Every single last one of my teammates across the entire sports bar drops what they’re doing to head our wayimmediately.
So do four women.
Nope.
Nuh-uh.
“Donotlet the women near me,” I beg Francisco.
The words haven’t even left my mouth before Diego and Max tag-team to intercept the small group.
Luca appears at my side, grabs me in the same headlock Robby was holding Diego in two minutes ago, and ruffles my hair. “C’mon, slugger. We’re getting drinks with you surrounded by all of us in the corner booth so you don’t make the news again tonight.”
We spend another three hours hanging out, and yeah, it’s fun.
It’s what I need. It’s what the team needs. And I love this part of my life.
Mackenzie told me once that the Fireballs were what made her feel normal after growing up getting picked on for being raised by two drag queens. That even—or maybe especially—in our losing years, we were the other family, the other connection, she needed, and I know she’s not alone.
Baseball’s in my blood, and the thing is,it matters.
I love playing a game that makes a difference in people’s lives. I love giving them hope. I love helping them believe.
I love working with kids who want to feel that. I love working with the Lady Fireballs and the Fireballs Foundation to do for Copper Valley what my family’s always done for Shipwreck.
No one else could’ve done what I have for the Fireballs, and that’s not ego. That’saction. And I’m not done with the Fireballs. Not even close.
But I love Waverly too, and I don’t know how we can be together when one of the things I love most about her—her mission, her belief, what drives her—is the same thing that drives me, and also the same thing that keeps us physically apart nearly every damn day.
We’re bothmake a difference in the worldpeople.
The team finally breaks and all of us head home around two in the morning when the bar closes. We have a game today, yeah, but there’s no pressure to win right now, and celebrating a milestone like making it into the play-offs is important.
Also?
I’m banking on management letting me out of a few games and practices to go see my girlfriend before the play-offs start.
Which is the first thing I intend to tell her as soon as she picks up the phone.
But when I dial her number the minute I’m in the back of Max’s big-ass SUV—he’s a voluntary designated driver and is dropping a bunch of us off—it goes straight to voicemail.
Duh.
She’s in New York.
And she’s probably sleeping. Same time there as it is here.
But as my phone comes fully back online, it’s not the three voicemails in my inbox that catch my eye.
Nope.
It’s the alert on my security system at my house here in Copper Valley.
Someone in a big hoodie and baggy pants, carrying a giant duffel bag, let themselves in thirty minutes ago.
I shoot a look at Max.
He’s driving through the dark, nearly-empty streets of downtown Copper Valley like there’s nothing going on at all.
