Page 16

Sam

M y phone vibrated, indicating a text message, and I smiled when I saw Kelsey’s name on the notification. She had been researching baseball and its rules, trying to gain a better understanding of them before the next game. I appreciated her effort, and her questions were adorable.

Kelsey: You’re going to face Nick Ramon in Minneapolis?

Me: Yes. I’ll likely pitch to him three, maybe four times.

Kelsey: He’s got twenty home runs already. Are you nervous?

I can’t tell you how much it meant that she had tried to understand the game and looked up my opponent.

Earlier, she had asked about my screwball, which is not a pitch I’d ever thrown in a professional game, nor was it used much in modern baseball.

I was thankful I didn’t react to her question in person because if I had laughed at her, she might not have had the confidence to keep asking questions.

Me: When you face a batter that good, you can’t make a mistake. They won’t miss it.

Kelsey: I used to think pitchers threw every pitch as hard as possible and aimed for strikes. I’m surprised you have to be smart about it, too. Have you ever intentionally hit a batter?

Me: Officially? No. Unofficially, yes.

Kelsey: Is it because you were pissed when B.K. Ramirez got three hits off you in one game.

I smiled to myself. She had done more than a little bit of research.

Last year, I had hit Ramirez with a pitch, causing him to charge the mound.

The catcher in that game had jumped in to stop the fight, and Ramirez had been ejected.

The umpires hadn’t thought I had done it intentionally, though I had been trying to get him to back off the plate.

Me: My fastball averages 102 mph; I would never intentionally hit someone with that pitch. Maybe another one, though. But I sometimes need to keep the batter from crowding the plate by pushing them back. That time, my execution was a little off.

My father’s reputation as a pitcher included many hit batters; he was known for being aggressive and not afraid to injure a batter to get an edge.

I did what I could to be a different player and tried to play a clean game to avoid comparisons to Sam Sr. every chance possible.

After that game, he had called me, elated that I had played dirty and gotten away with it.

He didn’t believe me when I said it was unintentional.

Kelsey: Are you already in Minneapolis?

Me: Yes. We arrived this morning. I had Monica pick up a hat for you and Crew. You both might need the visor.

Kelsey: Oh, thank you. I was going to have him wear a plain hat.

Me: It will be nice to see some Minutemen hats in the sea of Twin’s hats. Could you please text me when you arrive? I may not be able to get back to you right away. We don’t use our phones during the game.

Kelsey: OK.

I spent the rest of the day hoping Kelsey would have more baseball questions, but I didn’t hear from her again until I checked my phone after the night game. She and Crew had landed safely in Minneapolis, and her hotel check-in went well.

Kelsey: I didn’t need to fly first class. Coach is more than okay.

Me: I was not going to put you in a coach for your first solo flight with an infant. How was the flight? Was he okay?

Kelsey: He got a little fussy when we took off but settled and slept a lot.

Me: How is your suite?

Kelsey: That’s also over the top. It’s nicer than my apartment .

Was I so out of touch that what I wouldn’t consider a basic hotel suite was luxurious to her?

I grew up surrounded by wealth and privilege, but I always thought I was level-headed.

It angered me that Kelsey struggled so hard just for basic survival.

She had no one watching out for her and resisted taking anything from anyone.

I fought every urge to jump in and take over for her.

She brought out this incredible need in me to protect her, and I was starting to understand that there may be more to it than a normal impulse.

I felt more than a little guilty for the dream I had of fisting her red hair as she sucked my cock; her golden eyes haunted me day and night.

In some ways, she was the vision of purity.

This angel of a mother, and I was demented enough to want to sully her.

I imagined her fair skin flushed with desire and hoped that it was true that redheads had red hair all over.

Before I went too far down that road, I reminded myself that I didn’t do relationships and that the last thing Kelsey and Crew needed was a guy like me bursting into their lives casually and then leaving.