Sweet Spot (3 page)

He flashes a grin, which I know means “Go fuck yourself,” and we all laugh and watch the bottom of the order go lay some damage on Donaldson. We walk away from the inning with two extra runs. My knee feels better.

Tigers score one more run, but it’s still easy going for me. I’ve learned how to jog without putting too much pressure on my knee. I’m up to bat and I’m fucking
pumped
. I’m ready. The crowd is loving the game and I’ve got a promise to keep. No more strike-outs.

I sit a solid line drive up the center for a double. Carlos comes up and hits a ball off the foul pole, batting me into home. The crowd goes wild and I shoot two fingers in the direction of the Sweet Spot. Two down, one to go.

The atmosphere in the dugout is electric. We fight and bat and throw and fight some more. We stop plays and have killer relays. It’s not enough, though, and the seventh inning turns particularly brutal. Edwards loads up the bases and allows a grand slam with no outs. They are only down by one.

Coach takes the field and we all go run to the middle to send off Edwards. He threw a good game, but it’s time for a pitching change. Edwards looks pissed, but I know it’s not at Coach. He’s a pitcher, after all. All those guys beat themselves up if they are pulled during the game.

“You threw a good seven innings.” Coach pats him on the back. “Time to go.”

We all pat Edwards as he leaves, but his shoulders are low. If we lose, he’s going to feel accountable. It’s all good, though, I want to tell him. I still have one more run promised. And I never break my promises.

Knickers comes out and Jamie and I high-five. He’s a killer reliever with a solid arm and a great curveball. Detroit won’t be able to touch him. We scatter back to our positions and get ready for the easy outs.

And then he lets another home run score. Well, shit.

Knickers slumps on the dugout bench after Detroit has another fly-out, his head in his hands. Coach Duff is talking to him quietly, so we all give them their space. We battle it out through the rest of the seventh, and eighth, with no progress on either side. They are as determined as we are to make some magic happen.

“All right, boys!” Coach Holstead calls out before we go up to bat. “Way to keep them staved off from scoring any more runs. I know these boys gave us more than we bargained for, but we’re the Royals and we win. You got me?”

“Yes, Coach!” We call out.

“Now let’s show them what our bats can do!”

“Yes, Coach!”

I’m up first to bat. Jamie smacks my ass and I feel the whole of the K watching me. It’s time to shine. Except, by “shine,” I mean “get walked to first.” Which is fine. Everyone cheers, I make small talk with the Tigers first baseman, and get ready to steal second. Carlos is up next and hits a hell of a sac-fly to center and I book it to third base. There’s a double play, and everyone is screaming, my heart is racing, and my knee is throbbing. Fuck my knee, I’ve got a run to score.

Coach Bart is third base coach tonight, and a notorious stick-in-the-mud. He likes to play it safe. I lead off and Coach Bart is already waving at me in my periphery. He wants me to keep my ass there, even though we’re currently tied with two outs, and I have a promise to keep.

The ball goes soaring into left field, bounces once, and is caught. Coach Bart yells at me to get back to base, but fuck this. I’ve gotta do this for Ally H. I made a promise. I wink at Coach and go for it, running faster than I ever have in my life.

My knee is screaming, the crowd is screaming, I’m pretty sure I just heard Coach Bart utter some pretty nasty things about my mother, but I slide into home seconds before the catcher tags me.
Safe
.

We win the game and the crowd goes crazy. My teammates rush me on the sidelines as I hold out three fingers.

C
oach is fucking pissed
. He’s so pissed he isn’t even looking at me. He’s just sitting there at his desk,
stewing
. I mean, I won the game, right? Let’s overlook the part where I completely disregarded Coach Bart’s instruction and took things into my own hands.

Without me, we probably would have gone into extra innings and nobody wants that. The fans
think
they want that, but all it does is fuck up pitching rotations and make coaches antsy. Extra innings are the worst. I saved us a lot of headache. And also committed insubordination.

I got carried away.

