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A makeshift home plate, marked by a slightly scuffed, square piece of cardboard, stood Jamie. Now, seven years old, the official youth league baseball helmet sat slightly crooked on his head, threatening to swallow his ears every time he shifted his stance. Gripping the aluminium bat with an expression mixed of fierce determination and absolute terror.
Twenty feet away, Conrad stood on the pitcher's mound which is technically just a slightly elevated patch of dirt near the flowerbeds. He wore a faded baseball cap pulled low, arms crossed over his chest, silently observing Jamie’s posture with the critical eye.
Beneath the shade of a massive oak tree by the baseline, a white popup tent served as the official dugout, medical station, and toddler daycare. Belly was currently leaning over a cooler, desperately trying to keep a one-and-a-half-year-old from climbing inside it.
"Ines, no. The cooler is not a swimming pool," Belly muttered, gently hauling the toddler back by the waistband of her tiny denim overalls. Ines, whose entire vocabulary currently consisted of six words and a series of high-pitched shrieks, merely pointed a sticky finger at the ice and declared, "Buh!"
"Exactly, 'buh.' Very profound," Belly said, dusting off Ines’s knees before handing her a plastic, bright red megaphone that was roughly the same size as the toddler’s entire torso. "Here. Your current job is atmospheric hype. Look at your brother. Your dad is giving him the Look."
They both turned. Belly kneeling in the grass, Ines clutching the megaphone like a prized possession.
Conrad had just uncrossed his arms. He walked slowly toward home plate, his steps deliberate. Jamie watched his dad approach, his bat lowering just an inch.
"Jamie," Conrad steadily said, "What did we say about your back foot?"
"It’s supposed to be squishing the bug?" Jamie offered, his voice a tiny squeak.
"Are you squishing the bug, or are you just lightly tapping it on the shoulder and asking it nicely to move?" Conrad asked, stopping a few feet away and gesturing to Jamie's feet. "Your back foot is floating. If your base isn't solid, your swing is just an imagination. Secure the foot."
"But the bat is heavy, Dad," Jamie mumbled, adjusting his helmet, which immediately slipped forward over his eyebrows. He pushed it up with the back of his hand.
Conrad sighed as he knelt down in the dirt, grass stains ruining his jeans, and gently adjusted Jamie’s fingers on the grip. "The bat is heavy because you’re carrying it entirely with your arms. Use your legs. Your power comes from the ground up, okay? I know you're tired. But the players from the other team aren't going to pitch it softly because your arms hurt. They want to win. Do you want to win?"
Jamie nodded vigorously. "I want to hit it over the fence."
Conrad glanced at the wooden fence, which was a solid hundred feet away; a monumental distance, if he could do it. A small smile tugged at the corner of Conrad's mouth. "Let's start with hitting it past the pitcher's mound first. Adjust your grip. Knuckles lined up."
From the shade of the tree, a sudden, deafening burst of static echoed across the lawn. Ines had successfully figured out how to press the trigger on the megaphone. She jammed the plastic cone against her face and let out a triumphant, "YAAAAAAAH!"
Conrad didn't look back, but his shoulders tensed slightly. "Ignore the dugout, Jamie. Focus."
"She is bringing positive energy, babe!" Belly yelled, sprinting out from under the tent holding a plastic plate while dragging a giggling Ines by the hand. She stopped next to them, holding out an arrangement of orange slices. "Mandatory sports nutrition break. Protocol dictates that a practice baseball game requires at least one entire crop of citrus."
Jamie immediately dropped the bat, much to Conrad's visible internal agony and grabbed three orange slices, stuffing them into his mouth all at once, which made his cheeks puffy.
Ines immediately reached out a chubby hand, grabbed an orange slice, and attempted to jam it directly into Jamie’s ear.
"Neni, no, that’s his hearing orange, not his eating orange," Belly laughed, redirecting the toddler's hand.
"Belly," Conrad said, slowly rising to his feet. "We’ve been out here for exactly eight minutes."
