Page 213 of Left on Base

“We’re almost there.” Callie points up a set of stairs. “I think the suite’s around this corner.”

I rest a hand on my belly as another contraction sneaks in, sharper. I clamp my mouth shut—no way am I telling anyone. Not now. I have to be at Jaxon’s MLB debut. Missing it is not an option. His whole family is here—parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents. I’m not missing this.

Callie glances back, concern flickering in her eyes. “Cam, you sure? You don’t have to do this if you’re feeling bad.”

I shake my head, laughing like it’s no big deal, even as a tiny marching band plays in my uterus. “I’m good. Just… excited. I’m not missing Jaxon’s debut for anything.”

Callie laughs, rubs my back. “Babes, I went into labor drinking hot chocolate at Starbucks. At least this will be memorable.”

“Nope. Baby’s staying put.” I rub my little kicker, who’s clearly unhappy with its home now. “You hear me? Stay in there ‘til after the game.”

My stomach tightens again. Am I going into labor? Of all the damn days, this kid picks the hottest, with their dad finally in the big leagues.

Fork Guy nudges me like a linebacker. “If you want me to carry you, say the word.”

I flash a grateful smile. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

We turn the corner to the second level, and the noise hits me full force. Roar of the crowd, crack of bats, smell of hot dogs and beer, a whiff of sunscreen and concession-stand cotton candy. The sun’s beating down like it’s trying to fry us, but there’s a buzz in the air that makes it worth it.

My heart’s pounding—not from the heat or the contractions, but because somewhere out there, Jaxon is warming up, ready to prove himself. I take a deep breath, soak in the chaos and magic, and step forward, determined to be right there with him, no matter what.

The suite is an oasis of air conditioning and overpriced snacks, a sanctuary from the sweaty chaos. I ease into a plush chair like a queen conquering her throne, baby bump and all. Nolan immediately claims a spot on the floor, eyes wide as he surveys the food spread like it’s a treasure trove.

Relatable, buddy.

Fork Guy, of course, goes full social butterfly. He could make friends with a brick wall. He’s already leaning over the railing, chatting up the next suite like they’re old college buddies.

“Hey, you guys tried the garlic parmesan pretzels yet?” he shouts with the enthusiasm of someone who’s discovered the meaning of life in a snack. Which, honestly, if I could marry a Crumbl cookie, Jaxon would have to share me. Nobody answers Fork Guy. “No? Hold my beer. Snack safari time.”

By the way, he doesn’t drink. Ever.

A few minutes later, Fork Guy’s back with a ridiculous pile of food. Nachos drowned in toppings, sliders small enough for a dollhouse, and a suspiciously large container of stadium mystery meat.

Nolan’s eyes light up. “I have?” he squeals, clapping and bouncing on his knees. “Pweeeze?”

Fork Guy plops down beside him, handing over a mini slider. “Here you go, little man. Taste test this. Tell me if it’s Fork Guy approved.”

Nolan takes a bite, pauses, then gives a thumbs-up with a face that says, “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Of course he doesn’t say that—Nolan says maybe four words. None of them are “mama,” much to Callie’s dismay.

Fork Guy grins, eyes twinkling. “I’m making it my mission to try everything. I’ll report back. Consider me your unofficial food critic.”

I watch him disappear again, off on another snack quest, Nolan munching happily, and me trying to ignore the tightening in my belly. I breathe through it, make conversation with Jaxon’s family, and tell myself—and this baby—we’re not doing this today. Despite the heat, the swelling, and the fact I’m basically carrying a watermelon with legs, I refuse to miss Jaxon’s MLB debut.

The stadium lights dim, the crowd hushes. The giant screen flickers with the national anthem. The first notes ring out, clear and strong.

“Oh my God.” Callie cups her hands to her face. “I might cry seeing them on the field together.”

I smile. “Uh, I’m the pregnant, hormonal one here,” I point out.

“True.” She leans in closer.

The weight of the moment settles over me like a warm blanket, even in the sticky summer heat. Nolan crawls between us, clutching a half-eaten slider, blissfully unaware of the emotional undercurrent, and points to the field at the number 44. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, that’s daddy.” Callie smiles, but I can see she’s pissed this kid still won’t say mama.

That’s when I see Jameson and Jaxon standing side by side for the first time in years. Heart melted. Two guys who were college teammates, now facing off as rivals, but still tied by something deeper—friendship.

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