Page 51 of Perfect Game

“You won’t.”

“What if I can’t answer anyone’s questions?”

“It’s not your first rodeo with the press,” his hands settle at my waist with a gentle squeeze.

“What if they all realize that I don’t belong there?” My voice is a whisper as the creeping tendrils of imposter syndrome worm their way back into my brain.

“That’s not going to happen.” Max’s eyes, dark and intense, meet mine in the mirror. “Because youdobelong there, Sutton.”

Max leans over my shoulder, slanting his mouth over mine and claiming me with a possessive kiss. I’m breathless as he pulls away and turns me to face him, using his thumb to tip my chin up again until our eyes meet.

“Head held high,” he repeats. “Fearless.”

Kings Stadium is outside of Kansas City proper, but the parade and red carpet take place downtown before we all get driven over to the stadium for the rest of the festivities. We’re dropped off at the staging area and I’m corralled with the othercoaches while Max and Elise head off to their own staging area.

“Am I the only one feeling completely out of place here?” Roberto Jimenez whispers to me as we’re given directions on how to walk the carpet, and interact with the fans and press. He tugs at the cuffs of his shirt and fiddles with the buttons of his shirt, knocking his tie just off center. “I miss my uniform.”

Once I get past the fact that I’m talking to the man whose swing I tried to emulate as a child, I reach out and straighten his tie, before clapping him on the shoulder with a laugh. “It’s not just you, Coach. I’m ready to get this over with.”

The managers take the carpet first, with the rest of us to follow, and I am blown away by the sheer number of fans that line either side of the red carpet. Jake and Penelope Hutchinson are hosting the red carpet show for the American Sports Network, and it’s nice to see a few friendly faces among the press this afternoon, and since it’s a family affair, Jake has their youngest daughter perched on his hip, while Penelope holds the hand of their oldest. I make my way over to them for quick hugs off camera before I’m herded back into place by a producer.

Head held high.I remind myself as I walk away from my friends.Fearless.

I stop for pictures – one with Roger and one with Roberto Jimenez that has me crying thinking of all the times I watched him with my dad – but the most surreal part of the red carpet is when fans wave me over for autographs. I sign baseballs and jerseys and tee shirts.

“Will you sign my baseball card? I made two, so you can keep one.” One little girl asks, holding out what looks like a homemade baseball card with my picture on the front and handwritten stats on the back. It brings a tear to my eye as Iread over my college stats before turning it back over to a picture of myself from what appears to be spring training.

“Of course I will,” I crouch down in front of her with the card and a pen in my hand, “what’s your name?”

“Rebecca.”

To Rebecca,I write.Head held high. Fearless.

Sutton Davis

“Thank you so much, Coach Davis.” She hands me the second card, smile beaming, hand shaking with nerves.

“You’re welcome.” I barely choke out the words around the emotion caught up in my throat. “Will you do me a favor?”

“Sure.” Her eyes are wide as I pass the pen back, and my card.

“Sign mine. So someday, whenyou’rethe one on that field, I can say I got to meet you.” By the time I’m done with Rebecca and her family, the coaches are up ahead of me and the players are beginning to catch up. One of the red carpet handlers has been trying to move me along, but Rebecca stole my heart the minute she handed me that homemade baseball card.

“First time?” A voice rumbles from nearby, a pair of familiar hands with familiar ink reaching for a baseball nearby. “First autograph, I mean.”

“It is,” I smile as I carefully wipe away my tears.

“Won’t be the last, I’m sure.” Max rests a hand on my back as he passes behind me, pressing something into my free hand before continuing along the line of fans. “Soak it in, Coach.”

That’s exactly what I do. From the end of the red carpet, the drive to the stadium, I soak it all in. Players introduce me to their kids, and I stand for more pictures once I’m in uniform, signing even more autographs. Roger calls the coaches together, and as I sit in his office, for the first time since arriving in Kansas City, I feel like I’m in the right place. Like I really do belong here.

Once we’re loaded in vehicles and heading toward the stadium, I take out the small paper that Max tucked into my hand. His scrawling handwriting fills the page, but I don’t need a cipher to figure out what it says.

Head held high. Fearless.

After smoothing out the crumpled paper, I carefully fold it and tuck it into my pocket, wishing I had a better way to keep it safe between now and getting back to the house tonight. Maxwell Harrison may not be a man of many words, but the words he does manage are always meaningful. These four, right now, mean more to me than anything else.

Opening Day at home is my favorite day of the year, but even that crowd has nothing on the crowd at the All-Star game. The stadium practically shakes on its foundation as the fans take to their feet and cheer as we’re announced. We’re the away team tonight, which means we’re announced first, and I brace myself for the reaction. What I couldn’t have prepared myself for is the absolute roar of the crowd when my name is called after Roger’s.

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