"And a lot can happen in eight minutes, Conrad," Belly said defensively, wiping a stray drop of orange juice from Jamie's chin with her thumb. "Dehydration is a silent killer. Muscle fatigue. Emotional burnout. He’s a delicate ecosystem right now."
"I am an ecosystem," Jamie mumbled through the oranges, looking highly pleased with the description.
"You're a baseball player," Conrad corrected mildly. He looked down at Jamie, whose mouth was completely full. "And right now, you're a baseball player who is wasting batting practice. Finish chewing. Mom, back to the bleachers."
"They aren't bleachers, they're deluxe lawn chairs with built-in cup holders," Belly corrected, giving Jamie a supportive pat on his helmet which promptly slipped over his eyes again. She fixed it, picked up Ines under one arm like a sack of groceries, and marched back to the tent.
"Who's the cutest baby there is in the whole wide world, huh?" Belly coos, talking to the baby as she set her down in a portable playpen. Ines immediately began banging a plastic shovel against the mesh siding. "Ba! Ba! Ba!"
"I know, Ines. Your dad is treating this like the Game 7 of the World Series," Belly whispered, straightening her lawn chair. "I saw him checking the wind direction earlier with a piece of grass. He’s insane."
Back on the mound, Conrad had tossed another ball into his glove. "Alright, Jamie. Total focus now. Look at the ball. Don't look at me, don't look at the bat. Track the ball from my hand all the way to the hitting zone."
Conrad tossed an easy, underhand pitch. It was a perfect, lobbed ball that floated right into Jamie's zone.
Jamie swung with all his might. The bat sliced through the air with a loud whoosh, completely missing the ball. The momentum carried him around in a full circle, his feet tangling, until he plopped backward to his butt in the dirt.
Silence fell over the yard. Jamie sat there, his bat rolling away from him. His lower lip began to tremble slightly.
Before Belly could jump up to stage a rescue mission, Conrad walked over. He didn't offer a hand to pull Jamie up immediately; instead, he knelt down right there in the dirt, opposite his son.
"That was a massive swing," Conrad said quietly.
"I missed," Jamie sniffled, looking down at his dusty sneakers. "I always miss. Toby said I'm gonna strike out in the real game and everyone's gonna laugh."
Conrad reached out and gently tapped Jamie's helmet, tilting it back up so their eyes met. "Toby is seven. Toby thinks worms are a valid food group. Don't take scouting reports from Toby."
A tiny, reluctant giggle escaped Jamie.
"Listen to me," Conrad said, his voice softening, "Do you know what the best baseball players in the world do most of the time?"
Jamie shook his head.
"They fail," Conrad said. "If a professional player hits the ball three times out of ten, he’s considered a legend. That means seven times out of ten, he misses, or catches a flyout, or strikes out. Baseball isn't about being perfect. It's about what you do right after you miss. Now, do you cry on the field, or do you pick up the bat?"
Jamie looked at the aluminum bat lying a few feet away. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his dirty sleeve. "Pick up the bat?"
"Exactly," Conrad said, standing up and finally extending a hand to pull Jamie to his feet. He brushed the dirt off his pants. "You have the power. You just tried to hit it to the moon. Give me a half-swing this time. Just contact. Let the bat do the work."
From the baseline, Belly cheered loudly, clapping her hands. Ines, catching the vibe, grabbed her megaphone again, leaned her entire weight against the mesh of the playpen, and screamed, "BABA GU!" into the microphone, creating a wall of feedback.
Conrad turned his back to disguise the small grin on his face. He caught another baseball from the bucket beside him. "Alright, kiddo. Easy swing, alright? Watch it hit the bat."
He tossed the ball and Jamie tracked it. He didn't swing heavy this time; he just brought the bat forward in a clean, level arc.
PING.
The sound of aluminum meeting leather echoed through the backyard. The ball shot straight forward, bouncing cleanly past Conrad's feet and rolling merrily into the outfield grass.
"YES!" Belly shrieked, jumping out of her chair so fast she almost tripped over the diaper bag. "RUN! BABY, RUN! TO FIRST BASE! I MEAN THE OTHER FIRST BASE!"