“I thought we had an understanding, Fife.” Coach finally manages. He won’t look at me, which is for the best. He’s known to get laser-eyed from time to time. “Your ass is mine.”

“I won the game, Coach.” I try to keep my voice even. “I saw the opening and I took it.”

“You pointedly ignored Coach Bart.” He opens a container of chew.

“Coach Bart is conservative. He doesn’t like to take risks.”

“He’s the coach, not you.” The chew gets tucked into his jaw and I stare at the bulge of tobacco. It’s mesmerizing and comforting all at once. I’ve spent years of my life watching the rhythmic motions of Coach’s mouth chew and spit.

“We would have gone into extra innings if I didn’t make a break for it.”

“What you did was bullheaded and stupid.” Yes, but…

“But it won the game.”

“Don’t argue with me,” Coach snaps. I bow my head. He’s right, I know. I can’t exactly explain to him the real reasons for why I did what I did, especially since they all involve his daughter, so I keep my mouth shut. “You acted like an arrogant fool.”

“But I didn’t break my oath.” I slam my mouth shut. Whoops, shouldn’t have said that. I watch Coach’s shoulders tense.

“You’re right. You kept your nose clean, but completely disregarded your coaching staff. This will not happen again.”

What I
want
to do is yell about how this is bullshit. I won the game. We shouldn’t be having this conversation. If I hadn’t been arrested the night before, we wouldn’t. It’s totally unfair, but Coach tries to keep us on a tight leash to prevent stupid shit, like what I did, from happening.

Really, this is all my fault and I know it. I didn’t
technically
break my oath, but I acted out for a girl. She probably didn’t even watch the game, being too busy scooping out ice cream for fans. Maybe, as the coach’s daughter, she doesn’t even really care about the game. But I did my part, and that’s what matters the most. I kept a promise.

“You’re on hospital duty tomorrow.” Coach finally says and I have to keep my face blank from groaning. “Don’t do that shit again. Get out of my office.”

“Yes, Coach.” I leave and mentally kick my ass. I’m not sure now if this was even all worth it.

I avoid hospital duty like it’s a monster with fangs. My mom died from cancer last year, and all that time in and out of the hospital seriously fucked with me. She didn’t even get to watch us win the Series, which maybe sounds like a dumb thing to be upset over, but my mom practically broke herself to make sure I could follow my baseball dreams. I did everything for her, and she didn’t get to see the fruits of all her sacrifice. It was a bittersweet day.

Going back to a hospital is the last thing I want to do. Maybe, if I’m honest, that’s part of the reason why I’m blowing off my knee. I don’t want to deal with more doctors, more nurses, more sterile environments. I had enough of them to last me a lifetime.

So every time hospital duty comes up, I make sure I’m not around. I can’t stomach the idea of going back there. And now I have no choice. The worst of it is knowing what I’ll be seeing. Watching cancer claim my mom was one of the most awful things I ever had to do. But to go and visit kids with it? Knowing their lives are on the brink of destruction entirely too soon, completely out of their control? It’s the most unfair thing in the universe that they should have to suffer the way my mom did.

Jamie’s waiting for me in the locker room. “Tough break, man. You’re a glutton for punishment.”

I flash him a smile. “I like it a little rough.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “Wanna go catch a drink?”

I shake my head before I think about it too much. “I better not. I’m going to go home and get some rest.” And ice the fuck out of my knee.

“Atta boy.” Jamie pats me on the back and waves goodbye. I’m left alone, and for once, I savor it.

The next morning, I pull into the hospital parking lot and have to mentally pep-talk myself out of the car. My chest is tight and all I see are flashbacks of my mom suffering. It’s been a painfully shitty few days, let me tell you.

Just as I’m breathing through it, there’s a knock on my window. Imagine my surprise when the blonde-haired brown-eyed beauty from The Sweet Spot fizzles into view. Ally H, she of the mile-long legs. My heart jumps only momentarily because I realize what’s going on before she says anything.

Coach sent someone to babysit me. He didn’t think I’d actually do it. I know I fucked up pretty bad, okay. I get it. But ouch.

