“Maybe we need a count to keep us on tempo with our steps.”
She snaps her fingers. “I love it. Let’s try it. Outside foot, on one. Inside foot, on two.”
Delilah starts the count, and we successfully make it about five feet before we are tangled and leaning against the wall, both of us clutching on to each other as our bodies shake with laughter. When we pull it together and line back up to start again, we make it about twice as far.
“Let’s go again. I feel like we are getting a rhythm down,” I tell her before we take off down the hall like an overtired toddler—if toddlers had four, poorly matched legs that were tied together.
“That wasn’t too bad. Maybe we should quit while we’re uninjured,” Delilah says, bending to unstrap her leg from mine.
“I feel good about our chances. Let’s go see what kind of trouble we can find before we kick some ass.”
The smell of funnel cakes surrounds us when we step back out onto the field. Booming cheers carry across the diamond from my teammates as Russ, the Bandits owner, takes Coach’s spot in the dunk tank. Delilah sees it too and weaves through the crowd, leading us to the back of the line. When it’s our turn, I hand her a ball and step back as she cocks her arm to throw. She misses the first attempt, but just barely.
“That was close. Make sure you follow through on your throw,” I explain, coming behind her and wrapping my hand around hers to show her the motion from start to finish. “Just like this.”
Her small body relaxes into mine, letting me lead her through the movements and she looks over her shoulder at me, nodding her understanding.
Her blue eyes are steeled with determination when she takes another ball from me and steps up to the line. Her arm comes forward, following the exact motion I showed her, and hits the bullseye with athud. The sound of Russ splashing into the tub is drowned out by the roar of my teammates cheering as they look on. Lincoln’s front and center, cocking his eyebrow at me in a look that says,You’re fucked.
Delilah leaps, wrapping me in a hug. “I did it! That was so fun.”
Her spirit and enthusiasm is contagious. It’s hard to be anything but happy when she’s enjoying herself this much. She dulls the sharp pain of missing my family.
Maybe it should concern me that I feel so comfortable with her. I know better than anyone that nothing is guaranteed, and the way I crave having Delilah around is dangerous. But I can’t bring myself to care about how needing her could backfire. Right now, Delilah and baseball are the only good things in my life.
“Yeah, you did! What’s next?” I survey the other games and activities looking for one she might enjoy.
Delilah steeples her fingers turning in a circle as she takes in her options like a nefarious, but adorable, cartoon character looking for her next victim. Her arm extends in front of her pointing at the strong man game, the kind where you have to swing a sledgehammer hard enough to send the weight up the pole to ring a bell. “Let’s go win me a Bandits stuffed animal.” If that’s what Delilah wants, that’s what she gets. I’ll swing that sledgehammer until the first pitch if I have to because this feisty version of her only makes more want to give her anything she asks for, more than I already do.
“Piece of cake.” I take the hand she holds it out to lead me towards the game, her miniature legs eating up the grass in front of us.
Thanks to my batting average, it only takes three tries before Delilah is picking out a large teal and black Bandits Mascot. Lincoln might be right, but being totally fucked is worth it when she’s beaming up at me like I just gave her a new car, not a carnival prize.
The music around us fades and Wren’s voice blares over the sound system making it crackle before her voice comes through. “If you have signed up for the three-legged race, please report to the first baseline.”
Delilah’s eyes light up and she takes off toward first base, her stuffed Bandit’s Mascot clutched in her other hand. She stops in front of Wren, handing over the stuffed animal. “Guard this with your life while we crush these fools.”
Wren takes it from her with wide eyes. “Okay, well, you two can line up over there and a volunteer will be over to help you get ready before I go over the rules.”
The volunteer comes over and ties a thick strap of fabric around our legs, securing us together. Delilah tests it tentatively, her forehead scrunched with concentration as she tries to wiggle her leg around.
“Does it pass the test, partner?” I ask, when she bends to smooth the fabric where it’s wrapped around her lower calf.
“I think so. Does it feel good to you?”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that anything that ties her to me is better than good. “Yeah, I think it’ll work.”
The volunteer moves down the row—securing Lincoln to his brother and Coach Wright to his wife. There are a few other staff members and teammates lined up to compete. When everyone is ready, Wren’s voice echoes through the stadium again to go over the rules.
“The moment you all have been waiting for, the legendary three-legged race. Make your way to the outfield to see if Lincoln and Braxton Hayes can defend their reigning championship. The competition is fierce, with past contenders and fresh, blood-hungry ones hoping to knock them off their throne. The prize might be a trophy, but we all know everyone’s after the bragging rights.”
The outfield fills in as everyone lines up to watch us race. Wren continues to go over the rules. “No tripping your competitors. No trying to carry your partner.” She clears her throat performatively. “I’m looking at you Lori Wright. Coach needs to pull his own weight. Lastly, trash talking is encouraged but keep it clean or quiet enough so the kids can’t hear. The first team to round second and make it back to the start will be our winner. Contestants, take your mark and go on the air horn.”
A crowd is buzzing as we all shuffle forward toeing the line. My arm comes around Delilah, gripping her waist. “Ready?” I sneak a glance at her face which twisted in concentration, her slender arm mirrors mine, fingers twisting in my shirt as we await the countdown.
“I was born ready. Outside on one, inside on two.” The words are barely audible, blending with her nervous exhale as she repeats the pep talk to herself.
We crouch forward, taking an athletic starting position—well, as athletic as we can be tied to each other.
