Page 6

Chapter six

Griffin

“ W hat do we say to Senor Ortiz?” I prompt the kids. They follow with a chorus of enthusiastic “Thank yous,” which Adrian receives with exaggerated gratitude. He gives a flourishing bow worthy of the final run of a Broadway show. Even though he’ll be back at camp again tomorrow.

Adrian Ortiz is the Crowns’ third baseman and my best friend.

We hit it off right away when he joined the Crowns five years ago.

His playful energy and over-the-top antics have made for somewhat of a media sensation—one I’m frequently included in, since I play right into his mischief more often than not.

He was generous enough to commit to helping out with the camp for two days.

We’ll also have one of our pitchers here tomorrow working with kids on pitching skills, but Adrian loves this camp almost as much as I do.

He may not have any personal experience with the foster care system, but he had his fair share of feeling like somewhat of an outsider when he first came to America from Venezuela.

Adrian was a teenager when he got drafted to one of the Crowns’ farm teams, where he spent several years developing as a player.

We send the kids out to the lobby and pick up the equipment around the practice field together. When we walk through the hallway to the office, Sam comes through the door from the lobby to meet us .

“I gave an extra autographed poster to the kid who got hit by the fly ball today,” Sam announces. “He didn’t seem bothered by it, and the liability forms cover everything, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to go the extra mile to smooth things over.”

“Smart,” I tell her, setting a box on the desk. “Aside from that incident, today seemed to go smoothly.”

“That little red-headed kid is so cute,” Adrian says, grin wide. “He’s got a wild throw, but man—kid has enthusiasm.”

“Oh, you mean Fireball,” I say with a laugh. “His name is Jason, but he was the first to earn a nickname yesterday. He’s a sweet kid.” I fill Adrian in on my talk with Jason yesterday and the subsequent conversation with Danae.

“ Oooo , someone’s got a crush!” Adrian says, poking me in the sides.

“What? You’re ridiculous,” I firmly respond, swatting his hands away. “How do you make the leap from me telling a mom about a heartfelt conversation with her kid to ‘ Oooo , you have a crush?’ You moron.”

Adrian waves a hand in front of my face. “It’s written all over here. And in your tone of voice.”

Sam chooses this moment to fill in the rest of the story about Danae not recognizing me. Adrian nearly falls over laughing.

“Maybe that’s why you have a crush—it’s all about the challenge of the chase,” Adrian says, still chuckling.

“If you stick around after camp is over tomorrow, you can meet her for yourself,” Sam says with an impish smile.

“Do not encourage him,” I chide her. “Wait, what do you mean after camp tomorrow?”

Sam shrugs. “Danae is a teacher, and they have a professional day tomorrow with a staff meeting that won’t end until three-thirty. I told her Jason could hang here with me until she can pick him up.”

Adrian rubs his hands together, eyes full of mischievous sparkle. “I’ll clear my calendar.”

“You’re uninvited from participating in camp tomorrow,” I deadpan.

“And I reinvite you,” Sam adds. The devilish looks shared between them do not bode well for me.

“No way!” Jason’s awed voice matches the starstruck expression on his face. “I can’t believe you got to meet the GOAT!”

Adrian’s face screws into mock offense. “Hold on, hold on—I thought I was the greatest third baseman of all time?”

Jason’s face pales, accentuating his plentiful freckles. “Oh, I mean, yeah, you’re definitely one of the greats, but, you know, he had over fifteen hundred runs scored and even more runs batted in. Not to mention his fielding run value—”

I cut Jason off by ruffling his hair. “He’s just messing with you, Fireball.”

Adrian holds his fist out to bump Jason’s. “That’s some impressive stat memorization there.”

Jason grins shyly at the compliment. Sam nudges his shoulder. “You keep pulling out those GOAT stats to keep these knuckleheads in their place, my guy.” Jason covers his mouth to stifle a laugh.

At that moment, the front door opens, and a flustered Danae steps into the lobby.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” she says, rushing over to join us. “We were going over some new district safety protocols, and the meeting ran over time. Then there was an accident on the highway, of course, so traffic was at a standstill. I’m so sorry to be a bother!”

Jason races over to practically tackle her. He wraps his arms around her waist with the enthusiasm of a nine-year-old hyped up on adrenaline and sugar (courtesy of Sam’s snacks). “I had so much fun, Miss Danae!” he says as he squeezes her tightly.

The emotion that plays out on Danae’s face in response to his greeting is truly a thing of beauty to behold.

It’s the kind of look that reveals the fullness of her heart—that she doesn’t take this display of affection for granted.

That it hasn’t become commonplace to her.

That it’s something she deeply cherishes .

I almost feel like the three of us are intruding by even being here to witness her tender expression. But I’m not about to walk away from the magic of it.

Sam is quick to dissuade Danae’s guilt. “Don’t worry about it! Jason was entertaining us with his knowledge of baseball stats and reminding these two that they’re not the greatest in the league quite yet.”

I reach an arm out to gently shove Sam as Adrian spouts off something in Spanish with an exaggerated sad face. Jason releases Danae to turn back to us, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I got to hang out with Miss Sammi and Mr. West and Mr. Ortiz!”

“Hey Fireball, I thought I told you to call me Griffin,” I remind him, smiling. I look up to Danae. “This is our third baseman, Adrian Ortiz.”

She holds her hand out and introduces herself. “It’s nice to meet you. Thanks so much for hanging with Jason. Or should I call you Fireball now?” she asks Jason, mouth quirked.

“No, you still call me Jason. That’s my baseball camp nickname,” Jason says, voice serious.

