Page 13

Chapter thirteen

Hazel James

Baseball stadiums are much bigger in person. I’ve only ever been to a game as a toddler, and I don’t remember any of that day, so everything is new to me. The most shocking thing is the number of people. How can so many people want to spend their money and time watching guys run in circles and hit a ball?

I squeeze June’s hand. “Are you excited to watch your dad play?”

We’ve just gotten our food–hotdogs, since that’s what every New York bucket list said was a must-try–and now we’re headed to our seats. Emmett told me before he left that we have seats right behind home plate. I’m assuming they’re good ones since he selected them himself.

“Yes! I hope he pitches a shutout!” she cheers and lifts her hot dog in the air.

“Yeah!” I lift my hot dog in agreement. I have no idea what that means, but if June’s excited, I’m excited.

I should have looked up more baseball terms since getting hired. This is likely to be a long game. Of which I’ll spend the whole thing pretending that I know what’s going on.

We step into the sunshine, and a smile comes to my face. Though I don’t know much about baseball, there’s something electric about being in a stadium full of passionate fans. The spring air is warm and carries the scent of stadium food and freshly cut grass. All of the voices mesh into a dull roar that buzzes beneath my skin.

June’s steps quicken toward what I think is our section. I’m supposed to be leading her, but all I know is what the security guard I asked said. The large, muscular man seemed confused when I asked where home plate was. He gave a few vague directions and now we’re walking down a long series of stairs toward a giant black net.

“I see Daddy!” June yells, somehow moving too fast with her tiny legs for me to keep up .

“You’re going to pull my arm out,” I say with a laugh.

She looks up at me with wide eyes. “You can do that?”

I laugh even more. “No, sweetie, I was exaggerating. Let’s slow down a little though, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replies with a sweet smile and slows just a touch.

I work to keep up with her without losing hold of her hand. There’s no way I’m letting her out of my sight with this many people here. My gut twists at the mere thought of her disappearing in the crowd.

We make it down to the bottom. I say a flurry of excuse us and sorry as we go to our seats.

“Remember, we’re in seats three and four,” I tell June.

She points with her hot dog at the number three seat. “Found them!”

“Good job, sweet pea,” I say as I sit down.

June settles in next to me, her feet dangling as she scoots all the way back in her seat. I tuck the bag with our water bottles beside me, the cold plastic pressing against my leg.

“You said you saw your dad?” I ask June.

“Yep, he’s throwing the ball to Mister Emerson.”

I search for a number eighteen, since I found out while showing June highlights that it was Emmett’s number. Sure enough, he’s throwing to number seven. He’s wearing his baseball hat, along with a white and green uniform that hugs his figure much tighter than I expected. On TV it’s not as noticeable, but it certainly is in person. He’s pure, sculpted muscle, every inch of him. I bite the inside of my cheek. This does not bode well for my crush situation.

Emmett turns in our direction and seems to look straight at us. He runs his fingers over the brim of his hat, then points. My heart skips, and I raise my hand up halfway to wave, but then I see June do the motion back to him and realize he wasn’t pointing at me . Of course he wasn’t, why would he do that?

I duck my head and tug at the frayed edges of my overalls, embarrassment heating my face more than the afternoon sun. What would it be like, I wonder, to be someone worth pointing out in a crowd?

“I see the mascot,” June says, pointing to a platform above where some of the players are. I lift my gaze. Sure enough, there’s a giant wolf wearing a red baseball uniform dancing around.

“Oh, look, there’s your dad’s mascot,” I say and point to the opposite side, where a puffy-looking cowboy is pretending to lasso someone in the crowd.

“Don’t tell Daddy, but I like the wolf better. His mascot looks silly.”

I laugh. “I agree, sweet pea.”

There’s something weird about the idea of a man inside a suit made to look like a man . Whoever made the team the ‘Nashville Cowboys’ didn’t think that through.

