He hits the ball to center field, and Adam barely makes it to third before the umpire yells, “Safe!”
My parents are quickly out of their seats, and Nicole holds her arms up in the air with a girlie wail in congratulations.
Wes is up next. Because he’s a lefty, his ass is to us, and damn if it isn’t a fine one as he gets into batting stance. He might be a jerk, but he’s a jerk with a firm body, and it’s really hard to not appreciate it. I cross my arms and sit back, trying to be disinterested in him at bat, but when the count is 3–2 and Wes swings, the ball sails toward the outfield fence, and I’m up on my feet, watching to see how far it goes.
“Home run!” Nicole cheers.
We clap to the music as Adam and then Chad run to home plate and wait for Wes to jog through the bases. As he passes the third baseman, the player takes his hat off and slams it on the ground with a curse. It’s completely unsportsmanlike and rude.
As the man at third picks his hat up and slaps it against his thigh, I look at his familiar face.
“Is that Mr. Knight?” I turn to ask my mom.
She sighs. “Yes. He went to Cal Berkeley too.”
I shake my head, wondering why I didn’t know that. “I saw him at a practice once.”
“Derek Knight should be proud of his son, not throwing a fit. Honestly, I’m not surprised,” she says.
“Laura, be kind,” Dad says, and she just gives a closed-mouth smile with a shrug.
When the teams switch places, Mr. Knight walks past Wes with a turn of his cheek like they are mortal enemies.
Over the next few innings, I watch the game and am enthralled by the father-son dynamic. Mr. Knight pays his son no attention. If that were my dad up there, playing against Chad, he would talk to him, nudge him a little, or shit, probably give him a hug right there at home plate. It would be a proud dad moment, especially if your kid is playing for your alma mater, but that is not the vibe I’m getting here.
When Mr. Knight is up, Wes calls out the pitches, and they get him to a 2–1 count. It’s obvious Mr. Knight is getting frustrated, and yet there’s still no interaction between the two of them.
The next pitch, Mr. Knight hits the ball past shortstop and makes it to first base with ease. He’s celebrating, but when I glance in Wes’s direction, there’s anything but a happy expression covering his face as he yanks his mask down once more.
The next guy up hits a deep ball to center field. Mr. Knight rounds second and then third. Even though the coach is telling him to hold up because the throw is coming down, he continues to head toward home plate.
Wes gets in position to take the throw and make the tag by straddling home plate and facing his father, who’s sprinting his direction.
I grip Nicole’s knee next to me in anticipation as the second baseman relays the throw from deep center field. Wes steadies his feet and bends his knees, so he can make the tag once the ball is there, only his dad isn’t sliding.
Mr. Knight is running full force with his shoulder ready to pound into Wes, like a linebacker would sack a quarterback. Wes stands firm as his father comes crashing into him, slamming his body into Wes’s chest, knocking him off his feet, and pushing them both down to the ground.
We all gasp at the sight of the two of them lying on the floor. Their bodies are stiff and lifeless for a moment, and all seems silent until Wes holds up the ball in his glove. Everyone cheers.
It might be a moment of glory, but Wes doesn’t seem happy as he whips his mask off his face. “What the hell was that?”
Mr. Knight stands, brushes off his uniform, and charges toward his son. “You were blocking the plate!”
“I had possession of the ball.”
“It’s a dirty way to play. This is supposed to be a friendly alumni game. What kind of shit are they teaching you here?” Mr. Knight spits on the floor. “Great. I’m fucking bleeding.”
“You shouldn’t have charged me,” Wes yells at his father while Chad and Matt try to calm him down.
Mr. Knight laughs. “Don’t be such a pussy. You have all the equipment on.”
My jaw falls, and I can’t believe the way these two talk to each other. The umpire gives Mr. Knight a warning, and the coaches tell everyone to get back to their positions.
The crowd is cheering, but I’m not. My eyes meet with my mom, and her brows curve as she watches Chad talking into Wes’s ear.
I’ve heard Wes’s dad isn’t a great guy, but I didn’t know he was such an asshole. It almost makes me feel bad for Wes. Almost.
Chad walks away, and Wes waits for him to get to the pitcher’s mound. His hand is on his mask, which rests at the top of his head. His handsome face is on display as he turns and looks up at the bleachers. His eyes lock with mine, and a chill runs up my spine as his face scrunches and then disappears behind his mask.
We watch the rest of the game, and our boys win 4–3. It’s a close game, and despite Mr. Knight not being the nicest player, all of the other alumni made it a blast to watch.
Mom, Dad, Nicole, Amanda, and I walk down to the field to congratulate the guys on their win. Nicole runs into Chad’s arms, and he reintroduces her to my parents even though she’s spent the past three hours with them.
Mr. Knight sees my father and starts walking over. “Shane. Good to see you.”
Dad takes Mr. Knight’s hand and shakes it. “Good to see you, Derek. Good game.”
“Eh, it was a mess. My son knows better than to play the way he did.”
“You bulldozed him though.” Dad tries to make light of the situation, but it doesn’t seem to go over well.
“How are you doing on that show? I saw you’re a supporting role. Better hope you don’t get killed off or anything. You already spent too many years chasing after auditions.”
Mr. Knight’s words are said in empathy, but they’re laced with just enough of a dig that Dad’s jaw tightens.
I know he doesn’t like to argue with people, so I step in. “No worries for this guy. He signed a huge contract with CBS. They have big plans for this one.”
I honestly have no idea what my father’s contractual obligations are, but I refuse to have a man like Derek Knight look down on him in any way.
Dad puts his hands on my shoulders. “Have you met my daughter, Stacey? She’s living with Wes and Chad this year. Just transferred.”
“What’s the matter? Couldn’t make the grade before?” Mr. Knight asks, and my eyes widen at what a dick he is.
“Wow. You have no filter,” I say, and my father gives me a scolding grip of the shoulders that pretty much lets me know it’s not worth my energy. Too bad he and I are the opposite when it comes to backing down from a fight.
Mr. Knight laughs this deep, booming laugh that reminds me of Wes. “You’re feisty. Wes could use a girl like you.” He looks down at the green-and-white crocheted quilt in my arms and scowls. “What is that, your grandmother’s quilt?”
He’s joking, but Dad and I aren’t laughing.
“It is actually,” I say with a bite.
“Jesus, Shane. Now that you’re making money, get your kid a Cal Berkeley throw.”
“Why would I waste money when I have the best thing right here?” I ask emphatically.