Page 210 of Left on Base

So here we are, me and my weirdest friend hustling across campus, hauling a wagon loaded with candles and lanterns through the back gate of the softball field.

I glance at him as we hop the fence. He’s got a headlamp strapped on, casting a narrow beam that bounces off his fanny pack stuffed with spare batteries, matches, and what he swears are two applesauce pouches and one Rice Krispies treat we can share if hunger strikes.

“You know, if we get caught, I’m blaming you,” I mutter, lining up jars along the baseline, trying not to trip over the uneven ground.

He shrugs, unfazed. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He tosses the duffel bag over the fence. “Also, I bribed the security guard with a burrito. We’ve got an hour.”

I blink. “Where the hell did you even get a burrito? You brought him a burrito, but all I get is an applesauce pouch and a Rice Krispies treat?”

“Half a Rice Krispies treat,” he corrects. “You share.”

“Oh, yeah.” I chuckle, shaking my head, and dig out the lanterns from the cart.

We go to work like lunatics, setting candles along the edges of the infield and outfield fence, creating a double ring around home plate. Fork Guy insists on arranging the lanterns in a heart behind the pitcher’s circle. I let him—he’s the only one who can get those pineapple-shaped lanterns to stand without toppling over. Did I mention welitthem?

Fire and Fork Guy. Can you imagine? It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

I know it’s going to come back to haunt me.

By the time we finish, the field glows like something out of a dream—uneven and a little ragged, sure, but magical as fuck.

Fork Guy stands beside me, chest puffed out. “We did good, Baseball Boy.”

“Yeah, we did,” I reply, nerves twisting my gut.

Suddenly, Camdyn’s voice cuts across the quiet parking lot. “Fork Guy, if this is about your ‘emotional support raccoon’ again, I’m leaving. That thing tried to bite me.”

He spins toward me, eyes wide. “Act normal.” Then he bolts to meet her, waving his phone like it’s the winning lottery ticket. “You gotta see this. Trust me. It’s… um… an emergency of the heart?”

I duck behind the dugout, hands trembling, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape my chest. Did I mention I’m shirtless? Yeah, just remembered. Maybe that’ll work in my favor.

Camdyn steps onto the field and stops dead, eyes narrowing as she takes in the scene—the flickering candlelight, empty stands, heart-shaped lanterns glowing, and Fork Guy, grinning like he just hit the jackpot.

He’s pacing like a kid hyped on sugar.

She turns slowly toward home plate, where I’m waiting, ring box burning a hole in my pocket. Every step feels unreal. There’s a moment when doubt creeps in—maybe this isn’t the right time—but I can’t wait any longer. My future with baseball is uncertain, but this one thing I want crystal clear: no questions, no what-ifs. I want her, always, forever.

She smiles and motions at the candles. “I’m all for romantic gestures, but how’d you pull this off in the middle of the night?”

“He doesn’t get to take all the credit,” Fork Guy shouts. “I helped!”

“Um, yeah. He helped.” I swallow over the nerves, and it’s then I think she realizes what this is. A proposal she didn’t see coming. Literally.

“Jaxon?” Her voice is small in the vast, candlelit field. “What is…?” She trails off when she spots the ball in my hand. The rings are still in my pocket, but first, the ball.

I smile, twirling it. “I got something for you.”

Her eyes flicker to my chest, then to the ball. “Jaxon, we just… you…”

I hold up the ball, stepping closer. “Lemme get this out.”

She glances at the candles lining the field behind me, and draws in a shaky breath, covering her mouth with her hand. I hand her the ball, and she reads the words scrawled on it. I told her I loved her for the first time by writing it on my home runball. “Something special for someone special,” I said, giving her my first-ever home run ball back in high school.

The ball she’s holding now? The last home run I hit in college.

“Jaxon,” she gasps, voice cracking.

Marry me.

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