Jamie stood frozen at home plate, staring in absolute disbelief at the ball rolling away.
"Jamie, run!" Conrad called out.
Jamie took off, his little legs churning as he sprinted toward the lawn chair that served as first base, his helmet bouncing wildly on his head. He threw himself into a spectacular, entirely unnecessary headfirst slide right into Belly’s legs, sending them both tumbling into a pile of laughter on the grass.
Ines was bouncing up and down in her playpen, squealing, clapping her chubby hands together so hard she lost her balance and sat down hard on a stuffed bear. "Aba! Aba!"
"Oh my goodness! What a spectacular slide," Belly gasped, laughing as she sat up, covered in loose grass blades, holding Jamie up by his armpits. "The form! The dedication! The absolute disregard for laundry detergents!"
"Mom! I hit it!" Jamie was beaming from ear to ear, his cheeks flushed red. "Did you see? I hit it past Dad!"
Conrad walked over, picking up the discarded bat and resting it against his shoulder. He looked down at the chaotic pile. "I saw. Good adjustment on the hands. But your slide technique needs work. You exposed your wrists."
"Conrad!" Belly gasped, throwing a handful of grass at his shins. "Let him have the moment! He’s a hero!"
"He's a hero who has to play a full six innings tomorrow," Conrad noted, though he couldn't hide the pride in his eyes. He reached down and gave Jamie a firm, lingering high-five that made the boy's chest puff out. Then, he looked into the playpen, reached down, and gently booped Ines on the nose. "Good coaching from the dugout, Neni."
Ines blinked, reached up, and grabbed Conrad's nose with a vice-like toddler grip. "Got!" she announced.
"Okay, okay, you got me," Conrad muttered, a soft laugh escaping him as he gently untangled her fingers.
"So does being ready mean we get the secret weapon?" Jamie asked, his eyes going wide with sudden realization.
"The secret weapon has been authorized," Belly declared, reaching into the cooler and pulling out a container of homemade, double-chocolate brownies, alongside a specialized container of mashed sweet potatoes for the assistant coach.
"Brownies!!!! My favorite!" Jamie exclaimed, as he tried to pick two pieces at the same time before his Mom swatted his hand away.
"One at a time, bean! We don't want to be overloaded with sugar close to bedtime."
Jamie saluted.
The sun was beginning to dip below the tree line. The backyard shadows grew longer, stretching across the grass like giant baselines.
Conrad looked from the fading light to Jamie, who was currently attempting to balance his baseball bat on his chin while Belly recorded it on her phone.
"Alright, wrap it up," Conrad called out, clapping his hands together. "The light's fading. Pack up the gear."
Jamie’s bat clattered to the grass. He looked up, his face dropping. "Already? But Dad... just one more practice. Just one more pitch. Please? I want to try the squishing-the-bug thing again."
From the blanket, Ines raised a chubby hand, completely covered in dried sweet potato, and echoed, "One!"
Belly looked up from her phone, giving Conrad her best pleading eyes; the exact same expression Jamie was wearing. "Come on, Capt. One more for the road. Would you look at that face."
Conrad looked at the three of them. He closed his eyes, let out a slow defeated breath, that fooled absolutely nobody, and reached into the bucket. He pulled out the very last baseball.
"One," Conrad said, pointing a stern finger at Jamie. "If you miss, we go inside. If you hit it, we go inside. No negotiations."
"Yey!" Jamie scrambled for his bat, dragging it back to the cardboard home plate. He kicked his back foot into the dirt, deliberately grinding his sneaker down. "Look, Dad! Look at my foot! The bug is totally squished. It's a goner."
"Good. Now keep your weight back," Conrad said, stepping onto the mound.
He looked completely serious, but there was a looseness to his shoulders now. He liked the grit. He liked that the kid didn't want to leave the field.
Behind the plate, Belly had assumed the role of the official backstop, crouching down with her hands on her knees. "This is it, folks..." she narrated in a dramatic whisper. "Bottom of the ninth. Two outs. The crowd is silent."