I roll down my window and try not to stare too hard. She’s Coach’s daughter. She’s 100% off limits. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She flashes a dimpled smile and holds out a cup of coffee. “I thought you might like one of these.”

“I don’t drink coffee.” I hold up a finger and roll up the window to turn off the car. I take another deep breath before opening the door. To say I’m not excited about this day is a wild understatement. First hospital duty, now this girl following me around like a security guard. Awesome. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

“Who doesn’t drink coffee?” She teases and tries to push the cup into my hands. I ignore it and start walking, trying to keep my head straight. This is just a reminder of how badly I fucked up and how close I am to losing everything. “That’s un-American.”

“I play baseball. That’s as American as you can get.” I toss back.

“You sure you aren’t a commie in disguise?”

“The only people worried about commies anymore are in retirement homes. You’re like twelve.” This is more for my benefit than hers. Note to self: stay away.

Not that it’s going to be a problem today. As we sign in, my stomach starts churning and I’m glad I skipped breakfast. Today is going to suck.

“I’m not twelve.” She sticks her tongue out at me and slaps her badge on her chest. Not that I notice. “I’m eighteen.”

“Even better.” Holy shit, she’s a baby. She can’t even drink. I cannot be so turned on by her, it’s
wrong
. “I’m ten years your senior, young’un. I should be worried about commies, not you.”

“Young’un?” She smiles, so sweet, and I have to look away. “That’s cute, grandpa.”

“Better watch it. I might spank you with my cane.”

“Better watch it. I might like it.” This stops me in my tracks. She walks a few more feet before turning around to laugh at me. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! That’s totally gross.”

“It really is.”

“Kemper! Ally!” A friendly voice greets us upstairs in the kid’s wing. “Welcome. I’m so glad you two made it out today.”

“You know how much I love these kids.” Ally hugs the lady in the jacket like she knows her. I wonder how often she comes up here, or if maybe she goes with all the guys to the hospital. Surely someone would have mentioned this? Then again, I never even knew Coach’s daughter had grown up and left boarding school, so maybe I’m just not in the loop.

“It’s my favorite part of the week,” she says, and I have an irrational twinge of jealousy at not being her favorite anything.

“You are a treasure. I don’t think we’ve met yet, Kemper, but I’ve got a hall full of kids who would love to meet you. I’m Ann Watkins, one of the social workers.”

“Nice to meet you.” I force a bright smile and shake her hand. “I’m honored to be here.”

I want to run into the nearest bathroom and puke, but I can’t exactly say that, now can I?

“Have you been up here before?”

“No,” I admit, a little painfully. Guilt wallops me over the head. “I haven’t had the opportunity yet. This is quite a popular place for the guys.”

“And we are so grateful. I’ll take you in to meet a few of the kids. You can hang out for a bit, give them your autograph and take photos. The kids just love having guests and sports stars are usually their favorites. You can stay as long as you like before moving on. Whatever you’re comfortable with. They’ll just be over the moon to see you.”

“Is David still here?” Ally pipes up before I can swallow down another mouthful of guilt and awful. “I have the team baseball I promised him.”

“He is.” I can’t tell if Ann is happy about this or sad. If I were David’s parents, I’d be devastated. “Room 624. You can start there if you like.”

“Great!” Ally grabs my arm and leads the way, chatting the whole time about this kid. “You’ll love David. I know this sounds awful, but he’s my favorite on the floor. He’s got leukemia, a terrible thing, but he’s a great fighter. He tells hilarious jokes and can recite stats like you wouldn’t believe. Oh.”

She makes a stop by a small kitchenette set-up on the floor and grabs two cups of chocolate pudding. “He also loves chocolate pudding. Kid after my own heart.”

This makes me smile. Her energy is so infectious. Maybe it won’t be so awful with her by my side?

Ally knocks on door 624 and peeps her head in. “David? You awake?”

“Ally!” A young voice answers. We walk in and find a young boy drowning in his hospital bed. He puts down his DS and waves happily. Once his eyes land on me, they grow about twelve sizes. “Kemper Fife?”

