The Field of Love - 21. Chapter 21

Field of Love

Chapter 21

 

Eric was on the mound. Pine Hills had exactly the kind of defense they wanted behind him. His heavy sinker and late‑breaking two‑seamer produced ground balls at a ridiculous rate — nearly 75% of all contact. And with Sammy at shortstop, that wasn’t just an advantage; it was a weapon.

Sammy moved like a vacuum cleaner across the dirt, gliding left and right, scooping up everything with smooth hands and a quick release. Taylor at second was the perfect complement — steady, smart, and always in the right spot. Together, they turned Eric’s pitching style into a nightmare for Knot County Central.

Steve held down first base like a wall, stretching for throws, picking balls out of the dirt, and giving the infield confidence that anything close would be an out.

Eric worked quickly, pounding the zone, forcing weak contact. Knot County’s hitters were frustrated — nothing was getting through. Sammy made three plays in the first two innings that drew cheers from the Pine Hills crowd: a backhand stop deep in the hole, a smooth flip to Taylor for a force, and a charging barehand play that looked effortless.

By the fourth inning, Pine Hills held a slim lead, and the tension was building. Knot County’s pitcher had kept them in check, and everyone knew the game was going to hang on one big moment.

Top of the sixth. Pine Hills clinging to a narrow lead in a seven‑inning game. The crowd buzzed. Knot County’s pitcher showing signs of fatigue.

Sammy stepped to the plate.

He’d already made half a dozen highlight‑level plays in the field, but now the game asked for something more.

The pitcher tried to get ahead with a fastball. Sammy didn’t bite.

Then came a curveball that hung just a little too long.

Sammy’s eyes lit up.

He turned on it with every ounce of strength in his frame, the crack of the bat echoing across the field. The ball soared high and deep toward left field, the crowd rising with it. The left fielder drifted back, then stopped, then watched helplessly as the ball cleared the fence.

A dramatic sixth‑inning home run. The Pine Hills dugout exploded. Eric pumped his fist. Taylor met Sammy at home plate with a chest bump that nearly knocked him over. And Steve lifted Sammy off the ground in a bear hug.

That homer didn’t just extend the lead — it broke Knot County’s spirit.

Eric finished the seventh with two more groundouts — both handled cleanly by Sammy and Taylor — and a strikeout to seal it.

Pine Hills wins.

Sammy is the undeniable hero.

And the infield defense goes down as one of the best performances of the season.

After a brief celebration on the field, Sammy stepped into the dugout, still flushed from the cheers. Mike, who had been keeping the scorebook in Roger’s absence, met him with a quick hug. “Great game, boyfriend,” he whispered before realizing what he’d said. His face turned crimson, and he spun away, pretending to fuss with the lineup card as Sammy stood frozen, a half‑smile tugging at his lips.

Even though neither of them had approached the subject, Sammy wasn’t opposed to the idea. He liked Mike — his steadiness, his quiet humor — and the way he always seemed to notice the small things others missed. But as the adrenaline of the game faded, Sammy’s thoughts turned to the people around them. How would everyone react? Mike’s brother, James, for one, might not take it well. And what happened to Tony was still fresh in his mind — a reminder that not everyone was kind when it came to things like this.

Mike’s face was still red when Sammy caught his eye. Instead of letting the awkward silence stretch, Sammy grinned and nudged him lightly with his elbow. “Hey,” he said, voice low but teasing, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He paused, letting the smile linger. “We can talk about it later tonight, alright?”

Mike blinked, relief washing over his expression, and nodded quickly. Sammy gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning back toward the field, the hum of the crowd fading into the background. For the first time all afternoon, the air between them felt easy again — like the start of something they both understood but hadn’t yet said aloud.

 

OOOOO

 

The first light of dawn crept through the trees, painting the cabins in soft gold. Andy was already awake, sitting on the edge of his bunk, lacing up his boots. The others were slower to rise — Joey groaned from under his blanket, Roger muttered something about “five more minutes,” and JT was still half-asleep, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to remember where he was.

