Page 127 of Wild Hit
Then the ball is launched. We lean forward, even Lucky. He lets go of my hand to prop himself up. We’re all quiet as the camera pans into the ball, flying into the dark sky as if it had wings of its own.
Lucky starts shaking.
“Shit, are you hurt? Should we call someone?” I all but screech.
Instead, he launches a fist in the air and shouts, “¡Así es!”
Then the camera returns to Miguel. Only when I see him start to trot at leisurely pace toward first base is when my brain catches up.
It was a home run.
No, a grand slam. We had full bases.
“Oh my wow.” I stumble. I have no idea when I stood up, but my knees shake and I start going down. My friends arescreaming and crying and jumping around. Lucky is fortunately tied to the bed because otherwise he’d topple right over.
And I’m on the floor, sitting stunned. Trapped in a reality in between life as of a moment ago versus now.
The Orlando Wild. The dark horse. The un-historic team… well, not anymore. We just took it all. We’re in the history books now.
And Miguel’s smile on the screen does me in.
I start bawling like a baby, my face buried in my hands. I don’t even understand why—I should be freaking ecstatic, jumping around like my friends are. But my chest is being stung by the invisible stab of mourning.
Adam would’ve loved this moment. In an alternative reality, we’d be celebrating like fools, smashing our hands together and screeching in joy. But that wasn’t meant to be.
Just like the previous version of me wasn’t meant to endure for the rest of my life.
Tonight I’m saying goodbye to the Audrey that tucked herself away from the world, who would rather be alone and cold than risk getting attached and hurt again. As of tonight, I promise to myself that I will live with no reservations.
Someone grunts above me and a big hand grabs onto my arm. “Get up, woman. Time to go get your man.”
I emerge with a gasp and let him help me up. Placing a kiss on his forehead, I say, “Thank you, Lucky. For everything.”
He leans back on the pillow. “Make sure the camera captures you and your husband.”
“But like, don’t make it too embarrassing.” Marty cringes a sort of smile.
Chuckling, Consuelo shoos me off with a wink. “Do what you want, I’ll distract Marty over here.”
“Let’s go!” Rose elongates the last word, and with that it gets the three of us going.
The route I had mapped in my head from the family section to the field is no longer necessary. Since coming to keep Lucky company in the team clinic, we have a much shorter commute through the medical wing, then the clubhouse, and straight out of the dugout.
All three of us run with joined hands even as we rush through the tunnel. But once we hit the dugout and our attention shifts solely on finding our boys among the celebrating mass of people on the field, we have no choice but to let go.
“Godspeed, soldiers,” Hope says.
Rose nods. “You too. And don’t forget that kids are watching.”
“It’s okay, I’m in PR. I know how to write a good apology.” The laughter that comes out of my chest is brand new, never before released into the wild. My friends echo it as we split up.
My eyes jump through every face, my heart thumping at a furious pace against my temple. Every limb trembles with pent up energy, my feet shuffling around to get a better view of the players and staff spread around the diamond. Streamers and confetti in our colors rain down from the stands, and sprays of various drinks explode like geysers between the players.
And then I find him.
Miguel is surrounded by his teammates, his uniform soaking through and sticking to him like a second skin. His face is split in absolute joy, eyes shining like the stadium lights, his smile so unabashed that I get a glimpse of how he must’ve looked like as a boy.
And then he finds me.
