Page 126 of Wild Hit
CHAPTER 47
AUDREY
“Thank you for using your nepo-baby powers,” Lucky says from his bed, loopy as all get out on the pain meds he had to be put on so he could hold out for the end of the game, instead of going to the hospital right away.
Reckless? Yes.
Understandable? Abso-freaking-lutely.
Besides, our staff is top notch. The only thing they can’t do is surgery, but we’re equipped with everything that’s necessary to contain his injury and keep him at ease.
Even then, we’re all around him careful not to cause any more damage. Consuelo fluffs his pillow and pats him on the head like he’s her long lost child. In his state, the gesture makes him smile like a pampered little kid. On the other hand, Rose is wiping the sweat off his face, and Hope is making sure that his injured leg is tied well enough so that no sudden movements can affect it.
Meanwhile, I’m holding his gigantic hand in between mine. I’m not a very touchy feely person, but if I was in his place I think I’d want someone to hold my hand. Even better, holdme.
A song that at this point all of us recognize like the back of our hands starts playing. We all slow down and turn our fullattention to the TV screen. It’s large enough that I almost feel like I’m there on the field, watching Miguel walk up from the on-deck circle.
Wow.
Goosebumps break all over my body. The noise in the stadium is so strident that it practically makes the walls vibrate—and that’s not through the TV. It’s like the whole world knows how important this at bat is for the team. And for me.
Lucky realizes that I’m muttering something over and over. The wordplease. And now he’s the one squeezing my hand. “It’s gon’ be fine. That man is yours already.”
I snap my mouth shut with a loud clacking sound. One of my friends is snickering.
“It’s true.” Marty nods at me. “Dad’s been moping around the house ever since you moved back to yours.”
I duck my face, but since I made the mistake of braiding my hair tonight, it’s not currently available to fall like a curtain and hide whatever expression I’m making.
“Just for the record,” I explain, “I don’t want the team to win just for my own sake.”
“Sure.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m loopy but not enough to believe that lie.”
“Besides, what’s wrong with that? I do want you to become my mom.” Marty shrugs. If she wasn’t on the other side of the clinic bed I’d squish her against me.
“Strike!”
We all turn back to the screen. “Shit, I missed it.” I grunt at myself.
It’s the ninth inning and we’re trailing pretty badly. I need to watch every single second, convey every ounce of my energy to him. I’ll be happy to never be able to plug a USB cable right the first time, never match socks, get lost every time I drive to a newplace, and find my pillow a tad too warm every night. All I want is for Miguel to shine—and shut up everyone who’s been talking crap about his performance tonight.
“Please,” the word slips out.
Then Lucky joins. “Please.”
And next thing I know, we’re all please-pleasing as the next pitch comes.
“Ball!”
The booing takes me by surprise. Are our fans doing this to Miguel? I will ban them all from the damn stadium if so.
Until I remember that there are plenty of Denver fans in attendance, and also that pitching such a clear and cowardly ball to someone like Miguel is an affront against the sport. I’d boo as well if I wasn’t busy praying with my simple word.
Our own voices rise once more as the pitcher prepares for the third pitch. A little voice in my head says that this is it, three time’s the charm.