Cody, ever the early riser, was outside by the fire pit, coaxing the embers back to life. “Breakfast’s on,” he called through the screen door. “If you want it hot, move!”

That got Roger moving. “You said the magic word,” he said, stumbling out with his hair sticking up like a scarecrow.

They gathered around the picnic table, plates loaded with scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. The air smelled of pine and coffee — the kind of morning that felt clean and alive. Joey poured orange juice into paper cups while JT flipped through the day’s itinerary.

Andy looked around at them — his team, his friends — and felt that familiar mix of pride and responsibility. “We’ll head out in about an hour,” he said. “Ashland’s a couple hours east. Let’s make sure we’ve got everything packed.”

Roger raised his cup. “To not forgetting the cooler this time.”

Cody smirked. “You mean you not forgetting the cooler.”

Laughter rippled through the group. It was easy, comfortable — the kind of camaraderie that came from shared miles and long days.

After breakfast, they loaded up the SUV and van. Joey double-checked the gear, JT handled directions, and Roger claimed shotgun with a grin. The park faded behind them as they rolled onto the highway, the hills opening up into wide stretches of Kentucky countryside.

Andy glanced out the window, the morning sun catching the edge of the dashboard. “Ashland,” he said quietly. “Let’s see what today brings.”

 

OOOOO

 

The crowd in front of Ashland’s Court House quietened as Judge Collins steps to the microphone, Andy and the boys behind him. He looks out at the people gathered — families, workers, retirees — and begins.

“Over the last decade, Ashland has faced real struggles. Your population has declined, your economy has tightened, and too many families have felt forgotten. But I’m here today to tell you something simple and true:

“Ashland’s median income is far below the state and national averages, and unemployment is significantly higher than the rest of Kentucky.

“We’re going to bring new industries to Eastern Kentucky — not promises, but partnerships. Technology, logistics, advanced manufacturing, and healthcare expansion. Jobs that stay. Jobs that pay. Jobs that let your kids build a future right here at home.

“Only 24.6% of adults hold a bachelor’s degree or higher, well below the national average.

“We’re going to invest in Ashland’s schools, trade programs, and community colleges. Not everyone needs a four‑year degree — but everyone deserves a path to success. Whether it’s welding, nursing, coding, or business, we’ll make sure those paths exist.

“Ashland’s median age is 41, older than the national median, and many seniors relocate for better healthcare access.

“We’re going to strengthen local healthcare, expand senior services, and make Ashland a place where families stay together — where parents and grandparents don’t have to move away to get the care they deserve.

“Homeownership is only about 60%, below the national rate, and limited housing stock makes it harder for young families to settle here.

“We’re going to collaborate with developers to create affordable, modern housing — homes that young families can afford, neighborhoods that feel safe, and communities that feel alive.

“Ashland is part of a broader pattern of population loss in small and mid‑sized Kentucky cities due to economic stagnation and out‑migration.

“But Ashland is not a statistic. You are not a trend line. You are a community with history, pride, and potential. And together, we will reverse this decline. We will make Ashland a place people move to, not away from.

“I’m not here to tell you everything will change overnight. I’m here to tell you that you matter, and that Eastern Kentucky deserves leadership that shows up, listens, and fights for you.

“Ashland’s best days are not behind it. They’re ahead — and we’re going to reach them together.”

The crowd rises in applause as Judge Collins steps back, the boys smiling behind him, proud to be part of something bigger than themselves.

The applause rolled through the square like thunder. Judge Collins’s words had struck a chord — not just with the older folks who remembered better days, but with the younger faces too.

Andy stood near the front, hands in his pockets, watching the crowd rise to its feet. Joey whistled low. “Man, he nailed it,” he said.

Roger grinned. “You think he practiced that in front of a mirror?”

