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Chapter thirty-two

Griffin

I haven’t even attempted stealing any bases throughout all of spring training.

It’s as though my mind is averse to the physical sensation of my shoulder stretching out in a dive.

But having Danae and Jason here these past few days watching us play—watching me play—has bolstered my confidence.

Hearing them praise my good performance each evening together has brought back some of the swagger that drained out in the aftermath of last season’s injury.

I’m pretty sure I have a good read on this pitcher’s habits, and I’m fairly confident that I could successfully steal the base. The third base coach has signaled the same, giving me that extra assurance. Making up my mind, I watch for the right moment and take off sprinting.

I focus on pumping my arms, on the grip of the dirt beneath my cleats, on the oxygen in my lungs, so that when the time comes to slide, my body dives without thinking about my shoulder.

The crowd roars as the umpire signals “safe,” and I leap to my feet in celebration.

As subtly as I can, I look up to the seats I know Danae and Jason are occupying, grinning when I see Danae holding Jason in her arms, jumping up and down.

The team celebration is exuberant when Adrian bats me in for a score, giving us the lead.

Our next batter strikes out, which means it’s time for some good defense to close out the game.

My eyes can’t help but find Danae’s in the stands as I jog to position, heart seizing when I see her on her feet clapping.

I need to get that woman a West jersey. The thought of looking up in the stands to see Danae wearing number eleven gives me an extra push of motivation to finish this inning with a win.

Our closer strikes out the first batter, getting us one step closer to victory.

When the second batter makes contact with a curveball, I know it’s coming to me.

Shuffling two steps toward second base, I catch the ball before it can hit the ground, gaining the second out.

Adrenaline floods through my body, setting all of my reflexes on high alert.

The next batter has a count of three balls and two strikes, meaning this next pitch could be the decider.

That familiar crack of the bat resounds through the stadium, and the ball is a pop fly a little above my territory.

I start running that way but hear Ethan calling for the ball, triggering an alarming sense of déjà vu in my body.

Exhaling a breath, I pull up and back down, allowing him to make the final catch and out of the game.

I slap Ethan on the back and say, “Great catch, Farmer!” He claps me back, recognizing the moment, and I’m bordering on emotional. Thankfully, Adrian snaps me out of it by using my shoulders as a springboard to launch himself up, jumping piggyback on me with his fist in the air.

This will be the latest addition to the Ortiz/West compilation videos, I think as I laugh and run to the dugout with him on my back. Hopefully Jason’s getting a kick out of this .

For as much as I’ve loved getting to know Danae (and probably falling in love with her), connecting with Jason has been a close second on the enjoyability scale.

I’ve yet to witness one of his big blow-ups firsthand, although it’s easy to imagine, knowing how sensitive and emotional he is.

I'd witnessed the full gamut of behaviors in our home as I grew up with a revolving door of kids in foster care coming in and moving on.

I know that being in his life long term wouldn’t be smooth sailing.

I’ve watched Sam and Ian work through the hard stuff, watched my parents support them, even been a closer support specifically for Sam.

Listening to her process the trauma she endured, watching her fight to change her brain’s natural reactions to triggers—I understand, at least in some sense, what it will be like to be one of the main players supporting Jason’s lifelong journey.

And I want it.

Spending time just the three of us this week, after so long apart, has illuminated how right it feels to be together.

I want to help that effervescent, enthusiastic little guy grow up and forge his own path.

I want to be there to listen when he’s had a hard day, to assist his mind in calming down when something triggers a memory.

To let Jason know he’s loved no matter what he does.

It’s as though my past experiences—our family doing foster care, welcoming Sam and Ian into our family, even interacting with the kids at Camp Wizard—have been the breadcrumbs guiding the way and opening my heart to a life with Danae and Jason.

I want to walk into the hard alongside Danae, to be a team.

I only hope she wants that as much as I do.

“Another baseball game?” Danae asks, a slight groan in her tone. “We literally just finished your game.”

Jason, on the other hand, starts doing some ridiculous dance move that I can only imagine started as a dance trend he’s trying to imitate. We’re standing in the hallway outside the locker room, and one of the assistant coaches passes by, chuckling at Jason.

“Come on, we can leave early if you want to,” I tell Danae, looping an arm around her waist to tug her toward me.

“And this time I’ll be sitting there with you.

I’ve been wanting to watch one of Rogers’ games, the friend who plays for Baltimore that I told you about.

We can go and enjoy the experience of watching together. ”

She gives me a sassy look. “Enjoy, huh?”

Pulling her even closer to me, I tickle her neck with my beard.

“I can bribe Sam to take Jason out for ice cream afterward,” I murmur in her ear.

I feel the goosebumps break out on her skin, and I steal a quick kiss before standing back to beg.

“Please, pretty please?” I say, nudging Jason with my elbow.

We both give her our saddest puppy eyes.

“Fine, fine,” Danae says, rolling her eyes. But she can’t hide her smile.

I’m elated at the prospect of getting to watch a game with Danae and Jason.

She has good reason to be hesitant to bring our relationship into the open, so I called Rogers for a favor.