“He earned that on day one with his strong throwing arm,” I explain. “The fire-red hair didn’t hurt either. He’s an impressive little man.” Jason’s chest puffs up with pride, and he glances up to gauge Danae’s reaction to the praise.

After giving Jason an open-mouthed excited response, Danae smiles at me, a look of pure gratitude on her face.

Something roars to life in my chest. Because that smile didn’t have anything to do with gaining access to who I am as a ball player or any of my athletic skills.

That smile was just a mom appreciating someone caring for her son.

I want to see her smile like that again.

Sam clears her throat, and I glance over to see Adrian’s Cheshire Cat grin. I turn to grab a large bag from the table.

“We’ve got a bunch of autographed gear in here for Jason to take home,” I say, holding the bag out to Danae.

“Can we hang up the posters in my room?” Jason pleads, and Danae nods.

Sam snaps. “Hold on—I told Jason we’d let him take home a Crowns t-shirt for you too, Danae.” She raises her eyebrows at Jason. “You want to come with me to pick one out? ”

“Yes!” he exclaims with a leap into the air. He quickly takes Sam’s hand, and they exit the lobby to go check out the merch room.

Danae watches them leave with a serene look on her face.

She turns to Adrian and me. “Thank you again for putting on this camp and for inviting Jason. This was such a meaningful experience for him—for all of the kids, I’m sure.

I really appreciate you taking time to do this.

I imagine it’s a sacrifice to take time and energy to plan and organize, and that’s certainly not part of your job description.

It’s really amazing that you’d do something so special. ”

The expression on her face is beautifully sincere, and her praise cuts straight to the deepest part of my heart. “It’s a highlight of my year, every year,” I respond. “Jason’s such a sweet kid. I’m glad he got to participate. It’ll be hard to not invite him back again next year,” I add with a grin.

Danae huffs a laugh. “He is a sweetheart. Most of the time,” she says with a small sigh. The light in her eyes dims, and it’s almost painful to observe.

“I don’t know Jason’s specific story, but I know that whatever has happened in his life that qualified him for this camp isn’t an easy history to overcome. For him or for you,” I say. “I’m glad he has someone like you to love him as he works through it.”

She looks up at me, a fragile hopefulness in her eyes.

“Samantha told me that she spent time in foster care before being adopted into your family. She’s so upbeat and caring.

It gives me hope that Jason and I will get through this.

I just wish there was a step-by-step manual to follow.

He deserves everything good, and I don’t want to let him down.

” Her shoulders droop as she finishes her statement, and I resist the urge to wrap my arm around them.

“Jason talked about you constantly throughout camp. He knows you love him,” Adrian says. I’d almost forgotten he was in the room with us. “That doesn’t solve everything, but it gives him a safe place to work through the hard stuff.”

Danae nods and gives Adrian a weak smile.

I dare to reach out and touch her elbow.

“Sam would be the first to tell you that working through childhood trauma is a lifelong journey, not a quick fix. And it becomes a lifelong journey for the people loving you. So make sure you’ve got people you can lean on for support. ”

A conflicted look passes over Danae’s face, and I want to ask more questions to find out the source. But Jason comes bursting through the door to the lobby, Sam on his heels. “Look at these shirts, Miss Danae! Sammi said I could get matching shirts for you and me. Did I pick the perfect design?”

Danae’s face instantly changes to delighted excitement in response to Jason’s enthusiasm. He holds up a shirt to her, and she ooos and ahhhs over it. “How did you know exactly what kind of design I would like?” she asks, and Jason beams.

After tucking the shirts into the bag of signed merchandise, Danae tells Jason it’s time to go.

“Thank you again for letting him stay a little late today,” she says, glancing at Sam, Adrian, and then me.

When her eyes catch on mine, I’m overwhelmed by the impulse to invent a reason to see her again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sam tells Danae before she gives Jason an exploding fist bump. My head whips in her direction at her statement. Danae and Jason are out the door before I can clarify what she means.

“Why are you going to see them tomorrow?” I ask Sam.

“I offered to babysit so Danae can attend her book club meeting next week, so we’re getting lunch tomorrow to get to know each other better.

You know I’m amazing, but I have to prove to Danae that I’m amazing so she’ll let me babysit that cutie redhead of hers,” Sam explains, eyes twinkling. “Lucky for you.”

“Now I see why you styled your hair instead of wearing a ball cap today,” Adrian comments, eyes holding a similar sparkle.

I run a hand up the buzzed sides of my mid-fade faux hawk, intentionally messing up the longer sandy-brown hair by my forehead. “You’re reading too much into things.”

Now isn’t the time to admit that I did spend a little extra time styling my hair and trimming my beard this morning. I always keep my beard a meticulous full-but-not-long length, but I gave it extra attention today.

Needing to divert the conversation, I place my hands on my hips and face Sam. “Your PA salary isn’t enough? You've gotta take up a side gig babysitting now? ”

Sam’s face softens. “You know that’s not why I’m doing it. You know how much support Danae needs if she’s going to be there for Jason as a single mom. Look at the web of support Mom and Dad needed. And there were two of them.”

Feeling properly chagrined, I nod and apologize.

She punches my arm, mischievous grin back on her face. “Besides, now you’ll have an excuse to see her again.”

“I don’t need—”

Sam claps a hand over my mouth. “Stop denying it. I’m your sister, and he’s your best friend. We see right through all your fronts. Just admit you’re intrigued by Danae.”

I narrow my eyes and resist the childish urge to stick out my tongue to punish Sam for covering my mouth. I sigh instead.

“Fine.”