The Field of Love - 19. Chapter 19

The Field of Love

Chapter 19

 

The first‑period bell hadn’t even rung yet, but the hallway was already loud — lockers slamming, someone complaining about homework, a couple of seniors arguing over who stole whose parking spot. Andy moved through it like he always did steady, calm, nodding at people who called his name, never rushing, never flustered.

Sammy spotted him first.

Andy was crouched beside a freshman whose backpack had exploded across the floor, papers everywhere. Andy didn’t make a big deal of it — just helped gather the mess, handed the kid the last worksheet, and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before heading on.

Sammy elbowed Joey. “Look at him,” he muttered.

Joey followed his gaze. Andy was now listening to a girl from his English class, her hands waving as she talked too fast. Andy didn’t interrupt her. He just listened, like whatever she was saying mattered.

Joey felt something settle in his chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

Roger slid between them like he’d been there the whole time, backpack half‑unzipped, grin already forming. “What are we staring at? Did Andy finally unlock his secret identity? Please tell me he’s a cyborg. I’ve been betting on cyborg.”

Sammy snorted. “Just watching him be… him.”

Roger looked over at Andy, who was now straightening a crooked poster on the wall like it personally offended him. Roger’s grin softened — not serious, but thoughtful in that Roger way, where the joke hid something real underneath.

“He’s such a dad,” Roger said. “Fixing posters. Helping freshmen. Next thing you know he’ll be handing out coupons and telling us to hydrate.”

Joey laughed under his breath. “He already does.”

Roger didn’t deny it. He just watched Andy for a moment, expression shifting in that subtle way only his friends ever noticed — the way he got when he cared more than he wanted anyone to know.

“Guys like…” Roger shrugged. “You see him, and suddenly the day feels less stupid.”

Sammy nudged him. “That’s the deepest thing you’ve ever said.”

Roger pointed at Sammy. “Don’t tell anybody. I’ve got a reputation.”

Joey laughed. “Sammy said the same thing after the game.” Joey shook his head as he looked at the other two and added, “You two with your reputations.”

Andy spotted them then, weaving through the crowd. “Hey,” he said, smiling like he meant it.

Roger immediately slung an arm around Andy’s shoulders. “Finally! Our emotional support golden retriever has arrived.”

Andy rolled his eyes but didn’t shrug him off. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Roger said, “but you love me.”

Sammy and Joey fell into step beside them, the four of them forming that familiar shape — Andy in the middle, Roger leaning on him, Joey and Sammy flanking like they always did.

They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t need to.

The hallway felt less loud when the four of them walked together.

Roger cracked jokes. Sammy bumped shoulders. Joey watched Andy with that quiet steadiness he never admitted out loud.

And Andy — without trying, without knowing — held the center of all of it.

Just a boy walking to class with his friends. Just the truth they all stayed close to.

 

OOOOO

 

Judge Collins’ office was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the faint shuffle of papers on his desk. He didn’t look up when the door opened — he didn’t need to. Only one person entered a room that silently.

Robert stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He looked like any other high‑school junior — hoodie, backpack, hair slightly messy — but the way he stood was all disciplined. Shoulders square. Weight balanced. Eyes alert.

Judge Collins finally glanced up. “Report.”

Robert dropped the student act instantly. His posture was straightened, voice low and controlled. “Brett tested him today.”

The judge’s brow lifted a fraction. “And?”

“Andy de‑escalated without hesitation. No aggression. No fear. No posturing.” Robert paused, choosing his words carefully. “Sir… he handled it like someone who’s been trained. Or someone who just… understands people.”

Judge Collins leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “Did Brett back down?”

“Yes. Not because Andy intimidated him. Because Andy took the power out of the moment.” Robert’s tone held a hint of respect. “Most adults can’t do that.”

The judge nodded once, absorbing that.

Robert continued. “The boys stayed close. Joey and Sammy were ready to step in. Roger… well, Roger’s a wildcard, but he’s loyal. They move around Andy like a unit.”

Judge Collins allowed himself a small, knowing smile. “You see one, you see the other.”

Robert smirked. “Exactly.”

A moment passed — the quiet kind that meant the judge was thinking several steps ahead.

Finally, Judge Collins opened a folder on his desk. Inside were travel itineraries, security notes, and a list of upcoming campaign stops across the state.

“I’ll be announcing the first leg of the campaign next week,” he said. “Town halls. School visits. Fundraisers. Media appearances.”

Robert scanned the papers. “Crowds.”

“Crowds,” the judge confirmed. “And Andy will be attending most of them.”

