Investors and funding are picking up for the production company. Everything is clicking into place as if it were always meant to me.
Now, I just need my man. But I’ll wait on him for as long as it takes.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Preston
September 24
Nashville, Tennessee. Music City, U.S.A. Home of the Grand Ole Opry, Ryman Auditorium, Goo Goo Clusters, Cracker Barrel, and several professional sports teams, the Music City Troubadours included. And most importantly, home to the love of my life.
Ivory closed on her house today. She videoed me as she signed the papers. The pure joy on her face filled me with so much happiness but also a deep yearning to be with her. I love that she included me in such an important moment in her life but it killed me that I couldn’t be there with her in person. That we couldn’t meet at Gabrielle’s house and drive to the real estate agent’s office together. Hold hands as we walked in together. That I couldn’t open the door for her as she walked through. Hold her hand as she waited for the big moment, and then take a picture with her when she finally got the keys. Instead, I saw it all on the small square on my phone fifteen miles away while I sat in the training room for some privacy.
Tonight starts our last set of games. At least we are endingthe season in Nashville. Unfortunately, it is also an interleague matchup and Nashville is playing Tampa.
“You ready for this?” Miller asks from his locker beside mine. New team but same placement. Our lockers were beside each other in college. When we finally ended up on the same major league team, the staff shuffled things around and put us beside each other. I’m glad Nashville did the same.
“Yep. Just another game.” Does it suck playing against your friends and former teammates? Sometimes, especially if it’s a team you’ve been with for a long time and was set on retiring there. Once upon a time, I may have been upset by the trade. I saw myself in Tampa long term. But things change. This time, I asked for the trade. As far as I am concerned, there aren’t any hard feelings. “Besides, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can see my girl.”
As soon as that last game is over in two days, I’m running out of this stadium straight to my girl.
“Sucker.” Miller shakes his head and tapes up. “Don’t go zoning out yet. We need your head in the game.”
“My head is always in the game.”
“Then let’s get to it, Gramps”
“Oh great, my favorite nickname.” I roll my eyes but grab my glove and follow Miller out of the locker room. We travel down the hall until we finally reach the tunnel that leads directly into the dugout.
“This view is pretty sweet.” Miller crests the stairs up into the dugout since it’s at field level and we are technically under the ground right now. He’s not wrong. The Tampa stadium was built in a suburb of Tampa in an area without much else. The Nashville stadium is on the outskirts of downtown with the city skyline as the backdrop. Walking up the stairs, the skyscrapers and historical buildings that make up downtown Nashville come into view over the outfield fence.
It’s a warm, clear September day as I adjust my baseball hat on my head and jog out of the dugout onto the field. Inhalingthe scent of fresh cut grass and dirt, my pulse settles and calm washes over me.
I jump over the white chalk line extending from home plate to the left field like I always do because I’m superstitious like that. All baseball players are. Catching the ball when the first baseman throws it, I take up my position at second base. The pitcher throws a few warm up pitches while the rest of us throw the ball around to stay warm.
Just before the first batter takes his place in the box, Miller signals he is going to throw it to me. We practice this throw last every inning. Miller’s Pop Time—the time it takes the catcher to throw to second base from home plate—is below average, meaning he is faster than most. He’s got an impressive record of getting runners out at second. He throws the ball straight to my glove and I sweep it down as if a runner is stealing base while I point back at Miller to acknowledge the good throw.
The Tampa batter steps into the box and we’re off on our first of three games against my former team. I hit a homer in the seventh inning but despite our best efforts, we lose to Tampa 2-1. Nashville’s team is full of great players, young and old, but the team hasn’t had enough time to develop together. Things are starting to come together now, but by the time Miller and I arrived, it was too late in the season to make a difference. I hope during the off-season and spring training next season we can work on team chemistry. Two games left. Then I am finally reunited with Ives.
It’s the bottom of the ninth inning and I’m in the batter’s circle. There’s one out and one runner on second. Tampa is ahead 3-2. The batter strikes out, giving us two outs. The game is in my hands. If I strike out or pop out, Tampa wins. If I get a hit, the runner in scoring position may be able to tie the game with achance to win if the batter after me does the same. Or, I could hit a homerun and Nashville could win it.
Stepping into the box, I shuffle my cleats into the dirt to get a grip. Shaking out my shoulders, I loosen my arms before bringing the bat up onto my shoulder shifting my weight to my back leg as I position my arms into my stance.
The pitcher throws a curveball that counts as a strike. Strike one. Two more to go. Readying myself again, I wait for Tampa’s closer to throw his next pitch. I played with this guy for years. I know what he has in his arsenal. So when he tries another curveball, I’m ready. Swinging the bat with as much force as I can muster, I hear the telltale crack of the wooden bat meeting the ball.That one is gone.
I start running to first base as I watch the ball float deep into center field and over the wall. A Nashville walk-off to end the season. Trotting around the bases, I see the team filter out of the dugout and huddle around home plate. The runner crosses home plate amid cheers. Rounding third, the team starts bouncing up and down waiting to crowd in around me as I cross home plate. We may have a losing season on the books but Nashville ended the season with a win and I helped get us there.
Miller and I catch each other’s eye as we celebrate with the team. We both have big smiles, and I know we are right where we are meant to be. This team has potential. I can’t wait to see what we do with it.
But all that has to wait because there is a woman waiting for me and I refuse to make her wait any longer. Hell, I can’t wait. Running to the locker room, I start stripping as soon as I’m inside and head for the showers. I take the fastest shower on record and am packing my bag before most of the team has even started undressing.
“Where are you going, Fielder?”
“We’re celebrating!”
“You can’t leave yet.”
Voices fill the air as I swing my duffle over my shoulder but Miller speaks for me.
