Page 140 of Instigator

“Happy Opening Day.”

For a second, he just stands there, holding the ball like it might disappear if he squeezes too hard.

Then he laughs. Not the controlled, captain-of-the-team laugh everyone else gets. A full, disbelieving laugh that lights up his entire face.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“Holy shit.” His eyes dart toward the field, where the players are finishing warm-ups. “I get to throw a pitch?”

“One pitch.”

“On an actual baseball field?”

I laugh.

“That’s generally how first pitches work.”

He drags a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “I practiced this in my backyard for years.”

My chest squeezes. Because that’s exactly why I wanted to give this to him.

Not because he’s a professional athlete.

Not because it’s possible he can throw a baseball harder than half the people who get invited to do this.

But because somewhere underneath the hockey captain, underneath the responsibility and pressure and expectations, there’s still a little boy who dreamed about baseball.

And tonight, for one perfect moment, he gets to be him.

The team rep hands over the custom jersey with his name on the back, and he’s quick to throw it on over his Bulldogs T-shirt, then fits the cap over his head. He runs his fingers over the brim, marvel on his face.

The emcee’s voice booms through the stadium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome today’s ceremonial first-pitch guest, captain of the Boston Grizzlies, Aidan MacGregor!”

He looks at me one last time. “I am absolutely going to bounce this.”

I laugh. “No you’re not.”

“I’m serious. My arm just forgot how to work.”

“You play professional hockey.”

“Different throwing motion.”

The panic in his eyes is so genuine I almost feel bad.

Almost.

The crowd begins to clap as his name is announced.

Aidan blows out a breath, squares his shoulders, and starts toward the mound.

Then he stops.

Turns around.