Ines, sensing the drama, shoved the red megaphone against her cheek and let out a muffled, static-heavy, "BOO!"
"Don't boo your brother, Ines, we're the home team," Belly laughed, adjusting the baby’s grip on the megaphone.
"Focus, Jamie," Conrad called out, his voice cutting through the backyard chatter. He held the ball against his glove. "This is the pitch you're going to get tomorrow. Fast, straight, right down the middle. Don't think about the swing. Just watch the seams rotate."
Jamie took a deep breath. His tiny chest rose and fell. He gripped the bat, knuckles lined up, his back foot firmly planted in the dirt. He stopped fidgeting.
For a seven-year-old, he suddenly looked incredibly locked in.
Conrad wounded up. It wasn't a gentle, underhand this time; it was a crisp, overhand throw, perfectly placed right over the cardboard plate.
Jamie didn't hesitate.
CRACK.
The ball took off and flew right over Conrad’s head, rising higher and higher until it cleared the hundred-foot mark and sailed cleanly over the wooden back fence, disappearing into the neighbor's bushes.
Jamie stood frozen, his arms still extended from the follow-through, his mouth wide open.
"HOME RUN! Oh my gosh!" Belly cheered, jumping straight into the air. "He cleared the wall! He went yard! Baby, you went yard!"
Ines began to aggressively blow her plastic whistle, her little legs kicking back and forth on the blanket. "BAAA! BAAA!"
Conrad stayed turned around, his eyes fixed on the spot over the fence where the ball had vanished. He slowly turned back to look at Jamie. A massive grin now on his face.
"Now that," Conrad said, walking over and lifting Jamie straight off his feet by his armpits, shaking him slightly, "was a major league swing. Hands back, perfect extension. You absolutely crushed it."
"I hit it over!" Jamie yelled, his face lighting up with absolute euphoria as Conrad set him down. "Did you see it, Mom? Did you see it go into Mr. Henderson's yard?!"
"I saw it! I have it on video!" Belly threw her arms around both of them, dragging Conrad into a chaotic group hug. "You're a legend, bean! Mr. Henderson is never giving that ball back, but it was so worth it!"
Ines crawled off the blanket, dragging her megaphone behind her like a security blanket, and bumped into Conrad’s shin. "Up!" she demanded.
Conrad reached down with one arm and hosted the toddler onto his hip. She immediately celebrated by clapping her sticky hands right against his cheek, leaving a fresh streak of sweet potato. Conrad didn't even flinch. He just looked at Jamie, turning the boy's baseball cap backward one final time.
"Practice is officially over," Conrad said, "You're as ready as you'll ever be."
The kitchen door clicked shut behind them, sealing out the cool evening air. The warmth of the house immediately hit their faces, smelling faintly of toasted bread and the cinnamon candle Belly had lit earlier.
Jamie carefully set his bat down by the umbrella stand, exactly where Conrad had taught him to keep it so nobody would trip and began kicking off his dirty sneakers.
"Dad?" Jamie asked, looking up as he tugged at a stubborn knot in his laces. "Do you think Mr. Henderson will really keep the ball?"
Conrad paused by the kitchen island, setting down the equipment bucket. He set Ines down on the linoleum floor, where she immediately took off in a clumsy, celebratory toddler sprint toward the living room rug.
"Mr. Henderson has a legendary collection of lost baseballs, bud," Conrad said, walking over and kneeling to help him untangle the double-knot. "But I think if you go over there tomorrow in your uniform and ask nicely, he might make an exception for a home run ball." He popped the knot free and patted Jamie’s shoulder. "Go wash up."
"Mom!" Jamie called out, instantly pivoting and sprinting into the kitchen. "Mom, did you see how far it went, right? It went past the big bush!"
Belly was already at the sink, rinsing out the orange slice container. She turned around, her face instantly softening into a bright, radiant smile at the sound of his voice.
"I know. I saw it, bean!" She leaned down, completely unbothered by the dirt on his jersey, and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a loud, dramatic kiss on the top of his head. "It practically landed in the next zip code. I think I heard the ball cry a little bit when you hit it."
