Page 7 of My First and Only Crush

Halfway between second and third base, the runner is already going, his legs churning fast.

The ball is way over the heads of the outfielders, not a chance of it dropping, and the team is out of the dugout already, screaming at the top of their lungs as Trick takes off at a slow run, heading for first with a wild grin on his face. He’s done it. He hit a home run, bringing in the runner ahead of him to tie up the game, and when he rounds the bases, he’ll take the score ahead by one.

Winning the World Series.

Below me, his teammates have gathered around home plate, roaring for him as he rounds third, and the second his feet cross home, they pile on top of him three men deep.

Media and other family members flow onto the field, too.

I slip out of my seat, grateful that I got a ticket right at the end of a row, and race for the stairs.

Now that they’ve won, I can finally use my “go anywhere I want because I’m the coach’s daughter” pass, and after a few wrong turns, I finally make it to visitors’ clubhouse. Staff are already draping it in plastic sheeting for the free-flowing, free-spraying champagne celebration that will follow the presentation of the trophies.

There will be interviews out on the field for a while, so the team won’t spill into here for a bit, but I have a really important request to make of the equipment manager.

It’s something Trick did for my dad when they won the American League pennant fifteen years ago together—my dad’s last series win—and there’s no way my dad will remember. It’s just not how he’s built, so I’m going to make sure it happens.

Trick Lowry will never know just how much I love him, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. I’ll know I did this for him. I did it the last round, too, just in case that was his last win, because I have a sneaking suspicion he’s retiring this year.

The equipment manager’s eyes crinkle he sees me. “I didn’t forget, don’t worry. We’ll get his for you jersey.” He gestures to the boxes of World Series Champions t-shirts and hats that are streaming past him, heading out to the field to be handed out to the players. They pull them on over their uniforms, but as they come back to the clubhouse, I want the equipment team to ask for Trick’s jersey, to preserve it in its game played condition.

“Are you heading out there for the celebration?” he asks.

I shake my head. I don’t want to explain to my dad—or Trick—where I’ve suddenly appeared from. “I’ll just wait for the jersey. And then maybe I’ll stand in the hall and give them high fives on their way in.”

CHAPTER5

TRICK

“Ladies and Gentlemen, your world champions!”

Even though they booed us every time we took the lead throughout this series, the home team’s fans who have stayed to watch the trophy presentation cheer for us.

I straighten out the t-shirt that one of our equipment people shoved at me. Some guys pull them on over their uniform, but they asked me to take my jersey off, so all my sweat is soaking into this shirt.

Can’t wait to get it soaked with champagne instead.

“And now for the presentation of the MVP trophy. He has hit a home run in every game of this series. He’s played in three World Series, and tonight, he rounded the bases to finally bring the President’s Trophy home for the first time. Trick Lowry,youare this series’ most valuable player.”

I’m not a humble man. I knew if I stepped up and led my team tonight, I’d be the obvious choice for this.

Does that mean I know what to say when the microphone is shoved in my face? Not a fucking chance. I scan the stands in faint hope, but Sinclaire isn’t here.

When she was watching our games at the start of the season, it was some kind of fresh hell. I felt like my skin was being peeled from my body being that close to her and not being able to touch her.

But her absence is ten times worse. It drove me through the season, to this moment, and on the other side of tonight, I’ll be free to hunt her down and make her mine if she’s willing.

And if she’s not, I’m taking vows and becoming a priest.

“We couldn’t have gotten here without the support of our fans,” I manage to get out. “Our friends and our family, who sacrifice so much. And my teammates…” I glance back at them. “We did it together.”

They all cheer, and the crowd joins them with a roar.

“One more time, your world champions!”

We’re directed into a big team photo, and then someone catches me by the elbow and there’s a camera in my face. “How does this moment feel?”

“It’s special.” Between the one hundred and sixty-two regular season games and the playoffs, we’ve played more than two hundred games this year.

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