Page 154 of The Path to Loving Him
“You got this,” Gabby shouts, not even caring about everyone else around us or that we’re on the biggest stage for baseball.
He nods to us. I offer a wave, and then he gets back to business, concentrating on what he should focus on.
Gabby and I stay silent, watching, entranced with the entire process as batter after batter takes their swings out on the field, and when Bennett steps up to the plate, she takes my hand, holding it tight.
He gets into his relaxed stance that I grew to know so well. His bat taps his back and then he lifts it up just as the pitch is delivered. He loads up on his back leg, and with all the powerfrom his lower half, he drives through the ball, sending it right over the left field fence.
“Holy shit,” I quietly say as Gabby stares in awe.
His teammates razz him from behind the portable backstop, but he remains locked in and focused.
Hit after hit, he sends them sailing to the outfield, mainly line drives, exactly what I’d tell him I’d want to see from him. Don’t shoot for the fences. Just make solid contact, as solid contact will bring home runs.
When he’s done, Gabby claps next to me, the sound muffled by the foam hand, and when he turns toward us, I give him a thumbs-up, and Gabby blows him a kiss.
He holds up his hand, offering her the sign for “love you,” and Gabby returns it before he heads out on the field with his glove to get some grounders.
“Wow,” I say softly. “He’s sharp.”
“He looked so good, right? I’m not just in some starry haze. He really looked good?”
“He looked incredible. And that boy has stacked some muscle on him. When did that happen?”
She laughs. “He’s focused on putting more and more muscle on his bones every year.”
“Yeah, because he was a skinny fuck when he was with me.”
She smiles, clearly remembering those days. “When he came home, we’d do pushups together because he knew that he had to keep building muscle, and it was a free way to do that. Clearly, having access to a weight room has leveled him up.”
“Big time, but without you doing those pushups with him, I bet he wouldn’t have leveled up as quickly.”
“Now you’re just trying to feed me with compliments.”
“Am I? Or am I recognizing one of the reasons that boy is out on the field about to play his first major league game?”
She smirks. “Feeding compliments.”
“Okay.” I roll my eyes and then drape my arm over her shoulder as we finish watching batting practice. When the visitors take the field, I ask, “Want to grab something to eat before the game?”
“Yes,” she says. “I don’t think I can eat much because I’m a ball of nerves, but I know if I don’t eat something, I might pass out.”
“I have the perfect idea,” I say. “Follow me.”
“How many pictures did you take of me eating that hot dog?”
I give her the side-eye. “Two, because the first one I took, you looked like you had one eyeball, and your tooth was in carnage mode. Didn’t think you’d like it.”
She wipes her mouth and then her hands. For someone who couldn’t eat because she was too nervous, she devoured that hot dog pretty quickly. I was impressed.
“Okay, because it seemed like you took twenty.”
“What the hell am I going to do with twenty pictures of you eating a hot dog?”
She shrugs and sips her Diet Coke. “I don’t know what you get your jollies from.”
“You’re demented.”
She laughs and then plucks one of the fries from the shared carton in front of us. Eyes on me, she nudges me with her foot under our high-top table. “Thank you for everything today, Ryland. In case I forget to say it later. Thank you for driving me when I know I would have been a nervous wreck doing it myself. Thank you for setting up a place to sleep tonight so I don’t have to shortchange my time with Bennett after the game. Thank youfor showing me around the stadium and for my gear, for holding my hand, for feeding me, and for making me laugh.”
