My Favorite Season

NLCS

I spend the rest of August through the first week of October waking up from my coma, and recovering. Anthony has been an absolute angel throughout my entire recovery. He barely leaves my side except for when I force him to go play baseball.  I know he hates leaving me, but I love watching him play. Not that I would ever tell him that. He might get a big head if I did.

I'm currently setting up my equipment while the guys get ready for Game 1 of the NLCS(National League Championship Series). I was so proud when I watched them beat the Cardinals. I could practically smell a World Series in the air.

I feel a pair of arms wrap around me, "We-well hello."

Anthony chuckles, "Hi, Sam."

I turn in his arms, "Are y-you ready for the ga-game today?"

He smiles from ear to ear, "I'm very ready. We've been working all season just to get to the Post Season. This is special."

I laugh, "It's very sp-sp-special."

Anthony looks at me lovingly as he runs his hand through my much shorter hair. They had to shave it to do surgery to stop the bleeding in my brain. The bleeding by the way damaged the part of my brain the deals with speech, which is why I have a stutter now.

Anthony's hand stops as it traces it way along the scar on my scalp. I watch as guilt fills his eyes, and he frowns. I remove his hand, "St-st-stop it. it-it's not your f-fault."

He shakes his head,"It is actually. I shouldn't have left you alone."

I roll my eyes,"We-well had th-this co-con-conversation before. Y-you had no I-idea of kn-kn-knowing wh-what wo-would happen."

He sighs, "I know."

I smile, "I'm serious. It-it's not y-your f-fault."

He nods, "If you don't blame me, then I won't blame me."

I chuckle as lean into his chest, "Y-you're a d-dork."

He laughs, "I'm your dork though."

I hum in agreement. "Let's just hope that the curse doesn't come back to bite us in the ass," I mention slowly so that I don't stutter.

Anthony shakes his head, "Don't even think about that right now."

I raise an eyebrow as I continue slowly, "September 9th, 1969. A black cat ran in front of Ron Santo, and into the Cubs dugout. This spooked the entire team, and we went onto lose that series against the Mets."

He leans back, impressed, "You really know your stuff."

I shrug, "M-Maddux r-r-remember?"

He snaps his fingers, "Ah. Yes. That explains you're obsession with all things Cubs."

I lightly smack his arm, "St-stop it. Go p-play."

He leans down to kiss me one more time before walking away. I smile as I look down at Wrigley, "How's th-that hip doing, buddy?"

He bark happily, and I chuckle, "I'm f-feeling good t-too."

I look back into the field towards the Jumbotron that has the Cubs logo and the Mets logo next to each other. I sigh heavily. Please don't let the curse of the goat ruin our chance.

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It's the top of the seventh inning, and I'm a little pissed off. Anthony reached first base a few innings ago because he got plunked with a fastball on the arm. However, this time he's gotten there without being hit. I ignore my anger that I've been holding onto since then as I snap pictures as he begins to extend his lead. The Mets pitcher, Harvey, throws the pitch to Castro. I wince as watch through my camera as Anthony takes the throw back to first to his left hand. I slowly lower the camera as he bends over in pain gripping his hand. I close my eyes. Please. Not now. Not when they've come so close.

I open my eyes, and I'm somewhat relieved to see Anthony standing straight up again. Anthony looks over at me, and sends me a small smile. I let my fear finally subside, but my anger grows stronger. I wait till Anthony isn't paying attention anymore, and I walk into the tunnel leading to the clubhouse. I then sneak into the Mets dugout. Harvey the pitcher is walking in, and I gesture to him to come to me. He slowly walks over confused. I mean who wouldn't be. I'm the Cubs photographer.

I pull him into the tunnel, and I push him against the wall. He looks at me in shock, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I glare up at him, "This is a warning. If you hit one of those men one more time. I'm the one you're gonna have to worry about. Not them."

He smirks, "Listen, I don't think Rizzo needs his tiny, little girlfriend defending him."

I clench my teeth together, "Sometimes I feel like he does."

Harvey pats my head, "I'll try to remember that."

He then quickly walks back into the dugout before I can do anything else. I make a mental note to add him to my list of people I hate before heading back to my own dugout. Anthony hands me my camera as I walk up the tunnel, "Where were you?"

I shrug,"I was just taking care of some business."

He gives me a knowing look, "Harvey?"

I wink, "Maybe."

He shakes his head, "I'm fine."

I take his left hand to examine the bruise beginning to form. I then lightly press on it, and he hisses. I give him a look, "Sure you are."

He sighs before taking his hand away, "I can make it through the rest of the game, and I'll ice it afterwards."

I sigh, "If you're sure."

He chuckles, "I'm-"

He's cut off by his walk up song. I laugh as I hand him his bat, and shove him towards the stairs.
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We're all a little down at the end of the game because we lost. However, Anthony seems extremely excited about something as he walks towards me in the dugout. He picks me up in a hug, and spins me around. He set me down, and I look at him in confusion, "What are you on? And where can I get some? Cause if you haven't noticed we lost."

He chuckles, "That's not what I'm happy about."

I raise an eyebrow, "Then what are you so happy about? Now, Wrigley is looking at you like you're weird."

He pets Wrigley before turning back to me," Your not stuttering."

I begin to think back to what I just said. My eyes widen, "Oh my god! Why?"

He shrugs, "I don't know. Maybe it was something psychological, and not neurological."

I chuckle, "Big words. Even for you. However, I think you may be right. I'll ask Mikki about it at my next appointment."

He kisses me, "I love you. With or without stutter. Despite everything. I love you."

I smile,"I know. You may not say it a lot, but I know. It's the little things."

He smiles before leading me and Wrigley to the clubhouse. He talks to Pj about getting some ice, and I stand near the door. Wrigley nose bumps me a little when I become dizzy. I take his advice for once and I sit down on the floor. I reach into my purse for my blood pressure cuff, and I'm not at all surprised to see that it's low. I close my eyes for minute, but a minute turns into 30 minutes while Anthony takes a shower, and comes back for his ice bag.

I hear distantly hear him chuckle before I'm picked up off of the floor. I lodge my head between his jaw and shoulder. I grip his shirt, and I hear Wrigley make a couple small noises from beside us. Clearly, telling Anthony all he needs to know because he speeds up his pace a little bit. I chuckle, "I'm fine. Tired, but fine."

He huffs, "Still wanna get you home fast."

I hum, "Can't complain about that."

I yawn as I rub my cheek against his shirt. He laughs, "Go to sleep."

"Sir. Yes, Sir," I reply quietly.

He kisses the top of my head, "Goodnight, Sam."

I want to reply, but I'm already on my way to dream land. I settle for trying to cuddle closer to him, if that's even possible. Anthony just tightens his hold on me, and it's as if we had the same idea. I'm home.