Robert didn’t react outwardly, but his jaw tightened just slightly — the kind of shift only someone trained would notice. “Understood.”

“I want eyes on him at all times,” Judge Collins said. “Not because he’s in danger — but because he’s important. To me. To the campaign. And to what’s coming.”

Robert nodded. “I’ll stay close.”

Judge Collins looked up, meeting Robert’s eyes directly. “You’re not just protecting my son, Robert. You’re observing him. Learning him. I need to know how he handles pressure. Crowds. Attention. People who want something from him.”

Robert’s voice softened — not out of emotion, but out of respect. “Sir… he’s steady. More than most adults I’ve worked with.”

The judge exhaled slowly, almost relieved. “Good.”

Robert shifted his backpack onto one shoulder, slipping back into the posture of a teenager. “I’ll keep you updated.”

Judge Collins nodded once. “Dismissed.”

Robert left the office, closing the door quietly behind him — the soldier disappearing back into the skin of a high‑school kid.

Back at school and somewhere down the hall, Andy Collins was laughing with his friends, unaware that his world was already expanding, already shifting, already preparing him for something far bigger than a hallway confrontation.

 

OOOOO

 

Nurse Nancy moved around the Collins dining room with the same gentle efficiency she always had — apron tied neatly, hair pinned back, humming something soft under her breath as she set plates down. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans. Comfort food. The kind Andy needed after long days.

Roger was already digging in, fork halfway to his mouth before Nancy swatted his wrist lightly.

“Wait for everyone,” she said, not even looking at him.

Roger grinned. “Yes ma’am. I live to obey.”

Joey snorted. Andy shook his head, smiling.

Judge Collins entered last, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. He looked tired — not the kind of tired sleep fixes, but the kind that comes from meetings, phone calls, and decisions that ripple outward.

Nancy poured sweet tea into his glass. “Long day?”

“Long week,” he said, giving her a grateful nod.

They ate for a moment, the clink of silverware filling the room. Roger told a story about a kid in math class who tried to use a protractor as a weapon. Joey rolled his eyes. Andy laughed.

Judge Collins watched them — really watched — before clearing his throat.

“Boys,” he said, voice steady but carrying weight. “I need to talk to Andy for a moment.”

Roger froze mid‑bite. “Uh‑oh. That’s the dad voice.”

Nancy tapped his shoulder. “Hush.”

Andy set his fork down. “What’s up?”

The judge folded his hands, choosing his words carefully. “The campaign officially starts next week. We’ll be traveling — town halls, school visits, fundraisers, media events.”

Roger perked up. “Do we get to go?”

“No,” Judge Collins said. “Just Andy.”

Roger slumped dramatically. “Favoritism. I knew it.”

Joey elbowed him. “Shut up.”

Andy looked between them, then back at his father. “You want me there?”

“I need you there,” the judge said. “Not as a prop. Not as a mascot. As my son.”

Nancy paused in the doorway, listening.

Judge Collins continued, “People respond to you, Andy. They always have. You steady a room without trying. And… there are going to be crowds. Cameras. People who want things. People who expect things.”

Andy swallowed. “What exactly am I supposed to do?”

“Be yourself,” the judge said simply. “Shake hands. Smile. Talk when you want to talk. Stay quiet when you don’t. You’re not expected to give speeches or answer policy questions.”

Roger whispered, “Thank God.”

“But” Judge Collins added, “you are expected to be present. To stand with me. To show people who we are as a family.”

Andy nodded slowly. “Okay. I can do that.”

Joey watched him carefully — the way Andy’s shoulders tightened just a little, the way he tried to hide it.

Roger noticed too. He leaned over and whispered, “If anyone tries to make you kiss a baby, I’ll tackle them.”

Andy laughed, tension easing.

Judge Collins smiled faintly. “There will be security. Robert will be nearby at all times.”

Andy nodded his understanding. “He seems to know what he’s doing. Is he our age?”

Roger choked on his tea. Joey stared. Nancy raised an eyebrow.

Judge Collins didn’t flinch. “He’s not a kid. He’s a veteran. Navy SEAL. Late twenties. He’s undercover to keep an eye on you.”

Roger’s jaw dropped. “Wait—Robert is a grown man? I told him he looked like he moisturizes.”

Joey muttered, “That explains the posture.”

Andy sat back, absorbing it. “So, he’s… protecting me.”

“Yes,” Judge Collins said. “And observing. Not because you’re in danger — but because your life is about to change. I need to know how you handle it.”

Andy didn’t speak for a moment.

Nancy stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

Roger nodded. “Yeah. And if anyone gets weird, we’ll form a human shield.”