"Dad threw it really fast this time, too," Jamie said proudly, still side-hugging her. "He did his real pitcher look."
"Oh, I know that look," Belly laughed, glancing over Jamie’s head to where Conrad was walking into the kitchen. Conrad caught her eye, a soft, expression passing between them before he reached for a paper towel to finally wipe the stray sweet potato off his jaw. "Your dad takes backyard spring training very seriously."
"A family infrastructure built on athletic excellence," Conrad murmured, leaning against the counter and looking down at his son. "Now, hands. Soap. Both of you."
"Hey, I already washed mine!" Belly protested.
"I meant Jamie and Ines," Conrad said, a twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. "Though given how much grass is currently stuck to your shirt, a full hosing down wouldn't hurt."
“Oh you would like that, would you?”
She nudged the boy toward the bathroom. "Go on, tiger. Scrub hard, or your dad will make you do running drills inside."
"I heard that," Conrad called out as Jamie giggled and ran down the hallway.
The kitchen fell into a comfortable, quiet hum, save for the distant sound of running water and Jamie singing an improvised victory song in the bathroom. Belly walked over to the counter, leaning her hip against it as she watched Conrad finish wiping down the high chair tray.
"You know," Belly said, a soft, teasing smile tugging at her lips, "for someone who claimed he was too tired to run a full practice today, you looked pretty invested out there, husband."
Conrad paused, the dish towel still in his hand. He looked up, his eyes softening instantly at the word. No matter how many times she said it, the title always settled over him warmly, grounding him completely. A quiet, knowing smile breaking through.
"I have a reputation to maintain," Conrad murmured, tossing the towel over his shoulder and stepping closer to her. "If our son goes out there tomorrow and drops his back elbow, the other dads will think I've gone soft."
"Oh, heaven forbid," Belly laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck as he looped his hands around her waist, pulling her flush against him. "We can't have people thinking the great Conrad Fisher has a heart."
"Exactly. It's bad for my brand." He leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair.
When he pulled back, his gaze shifted over her shoulder toward the hallway. "He really did crush that last pitch, though. His stance was perfect."
"He had a good teacher," Belly said softly, her fingers tracing the collar of his shirt, and pulling him down to kiss him.
The local youth league field was a sea of chaotic energy. The stands were packed with parents waving homemade signs and sipping lukewarm coffee from thermoses. Up in the middle row of the bleachers, Belly was practically a one-woman fan club, holding a sleeping Ines on her shoulder with one arm while enthusiastically cheering for Jamie’s teammates as they ran through their warm-up throws.
Down by the third-base dugout, however, the atmosphere was much quieter.
Jamie sat on the wooden bench, his knees pulled up slightly, his oversized glove resting on his lap. He was staring intensely at the dirt between his cleats, completely oblivious to the chatter around him. His team jersey, crisp and a little too big for his seven-year-old shoulders, swallowed him up.
Conrad, carrying a clipboard and a bucket of practice balls, noticed the silence instantly. He handed the clipboard to the assistant coach, walked over to the bench, and dropped into a crouch right in front of his son.
"Hey," Conrad said softly, cutting through the ambient noise of whistles and cheering.
Jamie looked up. His eyes were wide, and his lower lip was tucked tight under his teeth. "Hey, Dad."
"You look like you're trying to figure out a math problem," Conrad said, resting his forearms on his knees so they were at eye level. "What's going on in that head?"
Jamie adjusted his cap, his fingers trembling just a little. "There are a lot of people in the bleachers. And Toby’s dad is yelling really loud from the other dugout. What if I mess up? What if I forget to squish the bug and I strike out in front of everyone?"
Conrad reached out, placing a firm, steadying hand on Jamie's shoulder.
"Look at me, Jamie," Conrad said, his voice calm. Jamie met his dad's eyes. "Do you remember what we did yesterday?"
Jamie nodded. "I hit the ball into Mr. Henderson's yard."
"You cleared the fence," Conrad confirmed. "And you did it because you stopped looking at everything else and just watched the ball. Toby’s dad isn't pitching today. The people in the bleachers aren't pitching. It’s just you, the bat, and the ball."