JT elbowed him. “Doesn’t matter. People needed to hear it.”

Cody nodded, eyes scanning the crowd. “Look at them. They actually believe him.”

The boys could feel it — that rare moment when a speech wasn’t just words but something that moved people.

Older residents wiped their eyes. A few younger ones shouted “Amen!” and “That’s right!” from the back. The local paper’s photographer snapped photos as volunteers passed out flyers.

But not everyone was cheering. Near the edge of the crowd, a man in a faded work jacket muttered, “Talk’s cheap.” His voice carried just enough to draw attention.

Security shifted subtly — two officers moving closer, calm but alert.

Judge Collins didn’t flinch. He looked toward the man and said, “You’re right — talk is cheap. That’s why we’re going to back it up with action.”

The tension broke. The man nodded once, almost grudgingly, and stepped back. The crowd applauded again, louder this time.

When the square finally emptied, Andy found Judge Collins standing near the stage steps, sipping water and staring out at the quiet streets.

“Good speech,” Andy said.

The judge smiled faintly. “Thanks. But speeches don’t fix things — people do.”

Andy hesitated. “You think they’ll believe that?”

Collins looked at him. “They already do. You saw it. Belief’s the first step. The hard part is turning it into work.”

Andy nodded, thoughtful. “Then I guess we’ve got work to do.”

The judge clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, son. Ashland’s not done yet.”

 

OOOOO

 

The restaurant was the kind of place that carried history in its walls — polished wood, framed photos of old Ashland, and chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the crowd. The private dining room could hold about a hundred people, and tonight it was packed: donors, local politicians, business owners, and a few reporters lingering near the back.

Judge Collins entered first, composed as ever, with Robert and another security member flanking him. Andy and Joey followed, both dressed neatly but still looking like the youngest in the room. The hum of conversation quieted as they stepped in.

“Judge Collins,” a city councilwoman greeted, shaking his hand. “Wonderful speech today.”

“Thank you,” he said smoothly. “Ashland deserves hope — and hard work.”

Andy caught Joey’s eye. “It feels different here,” he murmured.

Joey nodded. “Yeah. Like everyone’s measuring every word.”

They took their seats near the front table. The meal was classic Kentucky fare — roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls that melted in your mouth. But the real focus wasn’t the food; it was the talk.

Donors leaned in, discussing plans for revitalization. Local officials debated infrastructure and education. The judge listened more than he spoke, letting others feel heard. Andy noticed that — the way Collins used silence as power.

Joey whispered, “He’s working the room without saying much.”

Andy smiled. “That’s how you know he’s good.”

Robert kept a watchful eye on the crowd, scanning exits, noting anyone who lingered too long near the judge’s table. The second security member stayed near the door, calm but alert.

Halfway through dessert, a man at the far end of the room stood abruptly. “Judge Collins,” he called out, voice sharp. “You talk about hope, but what about accountability? What about the jobs that never came?”

The room froze. Forks stopped mid‑air.

Robert moved instantly, positioning himself between the man and the judge. The second guard stepped closer to the door.

Judge Collins raised a hand. “It’s alright,” he said quietly. “Let him speak.”

The man hesitated, then sat back down, muttering something under his breath. The tension eased, replaced by a ripple of nervous laughter. Collins continued as if nothing had happened, his tone steady. “Accountability is part of hope,” he said. “And I intend to prove that.”

Applause followed — cautious at first, then stronger.

When the crowd finally dispersed, Andy found Judge Collins standing near the window, looking out at the lights of downtown Ashland. Joey was talking quietly with Robert near the door.

“You handled that well,” Andy said.

Collins smiled faintly. “You don’t win trust by silencing people. You win it by listening.”

Andy nodded. “You think he’ll come around?”

“Maybe,” the judge said. “Maybe not. But if even one person leaves tonight believing Ashland can rise again, that’s a start.”

Andy looked out at the city lights. “Then tonight was worth it.”