He came through with three standing-only spots in a suite, so we can stay hidden from the public eye while having a good time together.

Just to be safe, we stop by their hotel so they can change out of Crowns gear.

I’m already wearing a nondescript t-shirt and plain hat.

I throw on sunglasses before we walk into the complex to keep a low profile.

It’s familiar territory, so I’m able to navigate us through the back channels to the suite.

It’s mostly family members and WAGs of Baltimore players.

I greet Rogers’ wife, Tammi, with a one-armed hug (considering my other hand is currently occupied as Danae’s lifeline).

“Griffin West, it’s good to see you!” she says. “Lawrence told me you were the surprise guest joining us today! He’s going to be so excited to see you after the game.”

“Thanks for letting us squeeze in,” I respond. “This is my girlfriend, Danae Collins, and her son, Jason.” I keep the explanation simple, leaving it up to Danae or Jason to offer any additional information as the night goes on. Danae lets go of my hand long enough to shake Tammi’s.

“Help yourself to any of the food and drinks back there,” Tammi says, waving her hand behind us. “I’m sure people will be in and out of the seats, so feel free to sit outside at any point if seats are open. We’re all pretty chill in here.”

“We’ll probably hang back inside the whole time. We’re trying to lie low,” I explain, and Tammi nods .

“Totally understand that. Don’t rush the jump to media attention,” she says to Danae with a sympathetic smile. “There’s something special about the secrecy of having the relationship just between you two. And your inner circles, of course.”

“Yeah, Mr. Griffin gets tired of too much attention,” Jason inserts matter-of-factly. “That’s why we don’t talk about him dating my mom yet.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Oh, do I now?” I ask, shooting a teasing grin at Danae. Her cheeks flush.

“It was the simplest explanation I could come up with for why we shouldn’t tell everyone at school about it,” she says quietly, even though Jason has moved on to scout out the snacks. “It might need a little workshopping.”

Fully laughing, I loop my arm around her shoulders and kiss her temple. “It’s okay, I can pretend to hate attention.” She pinches my side and offers a brief explanation to Tammi about her situation with Jason.

Tammi’s eyes soften. “That totally makes sense. I’ll be sure to let everyone in the suite know to be careful about posting photos, to check to make sure you aren’t in the background or anything.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate that,” Danae says.

Glancing over my shoulder, I notice Jason balancing a plate with one hand while trying to overload a ridiculous amount of chicken tenders onto it with the other. “Whoa there, Fireball. Let me give you a hand with that,” I say, quickly making my way over to him.

We naturally rotate between paying attention to the game, conversing with other guests in the suite, and talking to only each other. Jason has downed his body weight in chicken and cookies, and he’s entertaining everyone with his running commentary about the game play.

During the seventh-inning stretch, I rest an arm around Danae’s shoulders as everyone sings along to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” Jason is belting out the lyrics, and Danae smiles, watching him.

“You really hate all this?” I ask, disbelieving.

Danae shrugs. “I mean . . . yeah. ”

I lean in to whisper in her ear. “Come on, even me in the uniform? You hate that?” She slaps my stomach, but I see it coming and manage to flex my abs just in time. Her cheeks flush an adorable shade of pink. “You’re telling me the uniform doesn’t do it for you at all ?”

Danae tosses her head. “Nope. It’s the man inside the uniform that does it for me.”

Who is the man inside the uniform? The question crashes through my mind like a 95mph fastball, and I usher it out the back door just as quickly.

I quickly put my teasing grin back in place. “You’re seriously not having fun?” I ask Danae, bumping her hip with mine.

She sighs. “I like being with you , but I’d rather be at home playing a game with you and Jason, or reading a book on the couch. Baseball is still super boring to me,” she says unapologetically. “It’s such a slow-paced game.”

“Well, that’s part of the charm of baseball, though.

It was intentionally designed to be a slower-moving game, to make attending games about more than just the action.

It’s about sitting and shooting the breeze with your friends between pitches.

Although the pitch timer has sped things up a little, which surely you appreciate.

But it’s also about enjoying the food, the spectacle, the hot dog races—not having to have your eyes glued to the field as the only source of excitement,” I say.

“The whole event is an experience for fans, not just watching the guys on the field.”

Danae cocks her head, looking intently in my eyes.

“And melting in the summer heat, watching men spit sunflower shells into the stands, and sitting for hours with no set end time?” Although I’m positive these are real grievances for her, a smile plays at the corner of her lips.

I remind myself that we’re lying low to halt my instinct to lean in and kiss her.

She sighs. “I guess I see what you’re saying. I can appreciate how other people enjoy the whole experience.”

“Just not you,” I clarify with a chuckle.

She shakes her head, eyes dancing. “But I enjoy you . That’s enough, right? ”

Present circumstances are seriously hindering my vibe, because it’s excruciating to not be able to kiss her senseless in answer to her question.

“More than enough,” I reply, voice husky with the desire I can’t physically express. Danae must read it in my eyes, though, because she winks at me. Which adds gasoline to the desire fire.

Whose idea was it to spend time together in a public location tonight?! I need to have a stern word with that idiot.