We watch the mascots battle for the crowd’s attention. The wolf seems to win, but since we’re in the New York Wolves’ stadium, that makes sense. All around us is a sea of red and black. A few seats down is a man wearing a full-on wolf head . Little June in her green and white jersey stands out like a rose against freshly fallen snow. I, on the other hand, have failed to look supportive. I did put on a green t-shirt under my overalls. It’s not the correct shade of green, but it was all I had for this unexpected trip.

It’s not long before I’m far too warm to enjoy any of the pre-game festivities. I sigh in relief when the game finally starts. Emmett winds his arm at a speed I didn’t even think was possible and throws the ball.

“Strike!” June yells with all the vigor of a warrior storming the battlefield. I let out a surprised laugh. My laughter fades, however, when the pack of wolves around us starts hurling insults. At least, I think they’re insults. My only clue is their angry tone.

“In what zip code is that considered a strike?”

“You need your eyes checked, Blue!”

“He couldn’t have hit that with a ten-foot pole!”

In spite of the sweltering heat, I instinctively wrap an arm around June. She seems unaffected, but all this anger is disconcerting. I’m used to watching football games surrounded by the Lawson family in their private box. They get heated, sure, but not to this level.

Hopefully, it won’t be long until halftime. June and I can go seek refuge in the shaded tunnel away from angry fans. Maybe find some ice cream.

“Excuse me,” I say to an elderly man sitting a seat down from us. He looks nice enough, with a Wolves cap shading a kind smile. “Do you know when halftime is?”

His bushy brows furrow. “Halftime?” He gives me a look like I’m short a few marbles. “This is baseball, not football. There’s no halftime.”

“There’s no breaks?” I ask, even though I feel dumb.

He chuckles. “There’s a couple minutes between innings, but nothing like halftime.”

“Oh.” I shift in the uncomfortable seat, feeling my thighs stick to the hot plastic. This is going to be a long game. “Thank you.”

He merely nods while laughing to himself. I’m sure our conversation will be a joke he can share with his buddies later on.

I decide to focus on the field and watch as Emmett throws another impossibly fast ball, his signature scowl even more menacing than usual. If I were batting, I’d miss the ball just on account of how intimidating he is.

“Out!” someone on the field dressed in black shouts.

Emmett’s mouth twitches ever so slightly. He must be pleased with this outcome.

The sea of red roars in objection, meanwhile June sets her half-eaten hot dog in her lap and claps, shouting, “Go, Daddy!”

I clap along with her, since she seems to know more than me. Also because it’s logical to assume that anything the Wolves hate, we should like. I establish my plan for the remainder of the game: Cheer when June does, and look happy when the opposing team is mad. Maybe I’ll make it through without looking as out of place as I feel.

The Cowboys won. I put on my best smile for June, even though I feel a little sunburnt and a lot tired. I’m built for quiet evenings at home, not deafening cheers in a packed stadium with the surface temperature of a curling iron left on too long. There were times when it was fun, but I spent the majority of the game confused. Things that I thought were good turned out to be bad. One time, I stood up to cheer only to find out that I was cheering for the wrong team . June looked as befuddled as I felt.

“I love sprinkles,” June declares as she eats her ice cream cone outside the stadium. It’s melting, creating a sticky pastel rainbow down her forearm. But she doesn’t seem to mind. I’ll make sure she gets cleaned up later. The napkins I shoved in my overall pockets are likely to be of no help.

“Me too,” I say as I take the final bite of a matching scoop of vanilla ice cream with sprinkles. The sugar rush combined with sitting in the heat for three hours is likely to give me a headache, but I couldn’t resist the cold treat when we passed it on our way out.

Above us, the setting sun paints the sky in burnt orange and fuschia. It frames the large stadium in a picturesque way. I lift my phone to snap a photo right as June yells, “Daddy!”

She breaks into a run before I can process what’s happening. A few feet away, Emmett catches her with one arm, not seeming to mind at all that she’s coating his uniform in rainbow dyes and sugar. He smiles and I quickly move my phone to capture it. Unprofessional? Maybe. But the sight is so rare I feel like one of the archaeologists finding treasure in the documentaries my sister watches. I’m sure Bonnie would want the photo. I can pretend that’s why I took it.

I lower my phone just as his gaze lands on me. I muster a smile and walk toward him.