Joey added quietly, “We’ve got you.”

Andy looked at all of them — his father, his friends, Nancy — and the weight didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.

Judge Collins reached for his tea. “We leave Monday.”

Andy exhaled. “Okay.”

Roger raised his glass. “To Andy, future First Son of Kentucky.”

Nancy swatted him again. “Don’t start.”

But Andy smiled — small, real — because for the first time, the idea didn’t scare him.

Not with them beside him.

 

OOOOO

 

Andy’s room was quiet except for the soft hum of the overhead fan. Nurse Nancy insisted he use instead of the overhead light. Posters on the wall, homework half‑finished on the desk, cleats kicked under the bed — the usual.

Roger was sprawled across the foot of the bed like he owned it. Joey leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Andy pace.

Andy ran a hand through his hair. “Dad wants me at all these campaign stops. It’s… a lot.”

Roger raised a hand. “Okay, first of all, you’re not going alone.”

Andy blinked. “I’m literally going with my dad.”

“Yeah,” Roger said, “but your dad doesn’t count. He’s a grownup. He wears ties on purpose.”

Joey snorted.

Andy sat on the edge of the bed. “You guys can’t just go. It’s a political campaign.”

Roger sat up, suddenly serious in that Roger way — the kind where the joke is just the wrapper. “We’re going with you.”

Joey nodded. “You shouldn’t be out there by yourself. Crowds, cameras, strangers… it’s a lot. We can help.”

Andy looked between them. “I don’t want you guys getting dragged into something weird.”

Roger waved a hand. “Please. We’ve been dragged into weird since the day we met you.”

Joey pushed off the wall. “We don’t need to be on stage. We don’t need to be in the spotlight. We just need to be there.”

Roger snapped his fingers. “We could pretend to be interns. Or volunteers. Or emotional support humans.”

Andy groaned. “Please don’t.”

Roger grinned. “No promises.”

Joey stepped closer. “Look… you’re there for us. Let us be there for you.”

Andy looked down at his hands, then up at his friends — the two boys who had become the closest thing to brothers he’d ever had.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s figure out how to make this work.”

Roger pumped a fist. “Operation: Keep Andy Sane is officially underway.”

Joey smiled. “We’ll talk to your dad. Or Nancy. Or both.”

Roger nodded. “Nancy likes me. She pretends she doesn’t, but she does.”

Joey raised an eyebrow. “She literally threatened to put you in time‑out last week.”

Roger shrugged. “That’s affection.”

Andy laughed — small, real.

And in that bedroom — with posters on the wall and the soft glow of the lamp — the boys began planning something simple and enormous:

How to stay beside Andy while his world got bigger.

 

OOOOO

 

Judge Collins stepped into the living room, still loosening his tie from the long day. Andy sat on the couch, hands clasped tight. Roger perched beside him, bouncing his knee like he was preparing for a jailbreak. Joey stood behind them, posture straight, expression calm — but his eyes were on Andy, not the judge.

The judge took one look and knew this wasn’t casual.

“What’s on your minds, boys?”

Roger opened his mouth — and Joey gently touched his shoulder.

“I’ll talk,” Joey said.

Roger shut his mouth instantly.

Andy looked up at Joey, and something softened in his face — trust, relief, the kind of quiet connection that didn’t need words.

Judge Collins nodded. “Go ahead.”

Joey stepped forward. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t stumble. He just stood there, steady — the way he always was when something mattered to Andy.

“Sir,” Joey began, “Andy’s going with you on these campaign trips. And that’s good. He should. But… he shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Judge Collins studied him. “He won’t be alone. I’ll be there. Robert will be there.”

Joey nodded. “I know. But that’s different.”

“How so?”

Joey took a breath. “You’re his dad. Robert’s security. But Andy needs… us.”

Roger whispered, “Dude, that was poetic.”

Joey ignored him.

He continued, voice steady but warm. “Andy’s good with people. He’s calm. He’s steady. But he’s still sixteen. Crowds, cameras, strangers — that’s a lot. And he won’t say it, but he’ll carry it all by himself if he thinks he has to.”

Andy’s eyes flicked up to Joey’s, and Joey held the gaze — a silent promise passing between them.

Joey didn’t look away from the judge. “We’re not asking to be part of the campaign. We’re not asking to be on stage. We just want to be there. In the back. Out of the way. So, Andy knows he’s not doing this alone.”

Judge Collins leaned back slightly, absorbing that.

Joey added, softer, “He’s always been there for us. Let us be there for him.”