"Being nervous just means you care, and that’s a good thing. It means you’re alive," Conrad said, his eyes filled with absolute certainty. "But once you step across that white line onto the field, the noise doesn't matter. You know exactly what to do. Your legs know what to do. Your hands know what to do. Just trust the work we put in."
Jamie swallowed hard, his shoulders loosening just a fraction. "Even if I miss?"
"Even if you miss three times in a row," Conrad said without a second of hesitation. "You're still the kid who went yard yesterday. And no matter what happens on that scoreboard, your mom, your sister, and I are going to be right here. I’m incredibly proud of you, slugger. You ready?"
Jamie looked out at the diamond, then back at his dad. A small, brave smile finally broke through the nerves. He nodded, much more confidently this time. "Yeah. I'm ready."
"Good." Conrad gave him a firm high-five that echoed inside the dugout, then clapped him on the back as Jamie stood up. "Go grab your bat. Let’s show them how it’s done."
The atmosphere at the field was electric and thick.
The scoreboard read 5-5. There were two outs, the bases were empty, and Jamie was stepping up to the plate as the final hitter of the game.
Belly was leaning forward so far, she was practically hovering over the row in front of her. Ines was awake now, bouncing wildly in her lap.
Down on the field, Conrad stood near the dugout entrance. His arms were crossed, his face a mask of intense focus, but his eyes were locked entirely on his son.
Jamie walked to the batter's box, his bat dragging slightly in the dirt before he lifted it. He looked small against the backdrop of the cheering crowd, but as he stepped up to the cardboard plate, he caught his dad’s eye. Conrad didn't shout. He just gave Jamie a single, firm nod and tapped his own chest right over his heart.
Breathe.
Jamie took a deep breath, dug his back sneaker into the dirt, and raised his bat.
The opposing pitcher, a tall kid with a fierce look, wound up and delivered. It was fast. Jamie swung with everything he had, but the ball sliced right past him.
Strike one.
The other team's dugout erupted in cheers. Up in the stands, Belly groaned. "You're okay, baby! Reset! Next pitch!"
Jamie shook his head, stepped out of the box, and looked at his hands. He could feel the panic creeping into his chest. Toby's dad was shouting from the other side of the field. The crowd felt massive.
Conrad stepped to the edge of the line, catching Jamie's attention. He gave a small hand gesture, leveling his palm out in the air. Keep it level. Don't chase.
Jamie stepped back in. The pitcher wound up again. This time, the ball was high and outside, but the pressure got the better of Jamie. He lunged forward, swinging wildly at a pitch he never should have touched.
Strike two.
The catcher caught the ball with a loud snap. The opposing team was already jumping up and down, one strike away from forcing extra innings or a tiebreaker. Jamie stood at the plate, his shoulders dropping, his head hanging low.
The opposing team’s dugout erupted into deafening cheers, and from the row of bleachers directly behind Belly, a loud, scoffing laugh cut through the noise.
"Oh, brother," a man in an expensive polo shirt muttered loudly to his friend, shaking his head. "Look at the kid. He's practically crying already. Hey, pitcher, just throw it down the middle! This kid couldn't hit a beach ball with a barn door. Total freebie!"
Belly stiffened. The cheering around her seemed to fade into a low hum as her vision narrowed. Slowly, she turned her head around to look at the man.
"Excuse me?" Belly said, her voice dangerously calm.
The man blinked, caught off guard by her intense gaze, but he shrugged dismissively. "Come on, lady, it’s just a game. But let’s be real, the kid is a guaranteed out. He's choked twice. He doesn't belong in the cleanup spot."
Belly didn't just look angry; she looked ready to dismantle the entire bleacher section. She shifted Ines to her other hip, stepped on another row of the bench, and closed the distance between them until she was standing directly over him.
"First of all," Belly said, her voice dropping into a fierce, ringing register that made several parents nearby turn around to watch, "that 'kid' is seven years old. Second of all, his name is Jamie. And third of all, he has put more heart, sweat, and practice into this week than you’ve ever put into whatever midlife crisis made you buy that polo shirt."