Collins placed a hand on his shoulder. “It was. And so are you, son.”

The Hilton’s lights shimmered against the quiet streets of Ashland. Inside, Andy’s room smelled faintly of coffee and the faint trace of cologne from the evening’s formal dinner. The other boys — Roger, JT, Cody — had gathered there, sprawled across the beds and chairs, waiting for Andy and Joey to return.

The door clicked open, and Joey stepped in first, loosening his tie. “Man, remind me never to eat that much roast beef again,” he groaned.

Roger grinned. “So? How was the big fancy dinner? Did the judge charm the donors?”

Andy tossed his jacket onto the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. “You could say that. It was… intense.”

JT leaned forward. “Intense how?”

Andy glanced at Joey, who nodded for him to go ahead. “The room was packed — about a hundred people. Donors, local politicians, reporters. Everyone watching every word Dad said. He handled it like a pro, though. Talked about rebuilding Ashland, bringing jobs back, making people believe again.”

Cody whistled softly. “Sounds like he nailed it.”

“He did,” Joey said. “But there was this one guy — stood up during dessert, called him out. Said talk was cheap, asked about accountability.”

Roger’s eyebrows shot up. “No way. What happened?”

Andy smiled faintly. “Dad didn’t flinch. Told him he was right — that talk is cheap, and that’s why he plans to back it up with action. The whole room went quiet, then everyone started clapping.”

JT leaned back, impressed. “That’s gutsy.”

Joey nodded. “Yeah. You could feel the shift. People actually believed him after that.”

Roger grinned. “So, no food fights, no scandals, just politics done right?”

Andy chuckled. “Pretty much. Robert and the other security guy were on edge for a minute, but it ended fine.”

Cody stretched. “Sounds like Ashland’s waking up.”

Andy looked around at them — his friends, his team — and felt a quiet pride. “It’s more than that. The judge said something afterward that stuck with me. He said belief’s the first step, but the hard part is turning it into work.”

Joey nodded. “Guess that’s our job now.”

Roger smirked. “Work, huh? Does that include breakfast tomorrow?”

Andy laughed. “Yeah, Roger. Even breakfast counts.”

The room filled with easy laughter, the kind that comes after a long day and a good story. Outside, the city lights of Ashland glowed faintly through the window — a quiet promise that tomorrow would bring something new.

 

OOOOO

 

The drive from Ashland to Lexington took a little over two hours. By the time the vans rolled into the parking lot of Embassy Suites by Hilton, the boys were ready to stretch their legs. The hotel’s tall glass atrium glowed warmly in the afternoon sun, and the lobby smelled faintly of citrus and polished wood.

Judge Collins had arranged five suites — enough space for the boys and the full security team.

The boys hauled their bags upstairs, joking and exploring the spacious rooms. Embassy Suites had that comfortable, upscale feel — big living areas, soft beds, and a view of the rolling Lexington fields.

Roger immediately claimed the couch in his suite.

JT opened every drawer like he was inspecting a crime scene.

Cody tested the firmness of the pillows.

Andy and Joey flopped onto their beds, exhausted but excited.

Ten minutes after they settled in, Robert’s radio crackled. “State Police detail arriving,” a security team member said.

As a candidate for Governor, Judge Collins was legally entitled to protective detail from the Kentucky State Police Executive Security Branch. Two troopers arrived in the lobby — crisp uniforms, calm professionalism.

Robert met them first, shaking hands.

“Glad to have you,” he said.

One trooper nodded. “We’ll coordinate perimeter security and transport. We’ll shadow your team at tonight’s event.”

Judge Collins joined them, greeting each trooper personally. Andy and Joey watched from the balcony above, impressed.

Joey whispered, “This is real.”

Andy nodded. “Yeah. He’s not just giving speeches anymore. He’s being protected.”