“What’s up, buddy?” I slap on the biggest grin I can and high-five him. He lights up like a pinball machine. “David, right?”

He nods, a little open-mouthed.

“I have more surprises!” Ally sings. She produces the chocolate pudding cups and a baseball that I only vaguely remember signing. She wasn’t the one holding it when I did, I’d certainly remember that. “As promised.”

“Awesome!” He hugs her and stares in wonder at the baseball. “Everyone signed it?”

“All of us.” I pull up a chair on the other side of his bed. Ally perches on the foot of the bed, a giant smile on her face. It’s like she never stops smiling. And she’s so gentle with him that it shocks me. I don’t know why it does, but it does. Like this is the kind of thing she lives for, caring for people and bringing joy to their lives.

David and Ally start talking Pokemon, which is way outside of my comfort zone, but it makes me laugh. David shows me his game, all of the Pokemon he’s collected, and teaches me how to play. I try a few battles and fail miserably, with Ally and David both laughing at me.

“At least you can throw the ball real good,” David pats my shoulder, like he’s comforting
me
instead of the other way around. “How did you know you’d be a great baseball player?”

Ally twists her hair over her shoulder and looks at me expectantly, a small smile perched on her lips. I sort of laugh at the question.

“I don’t know that I’d say I’m a great baseball player…”

“You totally are!” David bounces in his bed. “You’ve got the second best batting average in the league! You’ve won three Golden Gloves! They think you’re up for another this year!”

“Whoa.” I blush. “You sure know your stuff.”

“Told you,” Ally says with a wink. “David’s memory is one of the best.”

“I love baseball.” David beams. “I want to play one day!”

“Do you play?” I ask, and then immediately want to kick my own ass for asking. Of course he doesn’t play. He’s trapped in a bed, staring down cancer in the face. “I mean, did you like to play?”

“I played second base, just like you!” David is practically vibrating, he’s so excited. “I had to sit out the last half of the season because I was here so much, but I want to make it through the whole thing next season.” He drops his voice to almost a whisper and leans forward. “I think I might have a chance at the All Star team if I do.”

“Hell yeah!” I fist bump him. And then immediately want to kick my ass for swearing in front of a kid. “I mean, awesome. I played little league when I was a kid, too. Except I was catcher. I never made it onto the All Star team, though. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

“You did?” David asks, eyes wide in surprise. “Then how did you get so good?”

I crack a smile. “I learned how to play
really
well in high school because I was trying to impress a girl.”

Ally giggles but David’s face scrunches up. “For a girl?”

“Yeah, dude.” I wink at Ally. “When you get a little older, they start to impact a lot of things you do. I wish I could say it was all love for the game, but I really only started focusing when I was trying to win over Rebecca Evans. She liked sports guys.”

“Did it work?”

I scratch the back of my head. “Not really. She ended up dating our star pitcher.”

“Girls are the worst.”

This makes me genuinely laugh. “Sometimes. But it’s okay. Because of her, I really focused, learned how to play well, and got drafted while I was in college. By then, I had found my true love—the game. There’s nothing better.”

“I got to run the bases once.” David reclines in his bed and looks a little sleepy. “At the K.” I smile at the mention of our stadium’s nickname. “It was amazing. The field smelled so good. Like grass and sunshine.”

“Oh, man. That’s one of my very favorite smells. That, and the leather from my glove. If they made that into a candle, I’d buy it.”

David launched into a story about his budding little league career, telling me about his own batting average and how much he loved to play. His excitement was palpable; he’s a kid who, with enough practice, could maybe make it one day. Anyone can train long and hard enough to make it pro, but you’ve got to have the passion to really make it. And this kid has it, more than any other kid I’ve met.

And he’s currently hooked up to a million monitors, battling something that will likely kill him before he can ever start. It hits me square in the chest, and before I know it, memories of my mom fall into my head like pop flies, toppling over one another until it’s all I can see. The wires, the beeping machines, her pale face, the way it hurt for her to breathe.n