Page 7 of Pitching for Keeps
"From five years ago. Which means you've been carrying it around since college." She sits up. "Tracy, what really happened between you two?"
I sink onto the bed beside her. "It doesn't matter. We wanted different things."
"Did you though?" She bumps my shoulder. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you both wanted each other."
"His dreams were bigger than staying in one place. I couldn't ask him to give that up."
"Did he ask you to?"
I don't answer, because the truth is he didn't. He asked me to come with him. To figure it out together. To believe that love was enough to handle the uncertainty. And I was too scared to try.
"Well," Megan says when I stay quiet, "maybe you get a second chance. Not everyone does."
She leaves me alone with my thoughts and my perfectly adjusted Stars cap. By the time we pile into cars to head to Dell Diamond, I've convinced myself I can do this. I can be casual. I can be calm. I can pretend my heart isn't racing at the thought of seeing Jay on the mound again.
The stadium is exactly as I remember from the one time I came here during college—intimate enough to see everything, big enough to feel professional. We have seats behind the Stars dugout, close enough to see the players' faces. Close enough for Jay to spot us during warmups.
"This is so fun!" Megan bounces in her seat. "I love baseball games in person. So much better than watching on TV."
"Plus, dollar hot dog night," Greg adds, returning with an armful of concessions.
I watch the Stars take the field for warmups, my eyes automatically finding Jay. He's stretching along the first-base line with Ted Brennan, and they're clearly going through their signs. Ted touches his mask. Jay nods. Ted taps his chest protector twice. Jay shakes his head and suggests something else with his glove.
"Look, there's Jay!" Megan points unnecessarily. "Should we wave?"
"No!" I say too quickly. "I mean, he's working. Probably needs to focus."
But Jay's already looking our way. His eyes find mine across the field, and for a moment, it's five years ago. Same ritual, same feeling. He touches the brim of his cap in a tiny salute, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
"Aw, he waved!" Sarah coos. "That's so sweet."
"He's just being polite," I mumble, but my traitorous hand waves back.
The national anthem plays, the lineup is announced, and Jay takes the mound for his warmup pitches. His motion is smoother than in college, more controlled. The surgery and rehab made him rebuild everything, and he came back better.
"So explain what's happening," Megan says as the first batter steps up. "I know nothing about baseball."
"Well," I start carefully, "the pitcher throws the ball, and the batter tries to hit it."
Jay delivers his first pitch—a fastball that paints the outside corner for a called strike. His velocity is up from last week. Must be the extra rest between starts.
"Was that good?" Megan asks.
"Very good," I say, then catch myself. "I mean, I think so? The umpire put his hand up, so... probably?"
Jay strikes out the first batter on four pitches. Then the second on five. By the time he's mowed through the first inning on eleven total pitches, I'm gripping my scorecard—wait, when did I get a scorecard?—so tightly it's crumpling.
"He's doing well, right?" Greg asks. "Seems like their batters can't hit anything."
"His fastball's really moving tonight," I say without thinking. "And that curveball is filthy. He's getting great break on it, probably because—" I stop, realizing everyone is staring at me. "I mean... the ball does seem very... curvy?"
"Tracy." Megan's voice is flat. "Did you just say 'filthy' about a baseball pitch?"
"Is that... not right?"
"And you're keeping score." She points to my scorecard, which is indeed meticulously filled out with Jay's pitch count, locations, and results. "You're actually keeping score."
"I'm just... making notes. For fun. Random notes."