The troopers reviewed the evening schedule, checked the ranch’s security layout, and synced communication channels with Robert’s team. Everything was smooth, practiced — the kind of coordination that made Andy feel both safer and more aware of the stakes.

At 4:45 PM, Robert knocked on each suite door.

“The judge wants everyone downstairs.”

The boys gathered in a small conference room near the lobby. Judge Collins stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, notes spread out before him. The State Police troopers stood near the door, listening.

Andy and Joey sat together. Roger and JT took the chairs closest to the snacks. Cody leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Judge Collins began.

“We’re heading to a well‑known horse ranch outside Lexington,” he said. “It’s owned by one of the state’s biggest agricultural donors. Expect around eighty to a hundred people — business owners, local officials, and a few state representatives.”

Roger mouthed, “Fancy,” earning a nudge from JT.

“It’ll be more relaxed than Ashland,” the judge continued. “People will want to meet you boys — shake hands, ask questions, take pictures. Be polite, be yourselves.”

Joey nodded. “We can do that.”

Robert stepped forward.

“The ranch is secure, but it’s open land. We’ll have eyes on every angle. Stay within sight. No wandering off.”

One of the State Troopers added, “We’ll oversee perimeter and vehicle security. You’ll see us, but we’ll stay unobtrusive.”

Cody raised a hand. “Even if we want to see the horses?”

Robert smirked. “We’ll make time. Just don’t go alone.”

“Dress shirts,” the judge said. “No ties needed. Clean, neat, presentable.”

Roger sighed dramatically. “So… no cowboy hats?”

The judge chuckled. “Not tonight.”

Collins’s tone softened.

“Tonight is about partnership. Ashland needed reassurance. Lexington needs collaboration. These people want to know we’re serious about rebuilding Kentucky’s future — and you boys are part of that story.”

Andy felt the weight of those words. Joey gave him a small, supportive smile.

Judge Collins closed the folder. “We leave at six. Rest up, get cleaned up, and be ready.”

The boys stood, stretching and chatting as they headed back to their suites.

Andy lingered.

The judge noticed. “Something on your mind?”

Andy shook his head lightly. “Just thinking about Ashland. And tonight. It’s a lot.”

Collins placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is. But you’re managing it well. I’m proud of you.”

Andy nodded, feeling the reassurance settle in his chest.

 

OOOOO

 

The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that made every word feel heavier. They sat on the porch steps outside Mike’s house, the hum of crickets filling the silence. A faint breeze carried the smell of cut grass and summer air.

Mike stared at the ground, hands clasped. “I didn’t mean to make things weird,” he said softly. “What I said in the dugout… it just slipped out.”

Sammy smiled gently. “I know. You don’t have to apologize.” He leaned back, looking up at the stars. “Honestly, I wasn’t upset. I’ve been thinking about it too.”

Mike looked up, surprised. “You have?”

“Yeah,” Sammy said. “I mean… we’ve been close for a while. You’re one of the few people I actually trust. So, when you said that, it didn’t feel wrong. Just… unexpected.”

Mike’s shoulders relaxed a little. “I guess I just don’t know how people would take it. My brother, for one. And my mom — she kind of suspects, I think. But we’ve never talked about it.”

Sammy nodded slowly. “That’s fair. You’ve got to think about how your family would feel. Especially if they don’t know yet. It’s not easy, and it’s not something you should rush. But I think James is okay with considering how he set us up that first night at the ball field.”

He turned to face Mike fully, his tone warm but steady. “But I want you to know something. No matter what you decide — whether you’re ready to tell people or not — I’d feel honored to be your boyfriend.”

Mike blinked, caught between relief and disbelief. “You mean that?”

Sammy smiled. “I do. You’re a good person, Mike. You care about people, you work hard, and you’ve got a heart that actually listens. That’s rare.”

Mike’s eyes glistened. “I just… I don’t want to make life harder for you.”

