crowd cheered loudly.
Jack was in the zone.
The rest of the game played out much like the first inning. When it was all said and done, Jack had pitched the entire game, giving up only three hits and one run.
Afterward, Coach pulled Jack aside and escorted him over to the press area where he was besieged by reporters, scouts, and fans. This was the usual post-game wrap-up, and it could take up to an hour or longer.
Gran, Gramps, and I took our time leaving our seats, shuffling behind the rest of the crowd as they filed out. I looked over to where Melissa had been sitting, but her seat was empty.
My stomach growled, reminding me of Gran’s lasagna waiting for us.
I tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Gran, we can start eating before Jack gets home, right?”
She looked back at me like she wanted to smack me upside the head, and I was thankful when she didn’t. After glancing at the delicate gold watch on her wrist, she said, “Only because it’s already ten. And I’m starving.”
• • •
When Jack walked through the door an hour later, we all shouted our greetings at him from the kitchen table.
“Thank God for lasagna and you, Gran,” he said as he came into the kitchen and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.
“Great game tonight, bro.” I put my fist in the air, and he tapped it with his before grabbing a plate.
“Thanks. I felt really good.” He shot me a quick smile.
“You looked better than good.”
“You threw so well tonight, Jack. I’m really proud of you,” Gran said with a smile before giving him a hug. “Now, eat.”
“I’m starving.” Jack dropped into his seat at the table and piled his plate with more lasagna than a normal person should be able to consume in one sitting.
Since the rest of us had already finished eating, Gran placed her hands on the table and slowly lifted from her chair. “I’m going to bed. You boys clean up, will you?” she asked as she headed toward their bedroom.
“Of course. Thanks again, Gran,” Jack called out, and I knew damn well he’d make me clean up while he watched. Supervised, as he called it.
“I’d better go with her,” Gramps said with a wicked grin, and then clamped a hand on Jack’s shoulder before shuffling out behind her, and I tried not to think about them being an actual married couple who did married-couple things.
Shaking my head to rid myself of any gross thoughts about my grandparents, I swallowed another bite and waved a finger in the air toward Jack. “You know who was there tonight?” I asked, hoping to surprise him.
“I saw,” he said with a smirk.
“You saw?” That shocked me. Jack never saw anyone. He never looked in the stands, never paid attention to anything or anyone when he was pitching.
“I saw,” he repeated matter-of-factly.
“When the hell did you see? You never see,” I whisper-shouted, not wanting to disturb Gran and Gramps, but still not believing what I was hearing.
“At the end of the game. I looked right at her.”
“Shut the hell up.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “I never do that shit. But she makes me crazy.”
I couldn’t stop the smile that crept over my face. “I’m well aware. You turn into a complete idiot around her. But it’s fun to watch.”
Jack forked a pile of lasagna and threatened to toss it at me, but I shook my head in warning. “You wouldn’t do that after all Gran’s hard work, would you?”
He shoved the food into his mouth instead. “She wants me.”
“Who, Gran? Gross, man.”
“Not Gran, asshole. Melissa’s best friend. She wants me.”
“Melissa’s best friend? Don’t you know her name?”
“No. She’s never told me. I keep calling her Kitten and it pisses her off, which I think is funny. I like getting a rise out of her.”
He munched on a crunchy piece of garlic bread, sending crumbs all over the table that I knew I’d have to clean up later.
Frowning at him, I said, “I noticed. I think she secretly likes it. And her name’s Cassie.”
“No!” He threw the rest of his bread at me. “Why’d you tell me that? Now I’m going to have to pretend like I don’t know her name so I can keep calling her Kitten and pissing her off. Damn it, Dean.”
Realizing he’d lost his bread, he groaned. “Give me my bread back.”
I chucked it at him. Jack caught it and shoved it in his mouth.
“Anyway, Kitten came to my game tonight. And she brought her camera. I saw her taking pictures of me.”