Page 23 of Double Play
The ball rockets down the line, and I move without thinking, scoop it, step on the bag, and hear the ump call, “Out!” The crowd groans. I don’t look at them. I look over at second base to find Andres watching me like I’m the only thing on the field.
Breathe.
We’ve got this.
The second inning passes. Third, then the fourth, settling into the rhythm. The game becomes the game. My muscles remember what to do and my mind stops spiraling and focuses on what’s in front of me.
At the bottom of the fifth, I feel my pump vibrate. I pull it out of my pocket while Brooks sets up his pitch.
78 with a down arrow.
Of course. A low during our first away game. Between the flight, the game, the heat, and the stress, my body decides now is the time to be petty. I signal time, subtly, and jog to the dugout like I’m just grabbing water.
Andres's eyes follow me immediately.
“Jack, what’s your number?” he shouts, moving closer to first base.
“Gonzalez!” Coach shouts. “Back to second. Medical’s got this.”
The team medic is already waiting for me, pulling a glucose gel from his bag. I take it, rip it open with my teeth, and squeeze all of it into my mouth.
It tastes like berries and desperation.
Andres is on the field, watching me swallow. I toss the medic the empty packet and run back to first base.
“Give me a heads-up next time.” He taps my butt with his gloved hand and heads back to second base.
This fucking man.
I know for a fucking fact that if I were to tell him during the game, he would stop everything and run to personally grab my low treatment.
By the seventh-inning stretch,my blood sugar is back up, my hands are steady, and the game is still tight. The crowd is loud, but it’s the normal loud now. No more cheap shots from fans. Or at least none that I can hear.
Maybe someone told them to shut up.
Either way, the air feels a little lighter and I’m ready to end this game.
In the top of the ninth, we’re down by one and Coach calls a quick huddle. We’re sweaty, dirty, and breathing hard, and the whole world narrows to this one moment.
Andres looks at me across the circle; his eyes are steady.
Just a quiet, we’ve-got-this between us.
“Get me this win, boys. I need you to get out there and make every swing count. I don’t want to leave St. Louis without that W.”
We go back out and Gael sends one deep into left field and makes it to third. Two pitches later, I get on base, and Gael crosses home to tie the game.
Then Kai hits a monster of a home run, bringing both of us home. We shift to the bottom of the ninth, and their first baseman steps up to bat. It’s 5—3, and we need Brooks to keep throwing heat so we can bag this win.
When the final out is called, the Coyotes explode out of the dugout like they’re escaping a cage. I find Andres in the chaos like my body knows where he is before my eyes do. He grabs mearound the waist and lifts me just enough that my cleats leave the dirt.
“Dre,” I laugh, breathless and he sets me down, hands still on me, eyes locked on mine.
For one second, the noise from our team and the stadium fades. The lights blur, and the whole world becomes his face. His smile and the way his eyes almost shine when he looks at me. Andres opens his mouth like he’s going to say something.
Maybe I love you.
Maybe I’m proud of you.