Sammy shook his head. “You wouldn’t. People talk, sure. Some might not understand. But I’ve learned that you can’t live your life waiting for everyone else to approve. You live it by being honest — with yourself first.”

Mike nodded slowly, the tension easing from his face. “I think my mom already knows,” he said quietly. “She’s never said it, but sometimes she looks at me like she’s waiting for me to say something.”

Sammy smiled. “Then maybe she’s ready to hear it when you are.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the night wrapping around them like a blanket. Sammy reached out, resting his hand lightly on Mike’s. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

Mike squeezed his hand back. “Yeah. Together.”

The porch light flickered above them, and for the first time all evening, both of them smiled — not nervous, not uncertain, just quietly sure.

 

OOOOO

 

By six o’clock, the convoy rolled out from the Embassy Suites. The sun was low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet. Two Kentucky State Police cruisers led the way, lights off but unmistakable, followed by the judge’s SUV and the van carrying Andy, Joey, Roger, JT, and Cody. Robert and the rest of the security team followed close behind.

The ranch sat just outside the city — acres of rolling pasture, white fences, and a grand barn converted into an event hall. Strings of lights hung from the rafters, and the smell of hay mixed with the aroma of catered barbecue and bourbon glaze.

As they stepped out, the troopers took positions near the entrance, coordinating quietly with Robert’s team. The judge adjusted his jacket, calm and composed. “Alright, gentlemen,” he said. “Let’s make a good impression.”

Andy and Joey exchanged a quick look — the kind that said here we go again.

The hall was alive with conversation. Donors mingled with local officials, laughter echoing under the high beams. Tables were dressed in fine linen and centerpieces of fresh bluegrass flowers. A small jazz trio played near the corner, their music soft and steady.

Judge Collins moved through the crowd like he belonged there — shaking hands, listening, smiling. Andy and Joey stayed close, occasionally introducing themselves when prompted.

Roger and JT found themselves talking with a city councilman about baseball. Cody was near the buffet, chatting with a local business owner about the team’s recent win.

Dinner was served family‑style — roast chicken, brisket, cornbread, and vegetables from nearby farms. The judge’s table sat near the front, surrounded by donors and a few state representatives. Andy and Joey were seated beside him, listening as he spoke about revitalizing Kentucky’s rural economy.

 

Halfway through the meal, one of the troopers leaned toward Robert. “We’ve got a vehicle slowing near the gate,” he murmured.

Robert nodded, signaling quietly to the other guard. The troopers moved outside, calm but alert. The conversation inside continued, unaware.

A few minutes later, the trooper returned. “False alarm,” he said quietly. “Just a delivery truck turning around.”

Robert exhaled, tension easing. Andy noticed the exchange but said nothing — just another reminder of how serious things had become.

When dessert arrived — pecan pie and coffee — Judge Collins stood, tapping his glass lightly.

“Friends,” he began, “tonight isn’t just about politics. It’s about community. About remembering that Kentucky’s strength has always come from its people — from the farms, the towns, and the families who never give up.”

He paused, letting the words settle. “We’ve seen hard times, but we’ve also seen resilience. And I promise you — if I have the honor to serve this state, I’ll make sure that resilience turns into opportunity.”

Applause filled the hall. Andy felt a surge of pride, Joey smiling beside him. Even the troopers at the door nodded subtly — professionals but clearly moved.

As the crowd began to thin, the judge thanked the hosts and donors personally. Outside, the night air was cool, the fields stretching endlessly under the stars. The convoy waited, engines idling softly.

Andy turned to Joey. “He’s good,” he said quietly.

Joey nodded. “Yeah. He makes people believe.”

Judge Collins joined them, his expression thoughtful but satisfied. “You boys did well tonight,” he said. “Tomorrow’s another big day, but for now — get some rest.”

The troopers escorted them back to the vehicles. As they drove away, the ranch lights faded behind them, replaced by the quiet hum of the road and the steady rhythm of possibility.

 

OOOOO