I laugh as I turn to face her. “Pretty sure that didn’t show up today.”
We all groan in unison when our second baseman, Alejandro Pena, strikes out.
“How’s Eomma?” Cole asks, trying to ignore the tragedy playing out before us.
“She’s good,” I smile. “We talked to her this morning, actually.”
Cole looks at me with his eyebrow raised. “We?”
I shift uncomfortably, rubbing the back of my neck. “Uh, yeah. Lucia was there when she called. They talked briefly.”
“You met Eomma?” Cole questions Lucia, disbelief laced in his tone.
“Yeah,” she shrugs. “Like Ari said, I was with him when she called. She seems really sweet.”
“Oh, Eomma is the best,” Cole chuckles. “Ari’s just always been picky about who gets to meet her.”
“That’s what she said, too,” Lucia says softly.
We’re distracted now by the crack of the bat, watching Jeff Novak, our right fielder, hit the ball into the outfield and make it safely to first base.
Then, our designated hitter, Neil Mansfield, gets his own hit, sending Novak to second base when he lands on first.
“Shit,” I say. “I wonder how this will play out.”
Lucia bites her nails nervously. “Rivas is up, and his Achilles has been bothering him again.”
Doesn’t seem to be bothering him much now when he sends the ball into the outfield, safely making it to first.
We have bases loaded with one out at the top of the ninth.
“Morgan,” Skip yells over at me. “You’re on deck.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. The pressure of batting with the bases loaded is intense, and the fans are pissed when you leave the runners stranded.
“You’ve got this, Jae-Hyun,” Lucia smiles, pushing my arm playfully. Now, she leans closer, whispering against my ear. “Go get a home run, and I’ll let you fuck my ass again tonight.”
I’m not ashamed to say I dash to the on-deck circle after that bit of motivation.
Ayala quickly strikes out, so I step up to the plate.
Bases loaded, two outs.
If I don’t get a hit here, the game is over.
I keep my eyes locked on the pitcher, focused on the game. He sends a curveball that lands just outside the strike zone. The next two pitches are fastballs that I send foul.
And just like that, I have two strikes.
I take a deep breath and step up to the plate again, determined to do something here. The pitcher sends a slider this time, thinking I’ll whiff.
He’s not that lucky.
The crack of the bat is thunderous, and I start running to first base, waiting to see where it lands.
And it lands just over the wall in left field.
Holy shit, I just hit a grand slam.