The man’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. "Hey, watch your mouth—"
"No, you watch yours," Belly shot back, stepping a fraction closer, completely unbothered by the crowd now staring at them. "You are a grown man sitting on an aluminum bench making fun of a second grader who is brave enough to stand at that plate with the whole game on his shoulders. If you want to trash-talk, put on a damn helmet and get out there yourself. Otherwise, you sit down, you shut up, and you watch a real baseball player show you how it’s done."
From the seat next to her, another mom quietly started clapping. Ines, catching her mother's triumphant energy, jammed her little plastic megaphone toward the man and screamed a fierce, spit-flecked, "NO!" right in his face.
The man stared at Belly, completely speechless and thoroughly intimidated, before dropping his gaze to his shoes, muttering something incoherent under his breath.
Down on the field, Conrad hadn't missed a single second of the exchange. He had already started walking toward the stands, his jaw tight and his expression dark, ready to intervene but he stopped when he saw Belly completely handle it. A proud smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked up at his wife, giving her a brief, approving nod.
I've got him down here.
He walked right up to the edge of the batter's box, completely ignoring the umpire’s brief look of protest. He didn't yell, and he didn't look worried. He just knelt down in the dirt, completely calm, bringing himself right to Jamie’s level.
"Jamie," Jamie looked over, his eyes glassy. "Look at me. Forget the first two. They don't exist anymore. What did we say yesterday?"
"Pick up the bat," Jamie whispered.
"Pick up the bat," Conrad repeated softly, reaching out to adjust Jamie's helmet one last time. "You've already hit this pitch, remember? You hit it in the dark, in the backyard, when you were tired. Look at the ball. Just watch it hit the bat, okay? I love you, kiddo. Go do it."
Conrad stood up and walked back to the dugout, his expression unwavering.
Jamie swallowed hard. He wiped his nose with his sleeve, gripped the bat, and stepped back into the box. He didn't look at the stands. He didn't look at the other team. He looked at the pitcher's glove. He planted his back foot. Squish the bug. Squish the bug. Squish the bug.
The pitcher took a deep breath, wound up, and unleashed the third strike. It was a blistering fastball, right down the middle; the same exact pitch his Dad had thrown him yesterday.
Time seemed to slow down. Jamie tracked the seams of the ball rotating through the air. He didn't rush. He kept his weight back, rotated his hips, and let his hands carry the bat.
CRACK.
The sound echoed across the entire park.
The ball soared. It didn't bounce, and it didn't curve. It flew straight, clearing the shortstop, clearing the outfielders who were running backward in vain, until it sailed cleanly over the green outfield fence, bouncing hard into the parking lot beyond.
A walk-off home run.
For a split second, the entire field was dead silent. Then, the bleachers absolutely exploded.
"HE DID IT! THAT'S MY SON! THAT'S MY BABY!" Belly shrieked, jumping up and throwing her arms in the air, accidentally sending a bag of juice boxes flying into the row ahead of them. Ines began screeching at the top of her lungs, waving her tiny hands.
Jamie stood at home plate for a second, staring at the empty sky where the ball had just been, before a massive, radiant smile broke across his face. He remembered to run. He took off around the bases, his little legs moving faster than they ever had before.
As he rounded third base, his teammates were already sprinting out of the dugout to meet him. But right there at the corner, arms wide open, was his Dad.
Jamie didn't even slow down. He launched himself through the air, and Conrad caught him in a massive, crushing hug, lifting him high off the ground as the rest of the team swarmed them, cheering and jumping in a chaotic circle of dirt. Conrad held his son tight, a huge, laugh escaping him as he pressed his face against Jamie's helmet.
"You did it, slugger," Conrad whispered proudly against the noise. "You absolutely crushed it."
By the time they cleared the field, Belly had sprinted down from the bleachers, carrying Ines. She broke through the crowd of parents and threw her arms around both Conrad and Jamie into messy family hug.
