Zane did a double take between her and Ty before settling his gaze on her. “Hi,” he said, a little surprised. He wasnt the type of guy kids just waltzed up to. Quite tall, broad in the shoulders, muscled, dark hair and eyes, heavy leather jacket and boots, sort of imposing. But it didnt seem to faze her.
“Im Elaina,” she said as she stuck her little hand out to shake his. “Are you a friend of Tys?”
His hand engulfed hers as he shook it gently. “Im Zane. Tys partner. Nice to meet you, Elaina.” “Nice to meet you!” she said enthusiastically. She scooted around on the hard, cold metal bleacher seat to settle primly beside him, looking out at the field like she owned it. “Mommy told me to find someone who had FBI on their clothes. Then I saw you talking to Ty, so I knew you would be safe. He and Mommy used to date,” she told Zane with all the tact of an eight-year-old.
Zane stifled a chuckle as he watched her, intrigued. “And who is Mommy?” “She plays second base. Number five.” Elaina pointed toward the field, where the FBI team was filtering out, beginning to warm up. Five was an attractive brunette, athletic and tan and smiling. The nickname on her uniform was “Lefty.” She was throwing right-handed, though. Zane didnt have any trouble picturing her with Ty.
“You come to all the games?” Zane asked, opting for small talk. “Oh yeah. Were the best team here,” the little girl announced proudly. “Well, maybe tied for the best. But the firemen play dirty.” “Of course,” Zane agreed. He ducked down out of the way as a woman carrying a tray of food climbed up the bleachers next to them. “Ill have to start following the scores.”
Zane caught sight of Ty standing in front of the chain-link dugout, bent over and strapping his shin guards on, slowed down by his wrapped fingers, as the rest of the catchers gear sat in the grass next to him. Zane smiled fondly. Ty was so methodical with some things. He wore his Kevlar religiously and nagged Zane about his when they went out on assignment because Zane hated wearing the vest. Ty cleaned his gun every other day whether it needed it or not. And every tie and strap and buckle on his gear had to be just so—if Zane didnt adjust a strap for him first—if he had even close to the time to fix it. It seemed he treated his recreational gear the same way.
Zane shook his head but didnt look away. Ty Grady was a study in contrasts, and the puzzle-like appeal of it was impossible for Zane to resist.
Zane wasnt sure why Ty was suiting up to catch, though. He definitely shouldnt have been, not with a bum throwing hand. But Ty was obviously under the impression that he could throw with his left hand and catch with his right, instead of the other way around. Zane knew he could shoot a gun, throw darts, and shoot pool, all with both hands. Zane had even seen him hurriedly scribble with both hands, though you could never read the end result, no matter which hand Ty used. Maybe he was truly ambidextrous, another fact Zane was somewhat embarrassed about not knowing, if it was true.
Ty was still fussing with the strap to the chest protector as he and Alston walked up to home plate to meet with the umpires and the other teams captains. Zane couldnt hear them, but he could see Ty and Alston muttering to each other as Ty tried and failed several times to hook the strap at his side while using his hurt hand. Finally, Alston reached out and yanked Tys helmet from under his arm, swatted his hands away from the strap, and bent to clasp it for him as the others gathered at home plate tried not to laugh. Zane shook his head as he watched. As irascible as Ty could be, he sure had a lot of friends, people who seemed to see right through the façade that had so confounded Zane when he first met Ty Grady.
The gathered men all shook hands where they stood in the batters boxes. Theyd step closer as they shook hands, kicking red dirt on the pristine white plate. Zane watched in amusement as Ty carefully avoided the white chalk lines and home plate. The meeting lasted a few minutes as they went over the ground rules, the men scuffing the dirt in the boxes with their cleats, smoothing out the uneven ridges of dirt. Then they parted and went back to their respective dugouts. Ty took pains to step over the white chalk lines on the field as they walked, but it was hard to tell if it was to avoid them or because that pill was hitting him.
Elaina leaned closer to Zane. “Mommy says Tys very superstitious,” she confided in a whisper. “He wears the same socks every game.”
Zane turned his chin to look at her. “Does he wash them?” he joked. He tried to remember if Ty had put on the same socks Zane had stripped off of him last night.
“Mommy tried once, but he saved them and made her promise not to. He locked himself in the bathroom.”
Zane laughed and glanced back at Ty. “That sounds like him.” “He also taught me that you never cross your bats in the dugout, you never touch the lines or home plate before a game starts, and only pansies wear batting gloves.”
Zane laughed again. “I guess he would know,” he said with a shrug. “I never played baseball. Or softball.”
Elaina looked at him askance.
“I can play football though,” Zane offered in a conciliatory attempt. She shrugged off that news and looked back out at the field excitedly as the FBI team took the field to a smattering of applause, boos, and catcalls from the crowd. Zane joined in the clapping as most of the players jogged to their positions, but Ty and Alston, who was pitching, both waltzed out as if they had all the time in the world.
Ty had his head down, his glove in one hand and his mask in the other, and somehow hed already gotten his face and short hair dirty. It wasnt easy for him to saunter in the bulky gear, but he managed to pull off the attitude anyway. The gear fit his frame well, and it only added to the illusion that he was larger than he really was. Zane knew that in most rec league softball games, the catcher didnt bother to wear gear. But this wasnt your average slow-pitch softball league. The pitchers threw overhand, and they played with a regulation-size baseball. The women who were involved were athletes, not out there for show, and there was certainly no one drinking beer in right field.
Ty had sent Zane a text one night earlier in the month, joking that it was srius bizness.
As Ty got closer to home plate, he looked up into the bleachers, his eyes almost immediately settling on Zane. Zane felt his heart beat hard a couple of times, and he had to draw a breath, because for a second, he was short on air. Then Ty smiled that half smile of his, the laugh lines at his eyes and mouth appearing, before he gave a quick wink. Then he ducked his head and slid his mask on, turning his back on the crowd as he stopped behind home plate.