Ripley hands him the ball, and I see Foster grip it in his palm.
We’re tied one and one so far in this three-game series against Milwaukee. We really need to win this one. It’ll get the Colts one step closer to making the playoffs.
I sit, and my knee bounces as he throws his practice pitches to Hayes.
“He looks good,” Leighton says.
“Really good,” Penelope says on my other side. She’s been sitting with us lately, and Hazel and Monroe have become fast friends.
I’m not wasting any energy worrying about what she had with Foster. It doesn’t matter. And I know it doesn’t compare.
“Go, Reaper!” Lincoln shouts, raising his gloved hand.
I bite my lower lip as Decker, Easton, and the rest of the infield head back to their positions. Hayes stands one more time, fixing his guards, before squatting behind home plate.
My nerves multiply as I realize it’s the top of the lineup for Milwaukee. “Jace Castillo. Of course. He’s probably gonna win the home run derby this year.”
Leighton giggles and presses her hand to my bouncing knee. “Nothing Foster hasn’t encountered before.”
Foster gets one strike on his slider. Another on his inside curve. Jace takes a crack at the third pitch, but it dribbles to third. Decker fields it cleanly and throws it to Hayes at home. One out.
“Just one more,” I say to myself.
Foster nods at Decker. Those two are really making great strides lately. Foster even went to dinner with his mom when she was in town last week. He was nervous beforehand and in his head about it when he got home, but he talked to me about how he was feeling. That’s all I can ask for.
I’m hoping he’ll make some kind of amends with her, if only for himself. But that’s up to Foster. Just the fact that he was willing to be around her is a big step forward for him.
Warren Kincaid steps up to the plate next. He and Foster have beef over what I don’t know, but at last night’s game, Foster might have purposely hit him in the ninth after their pitcher, Whittaker, hit Decker the inning before.
So it’s no surprise that Warren looks as though he wants to hit a line drive right at Foster’s head.
Warren takes a swing on the first pitch and misses.
I catch Foster almost smiling, but he steps off the mound after Hayes throws it back.
The next two pitches Blue calls as balls.
“That was a strike!” I stand and shout.
Leighton tugs me back down to my seat. “Let’s not make beef with Blue.”
But everyone around us is on board with the fact that it was a strike.
Foster leans forward and gets the call from Hayes. They’ve been such an in-sync duo this past month, and I’m so thankful that what happened between us didn’t sever those ties. Foster needs Hayes in his life as much as Hayes needs Foster.
The pitch comes in, and I have no idea why they would choose a fastball, but it comes in really fast.
“Holy shit, he hit one hundred and four.” Lincoln points at the Jumbotron.
“Lincoln,” Leighton scolds. “Language.”
I lean a little closer to her. “Man, is ten the new sixteen?”
“Apparently.” She gives Lincoln a look to say he’s in trouble later.
“Finish him off,” I call.
Leighton laughs. “My, how the tables have turned.”
