Page 82 of Perfect Game

“My man has returned to me!” Sam wraps me in a hug as he laughs. “It’s good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home. And you’re still cool with me crashing with you for a few days?”

“All good. Tickets for Sunday are taken care of, too. Maggiepulled some strings and got you seats with the other spouses and partners.”

“Awesome. I thought I should let Elise know I’m home, but I’d never be able to surprise Sutton if Elise knew.”

“That’s a good call,” Sam laughs. “She’s never been able to keep a secret. You may want to give her a heads up about Benji though. If you’re still interested. Sutton has been keeping him company on off days. Walking him, taking him to the park. She’s falling in love with that dog and almost talked me into letting her adopt him.”

“Adopting him is still part of the plan. But let me see Sutton first.”

We get to Sam’s house just a few innings into tonight’s Olympians game, and for the first time in, well about twenty years, I sit down to watch a baseball game without thinking about the implications of a win or loss. My thoughts are on the woman in the dugout. Every now and then the cameras catch a glimpse of her bent over the tablet or going over reports with Seattle’s hitters.

I haven’t seen her in person since the day I was traded, and more than anything I just want to be in the same physical space as her. I miss her. I miss her voice and her hair in my drain and her cold feet pressed against me when we sit together on the couch. I miss her awful gluten free bread and the way she talks to herself when she’s going through the steps of making espresso in the morning.

Benji curls up beside me on the couch, tucking his little body against my leg as if no time has passed between us. Sam sits across the room with Kaline at his feet. It feels good to be home, even if home is technically ten minutes up the road from where we are now.

“I know that look,” Sam sighs. “That’s The Sutton Look. Sunday will be here soon enough, my friend.”

Except soon enough isn’t soon enough for me. But when Sunday morning rolls around and I get ready to head to the stadium I’m…nervous. I haven’t been nervous in years. At least not like this. A knot settles in the pit of my stomach as I make my way to the ferry terminal. I know Sutton is already at the stadium so I don’t run the risk of meeting her on the ferry, but as we get closer and closer to the city I start to worry.

After my ticket is scanned, I walk through the home plate gate, past the statue of a Seattle legend, and up the steps until the field comes into view. It’s odd to see this field from the concourse instead of the dugout, to be so far removed from the action as the team takes batting practice. I stand behind the last row of seats and watch as Sutton steps into the batting cage to the applause of the team and the cheers of the crowd gathered behind the dugouts.

I love watching her hit.

There’s grace and fluidity in her swing. Strength and power in the lines of her body. And then she launches one straight over the right field wall and into the stands. I’ve seen her hit home runs before, right here in this park and in others. And she keeps hitting.

She hits ground balls to fielders running drills, and hits flies to the outfielders. When Sutton wraps up, I pull myself away from the railing and start scoping out concessions. It’s been awhile since I’ve eaten ballpark food and things have changed a bit over the years, but one thing that has stayed the same is the Fish and Chips from a local restaurant chain that has a few stands in the stadium. And their signature garlic fries are still on the menu.

With fries in hand, I make my way down to my seat and find myself in the middle of the row with Nico’s girlfriend on one side of me, and Lorraine Williams – Jerome’s wife – and her kids filling the rest of the row beside me. Thekids jostle to rearrange themselves so that his daughter is sitting next to me; Moriah is four years old, the youngest of four kids, and her three older brothers are all dressed in jerseys with various player names and numbers on their backs. Moriah has always been my buddy and that’s no different today. She’s got my name and number on her back and she stands on her seat to throw her little arms around my neck for a hug.

Once the game starts Moriah eats a hot dog but eyes my basket of fries. I silently hold out to her and give her a wink. She sneaks two and eats them quickly so that her brothers don’t see, and in the bottom of the fourth, when Lorraine leaves the kids with me, Moriah perches herself on my lap in an attempt to see her dad in the dugout, but to no avail. Jerome tends to take his title of bench coach very literally, and we likely won’t see him until the game ends. When Lorraine returns, she has two buckets of popcorn in hand, and one of them ends up with me and Moriah.

She giggles as she plunges her hand into the popcorn bucket, and the sound of her laugh has me thinking about the future. What a future with Sutton could possibly look like. Do we havethisin our future? Sutton on the field and me in the stands with our kids?

“Ice cream! Ice cream sandwiches! Ice cream cones!” A voice calls from the end of the row and I raise my hand, getting the guy’s attention.

“I'm buying for the row!” I shout, making sure everyone in the row knows before digging my credit card out of my wallet and passing it down the row. “Everybody get what you want.”

“Maxwell Harrison,” Lorraine laughs as her kids run down the row and pick out ice creams. “There’s a way things are done in this section. Do I need to show you the ropes?”

“No ma’am,” I answer with a laugh of my own, “this is just a little end of year celebration. I’ll behave next season.”

“Sure you will.” She turns serious for a moment. “The life of a coach’s partner isn’t an easy one. You ready for what that means?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to prepare myself, and I can learn as I go.”

“Good boy.”

In the top of the ninth, the Olympians take the field, and that weird pit of anxiety settles in my stomach again.

“Hey Lorraine?” I lean over and call over the tops of the kids’ heads. “What happens next?”

“When the game ends, Jerome usually meets us down there at the net,” She points to the far end of the dugout where I can just see the top of Sutton’s head. “He sees me and the kids, no one ever wants a coach’s autograph so we talk for a bit and then I meet him in the tunnel after the game. But, he knows we’re here. If Sutton doesn’t know you’re here you have a few options. You can get a move on, and go down there now, get her attention before the game ends, or you can meet her in the tunnel after. It’s up to you. Take it from an old pro: it’s hard to kiss with the net between you.”

When the final pitch is thrown, I get to my feet with the crowd, watching as the dugout empties onto the field; Roger and the rest of his coaching staff shake hands and high five the players as they celebrate their win, and the end of the season. Lorraine and the kids have already started making their way to the railing near the field, when I shout Sutton’s name. She turns around, eyes scanning the crowd when I call out again and I clock the moment she sees me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

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