“Congratulations on your win.”

His lips turn up at the corners. Those warm brown eyes of his are sparkling. He’s happy. If only I had the energy to enjoy it or try to maximize it in some way, but after the morning dealing with my family issues, galavanting around New York with a five-year-old, and then sitting through a game in the heat…I’m done for.

“How was your first baseball game?” he asks as he sets June down. There’s a splash of colorful goo on his shoulder marring the jersey.

“It was great,” I lie, stretching my tired smile wide.

He frowns. “Something’s wrong. Did someone bother you?” His gaze darkens. Chillbumps pepper my arms at the sight of him being protective over me. He needs to quit saying things like this. I’m too tired to fight off my ever-growing crush.

“No, everything’s fine. It’s just been a long day,” I tell him, which is true. Just not the whole truth.

“You’re leaving something out.” He glances down at June, who’s licking the ice cream off her arm. I let out a soft laugh at the sight.

“I’m okay, really, Emmett. After a night’s sleep, I should be good as new.”

“Miss Hazel and I are having a sleepover! She said we can watch Tangled and she’ll braid my hair like they do to Rapunzel in the movie.” June bounces on her heels.

It probably wasn’t the brightest idea to tell her we could have a sleepover at the beginning of the day when I was feeling down about my family. At the time, I thought it would be a way to keep my mind off things. Now it just sounds like an obstacle in the way of sleep.

“That sounds fun,” Emmett says, but he’s still frowning. He steps closer to me and lowers his voice. “You’re sunburnt, and you look exhausted.”

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to tell a woman she looks tired?” I try for a teasing tone, but it falls flat. I sigh. “My face got a little pink because I didn’t have a hat.”

His eyes fall to my exposed arms, which are a matching shade of pink, last I checked in the stadium bathroom mirror.

“It’s no big deal, Emmett. I’m fine.”

“That’s the wrong shade of green,” he says, his fingertips grazing the edge of my shirtsleeve. I draw in a breath at the sudden contact, then let it out in a nervous laugh.

“I wasn’t prepared to come to a game. I meant to buy something to wear during halftime but then I found out that there wasn’t a halftime.”

He chuckles and the sound warms my soul. “How much do you know about baseball?”

I bite my lip. “June knows more than me.”

He laughs again, tilting his head back. I wish I could take another photo. I’d like to keep this moment forever. Him laughing beneath the sunset. My fingers sticky with ice cream. June giggling even though she likely didn’t hear much of our hushed conversation. It’s so perfect it makes my chest ache with longing. Will I ever get to have this, but with someone I don’t work for?

“We’ll have to remedy that. Games are a lot more fun when you know what’s happening.” He takes his hat off and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “And they’re also better when you’re dressed appropriately.”

He puts the hat on my head and tugs it down. My heart stutters. I swallow and look up at him. His expression is softer than usual, and his deep brown eyes have flecks of gold swimming in their depths. The crown of my head feels warm from where he was wearing the ball cap. The fabric is damp from sweat, but I can’t bring myself to care. My lungs constrict and I officially know as much about breathing as I do about baseball.

“There,” he says in a low, silky tone. “Now you won’t get sunburnt and you’ll fit in.”

“This is your hat,” I murmur.

“It’s yours now.”

“I-I can’t–”

“Take tonight for yourself. Order room service and sleep.”

“I already promised June we’d have a sleepover,” I whisper.

The little girl in question is currently trying to get a blue sprinkle off her elbow with her tongue. I’m grateful she’s distracted. She won’t see me swooning over her father.

“I’ll take care of it. You need to rest.”

I nod. Emotion burns my throat so I can’t manage more of a response than that. A tear slips out unbidden and I quickly swipe it away. If Emmett notices, he says nothing, which I’m also grateful for.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the hotel.”

He grabs June’s hand and starts walking. I follow behind them, trying to keep my sniffles at bay. I’m not sure what Emmett giving me his hat means, but I hope it means that we’re becoming friends. To think we could be anything more would be foolish, so I’ll keep wishing for a simple friendship. That will be enough for me. It has to be.