Andy swallowed hard, eyes stinging just a little — not from fear, but from how deeply Joey meant it.

Roger finally whispered, “Joey, you’re gonna make me cry, man.”

Andy elbowed him, but his eyes stayed on Joey.

Judge Collins looked at the three boys — Andy’s hopeful tension, Roger’s fierce loyalty, Joey’s quiet determination that came from somewhere deeper than friendship.

He exhaled slowly.

“You boys understand these trips won’t be vacations. They’ll be long days. Early mornings. Crowded rooms. Travel. Schedules.”

Joey nodded. “We know.”

Roger added, “We thrive on chaos.”

Andy muttered, “You cause chaos.”

Roger grinned. “Exactly.”

Judge Collins’ mouth twitched into a small smile.

“Nancy will need to approve it,” he said. “And I’ll need to arrange accommodations. But… I think it could be good for Andy. And for all of you.”

Andy’s head snapped up. “Really.”

Judge Collins nodded. “Really.”

Roger pumped a fist. “YES. Road trip with political overtones.”

Joey rolled his eyes. “Please don’t say that in public.”

Judge Collins chuckled. “We’ll start planning tomorrow.”

Andy let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Joey moved to sit beside him, their shoulders brushing — a small touch, unnoticed by Roger, but grounding for Andy.

Joey murmured, “Told you we’d figure it out.”

And in that quiet Eastern Kentucky living room, the next chapter of Andy’s life shifted into place — not because of politics, but because of the boy who loved him enough to speak up, and the friend who refused to let him face the world alone.

 

OOOOO

 

The baseball field was quiet in the late afternoon, the sun dipping behind the hills and casting long shadows across the outfield. Coach Parker was locking up the equipment shed when he saw the four boys walking toward him — Andy, Joey, Roger, and Sammy.

He frowned slightly. “This looks serious.”

Andy swallowed. “Coach, we need to talk.”

Roger muttered, “Brace yourself,” earning a nudge from Joey.

Coach Parker crossed his arms. “Alright. What’s going on?”

Andy looked at Joey first — a small, silent exchange — then stepped forward. “Coach… I’m going to miss the next two games.”

Parker’s jaw tightened. “Why?”

Joey stepped up beside Andy, steady as ever. “We’re going with Judge Collins on the campaign trail. Andy’s dad needs him there. And Andy… needs us.”

Roger added, “We’re not ditching the team. We’re supporting Andy.”

Coach Parker’s expression hardened. “You boys know we’re short-handed already. Losing Andy and Joey for two games? That’s not nothing.”

Sammy stepped forward, voice firm. “Coach, I’ll be there. I’ll step up. I’ll cover whatever I can. The team won’t fall apart.”

Parker looked at Sammy — really looked — seeing the determination in his eyes.

But he still shook his head. “This isn’t ideal. Not at all. You boys made commitments.”

Andy’s shoulders sagged. Joey’s jaw tightened.

Roger opened his mouth, but Joey gently touched his arm — a quiet signal to let him handle it.

Joey spoke softly. “Coach… if your dad needed you, you’d go. No matter what. Andy’s dad is running for office. It’s a big deal. And Andy’s part of that. We’re not trying to disrespect the team. We’re trying to be there for family.”

Andy looked down, cheeks warm — not from embarrassment, but from how deeply Joey meant it.

Coach Parker’s stern expression wavered.

He looked at Andy — the kid who never complained, who worked harder than anyone, who carried more weight than he ever admitted.

He looked at Joey — steady, loyal, protective in a way that didn’t need words.

He looked at Roger — chaotic but fiercely devoted.

He looked at Sammy — ready to shoulder responsibility without hesitation.

Parker exhaled slowly. “If I were Andy… I’d go too.”

The boys froze.

Coach Parker nodded. “Family comes first. Even in baseball.”

Andy’s eyes lifted, relief washing over him.

Joey’s shoulders eased.

Roger pumped a fist. “Coach, you’re a legend.”

Sammy grinned. “We’ll make sure the team’s okay.”

Parker pointed at them. “You boys owe me. And when you get back, you’d better be ready to work twice as hard.”

Andy smiled. “Yes sir.”

Joey added, “We will.”

Roger saluted dramatically. “Operation Support Andy is still underway.”

Coach Parker rolled his eyes. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

The boys laughed, heading off the field together — Andy and Joey walking close, shoulders brushing, Roger and Sammy arguing about who would hit cleanup next game.

And Coach Parker watched them go, shaking his head with a small smile.

Because deep down, he knew:

He wasn’t just coaching a team.

He was coaching a family.

 

OOOOO