"I have the whole thing on video!" Belly cried, laughing as she kissed Jamie’s dusty cheek, then reached up to kiss Conrad. "You were incredible, Jamie! A home run!"
Jamie beamed, his cap backward, his jersey covered in dirt, looking up at his mom and dad. "I squished the bug, Dad. Just like I did in the backyard."
The celebration didn’t stop at home plate. By the time the team had finished their chaotic high-five line, Jamie’s hands were sticky from three separate juice boxes, and he was proudly wearing a massive, bright blue "Game MVP" medal around his neck, which clinked loudly against his zipper every time he took a step.
As the crowd began to thin out, the family walked back toward the parking lot. Conrad carried the heavy bucket of practice balls in one hand and had Ines propped securely on his other hip. The toddler was exhausted from an afternoon of intense officiating, her head resting heavily against her dad’s shoulder, though she was still weakly clutching her red plastic megaphone like a trophy.
Belly walked in the middle, her arm looped through Conrad’s, while Jamie marched ahead of them, using his aluminum bat like a marching band staff, occasionally pointing it at the sky.
"Dad," Jamie said, stopping in his tracks and turning around to face them, his cap lopsided, "Did you see the face Toby’s dad made when the ball went over the fence? His mouth was open like this." Jamie opened his mouth as wide as it could go.
"Hell yeah, I did," Conrad said, a low, rumbling chuckle escaping him. He glanced down at Belly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But I think your mom’s performance in that last inning was actually more impressive. She set a new league record for bleacher intimidation."
"I was merely correcting a deficit in sportsmanship," Belly said defensively, though she couldn't hide her grin. She leaned over and ruffled Jamie’s hair underneath his cap. "Nobody gets to talk down to my boy. Not on my watch."
"You were scary, Mom," Jamie said, his eyes filled with absolute awe. "Like a superhero. A baseball superhero."
"Exactly. The Crimson Cheerleader," Conrad murmured dryly, bumping his shoulder against Belly's. "Available for birthday parties and youth sports mediation."
"Oh, shut up, Fisher," Belly laughed, shoving him playfully. "You were ready to march up those bleachers yourself. I saw your 'I'm about to knock out someone if they don't shut up' walk."
"I was just coming to ensure you didn't get ejected from a seven-and-under recreational game," Conrad said smoothly, though the tight, protective set of his jaw from earlier told a completely different story. He looked down at Jamie, his expression softening into that steady, grounding warmth. "But your mom is right. You earned every bit of that home run, Jamie. You didn't let the noise get to you. That’s what makes a real hitter."
Jamie beamed, his chest puffing out so hard the MVP medal bounced. "Can we watch the video now? Mom, show Dad the video!"
Conrad leaned over, resting his chin close to Belly’s shoulder as the video played. On the screen, their son was a tiny blur of motion, his helmet bouncing wildly as he rounded the bases.
"Look at that form," Conrad whispered near her ear, his hand finding the small of her back. "The bug never stood a chance."
Belly locked the phone, turning her head to look up at him. The late afternoon sun caught the green in his eyes, making them look incredibly bright. She reached up, her thumb brushing a stray speck of infield dirt from his cheekbone.
"He looks just like you when he runs," she said softly.
Conrad didn't say anything for a moment. He just looked at her, his hand moving to rest securely on her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer against the side of the car. "He gets the hustle from you," he replied, "I just teach the mechanics, wife.”
"Well," Belly whispered, a radiant, breathless smile breaking across her face as she leaned up to kiss him, "the mechanics are working."
"Hey Mom, Dad! Are we going to get the victory milkshakes or what?" Jamie’s voice boomed from the back seat, where he had already climbed into his booster chair, his bat cradled in his lap like a seatbelt. "The MVP wants milk chocolate!"
Conrad broke the kiss, a rare, bright laugh escaping him as he shook his head and closed the passenger door for Belly. He walked around to the driver's side, looking back at his son through the rearview mirror.
"Milk Chocolate it is, slugger," Conrad said, starting the engine. "But if any of that milkshake touches that bat, you’re running laps around the kitchen island tomorrow."
“Deal!”