Page 167 of The Fall Classic

I exhale and slap my hand in my glove, and then Rojas and I do it all over again. Strike out another batter.

I’m here. Nowhere else but here.

Weeks ago, Dr. Chang asked me why I chose the knuckleball, why I chose a pitch that takes years to master, a pitch that delayed me getting called up. He said if I figured that out, maybe I’d figure out the rest.

I know now.

Maybe it started as a way for me to hold on to being in the minors, for me to delay getting called up so the stakes would be lower.

But that’s not the only reason.

I chose the knuckleball for the same reason I read books instead of watching reels when I have downtime. For the same reason I switched to online classes so I could stay home with Mom, even though watching her slowly fade away felt like being torn into strips piece by piece. I chose it for the same reason I searched for months for the girl who brought a book to a baseball game instead of letting her go.

Some things are worth the effort.

Some investments are worth the risk.

Real sacrifice is a privilege, not a punishment.

That’s why I chose the knuckleball.

But there’s one other reason I chose the hardest pitch in baseball.

I grip, ease into the stretch, wind up, and the ball explodes out of my hand in a perfect release.

Because I’m so freaking good at it.

Thwap.

Strike three.

Rojas jumps out of his crouch and pumps his fist before pointing at me.

“My boy!” he yells. “That’s my boy!”

I point back and follow him into the dugout, and I’m greeted with hugs and back slaps like we just won the world series. I laugh off Lucas whooping.

But it feels good. Better than good. It feels right.

Joe gets my attention before I can sit down.

“Think you can do that again in the next inning?”

“I do,” I say.

He nods. “Good. Be ready.”

I sink to the bench between my brother and Rojas and breathe in, letting the noise hit me along with the reality that Georgie’s here.

I can’t believe she came, but I’m so glad. So grateful.

I could step out and see her, but I’m not there yet. Maybe I never will be. Maybe I’ll never be the guy who calls his wife and kids during the middle of the game because that centers him. If I’m the guy who has to be all-in wherever I am so I can be all-in when I leave, that’s okay.

Something tells me Georgie will understand.

***

After we win, I run out onto the field, my eyes finding her immediately.