She barely lasts twenty minutes of the movie before she’s sound asleep at my side. I stay that way for a long time, just enjoying the warmth of her steady breathing on my chest. Her little shudders of sleep. I stroke her hair and breathe in the fruity scent of her shampoo. When the movie ends, I doscoop her into my arms. She stirs slightly but then settles back against my chest.
I tuck her into Cal’s bed. Kiss her lightly on the temple. And go back to the couch.
“I called Coach Bill,” I say when she comes out of the bedroom the next morning. She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners, but waits for me to continue. “He wants me to come to the field today at four.”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
“I was wondering…” I glance out the window, thinking how silly this idea is. “If you would come with me? I mean…” I backtrack, “it’s totally fine if you’re busy. I’m sure you are, and you don’t want to—”
“Liam.” She smiles, and the knot in my chest loosens. “I’d love to.”
Later that afternoon, we pull into the community center parking lot. I swear her little Audi—the one that used to belong to her dad—wasn’t made for someone my size. My knees are practically up to my chest, and I can’t stop bouncing one of them, nerves rattling around in my chest. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Sophie’s hand lands on my knee, and it makes me freeze. “You okay?”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I am, and start tapping my finger against the center console instead.
She parks near the back of the lot, turns toward me in her seat, one leg tucked under her. “We can sit here for a few minutes,” she says. “Coach Bill isn’t expecting you until four.”
Sophie leans back in her seat and starts breathing slow and steady. My finger keeps tapping against the leather, theonly outlet for the nerves crawling up my spine.Tap. Tap. Tap.She takes another breath, and I’ll be damned if I don’t mirror it.Tap. Tap. Tap.My finger still won’t stop.
She reaches across the console, sliding her fingers through mine. I squeeze her hand without thinking, and for the first time all day, my lungs finally fill.
“What if they think I’m a total joke, Soph? What if they look at me and see some washed-up nobody?” I ask, my voice low, but I tighten my grip on her. I want to pull her closer, tuck her under my arm, keep her close. Keep her.
She gives me this little smirk. “What if teenagers think a thirty-year-old isn’t cool anymore? I mean, we can basically guarantee that.”
“You’re not helping,” I mutter, but a laugh slips out all the same.
“Look, these kids want someone to look up to. They want someone to take them seriously,” Sophie says, her voice steady but soft. “You don’t have to promise they’ll go pro. You’re here to show them that when you pour yourself into something you love, it opens doors.”
Her jaw tenses like she hears how hypocritical that sounds, but I don’t call her on it.
“You love baseball,” she continues. “Baseball gave you purpose. And I believe it still can…it just might not look exactly like it did in high school. Or college. Or even El Paso.”
I make a sound that's half laugh, half groan. "Okay. But if they laugh at me, we're out of here."
“Deal,” she says, squeezing my hand. Her touch sends a flutter through my entire body that somehow settles my nerves and makes my pulse race at the same time. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Chapter 22
Sophie
The field is absolute chaos when we push through the metal gate. Kids and noise bounce off every surface. I give Liam one more reassuring squeeze before letting our hands drop as I spot an older man approaching.
“Liam Blake,” he says, shaking Liam’s hand. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Thank you for having me, Sir,” Liam says, and I’m probably the only one who notices a hint of hesitation in his voice.
“And still as polite as ever. I’m William Vallera.” Coach Bill says, extending his hand to me.
“This is Sophie Rhodes,” Liam says. “She’s…”
“And an old friend of Liam’s,” I finish, unsure how he was going to introduce me.
“Thank you both for coming. These kids are excited to hear from a real-life baseball player.”
“I’m hardly—”
