The first pitch flew by my face, and I felt myself sneer as the umpire called out a strike. Adjusting my legs, I crouched down a bit lower. Suddenly, an image of me standing behind Aspen came to mind when I helped her at the camp in Ashfield. Before the next pitch launched, I took a step out of the box to collect my thoughts. I’d never broken out of my mental block during a game. I was always focused. Always absorbed in the role I needed to play.
Not until Aspen.
“You’ve got this, Ramsey,” someone called off in the distance, and I stepped back onto the plate and took my stance.
The pitch was too low to swing, and the umpire called a ball. I set up for the third pitch and adjusted my grip on the bat.
“Let’s bring it home, Owen!” There was something oddly familiar about the voice, but I couldn’t afford the distraction.
I watched as the pitcher wound up and adjusted his hand. I knew in an instant that this was going to be the same fastball he’d thrown at me first. With a clench of my grip on the bat, I swung at just the right mark, sending the ball flying through the air.
“Yes!” the crowd screamed, and the voice from earlier was louder than the rest. I launched my bat behind me as I ran toward first base, my eye on the ball the entire time. When it was clear it was going to soar past the outfielders and over the wall, I slowed my pace as I approached second. The guys on the other team held out hands for me to smack as I jogged across second and third base. It wasn’t until then that I noticed my entire team standing outside of the dugout, pointing toward the crowd.
I looked up and nearly toppled over my own feet. Aspen stood in the stands behind home plate, wearing the purple dress I bought her.
Holy fuck. What is she doing here?
I sprinted toward home, then backtracked toward the dugout, only to climb over the railings and into the seats.
Aspen and I collided in the kind of embrace you only saw in movies. Our teeth clanked as we kissed, and I dove my hands into her silky hair.
Pulling back a tad, I asked, “What are you doing here?”
“We came to watch you play.”
“We?”
She pointed over my shoulder, and I noticed the rows of empty seats behind the dugout were now filled with most of Aspen’s family and my mother.
“I promised Roman I’ll send your mom back with a souvenir for him.”
“Owen!” the coach called, and I saluted him, then turned back toward Aspen.
“Fuck, I have a game to play.”
She smiled in that sweet way that left my balls tightening in my pants.
“I know, superstar. I’ll be waiting for you.”
It was the longest fucking game of my life. There was no overtime, but it felt like the innings were never-ending. I stripped off everything and showered in record time. Thankfully, I’d spent time signing things and taking pictures for the guests before the game, so I was able to leave right after I dressed, while some of the players were still out on the field, meeting with the fans.
Checking my phone, I noticed no messages from Aspen, but as I exited the locker room, I found her waiting alone.
“Cricket,” I called out and watched as she rolled her eyes before approaching me.
“Somehow, I’ll get you to stop calling me that.”
“Nope, never,” I joked as I wrapped her in my arms. The players whistled and teased me as they exited the locker room behind me, but I didn’t care.
“You ever going to tell me what it means?” she asked just before she pressed her lips against mine for a quick peck. No matter how many times I kissed this woman, it was like I found a new addiction every time.
“You’re telling me all this time you haven’t figured it out?” I asked her as I guided her out of the stadium and toward my car.
“I just assumed it had to do with the crickets you put in my backpack.”
Opening the passenger door for her, I held her hand as she dipped inside. I was reluctant to let go in fear of her slipping away. As I jogged around the car, I breathed a sigh of relief when I got in and she was still there, not a figment of my imagination.
“Naw, that was just a lucky happenstance.”
“Of course it was.”
“Come on, cricket. Think harder.”
“Owen, I have no idea. Believe me.”
As I turned on the car and pulled out of the stadium parking lot, I thought about why I’d given her the nickname all those years ago.
“You’re my good-luck charm, Aspen. Ever since I stepped foot into that first-grade classroom and Mrs. Epperly sat me in the chair next to you, I knew you were going to be special to me. There is a superstition that crickets represent good luck. So, that’s how I came up with your nickname.”
She was silent as she watched the LA skyline as we zipped down the highway.
“I’m your good luck charm?” she finally asked.
“Yep. I even have a small cricket in the bark of your tree on my arm. I didn’t point it out that night you said I should get one tattooed. Thought it might freak you out, since I’d just gotten done telling you about the Aspen tree.”
I knew she didn’t quite understand the deeper meaning of what I was saying. She had no idea that during the beatings, during tryouts, during tests… all I had to do was think about her, and I felt a sense of peace. She was going to have to take my word for it.
After a twenty-minute drive, I pulled up to my place. It was a modern house with craftsman elements. It was much larger than one person needed, something I learned when I rented Rory’s house, but it was my first big purchase when I signed my contract with the Coyotes, so it was special.
