Chapter Text
All his life, baseball had been his world
From the moment he could stand, he had toddled around with a baseball and bat in hand.
Even as a child, he’d taken the game more seriously than his peers. While the other seven-year-olds had been watching clouds and digging in the infield dirt, Edward Gold had waited in the ready position, hand and glove on knees, for every single pitch.
As he grew, it continued.
Malcom, his father, a charismatic man who had missed his chance at the major-league level because of Edward’s birth, spent hours and hours showing him how to hold a bat, how to field grounders, and how to pitch.
Sometimes Edward wondered which Malcom loved more: him, or the game. Was the time spent on the sweet-smelling ballfield grass for his benefit, or Malcom’s?
But, as he loved the game just as much as his father, he never questioned it.
The intricacies of pitching fascinated Edward the most: Ball stitches were held like a horseshoe for the two-seam fastball, and sideways for the four-seam. Fingers trailing to one side of the stitching for a curve. Just the way the ball was held completely affected how the ball was thrown.
He quickly found he had a talent for pitching, and Malcom and Fiona, his mother, encouraged him every step of the way. Soon, scouts were eyeing him.
By the time he was in high school, he was a star known throughout the state. As soon as he graduated, he was drafted by the Detroit Tigers.
He had a long, and lustrous career, including a world series win and three Cy Young awards.
But today, as he walked through the New York airport with his team nearing the end of this season, years and years after all that had happened over his now-dwindling career, all he could think about was her.