“You gotta slide, Mills, and get out of the way. I’m coming in.”
Miller drops his leg and slides along on plate. I fall quickly in after him, my palm crossing the plate right before the catcher drags his glove across home plate.
The umpire yells, “Safe!” The cheers are deafening.
“Troubadours just took the lead with a stolen base by Miller and Bennett,” I hear the interviewer say in the inner-ear monitor.
“Hell, yeah atta boy.” Miller hold his hands down in front of him and I slap mine on top of them in a low five. We bump chests and then I turn and look behind home plate where my girl’s jumping up and down screaming her head off. Kissing two fingers, I send them her way, always doing the celebration because I’m always thinking of her.
When she turns around and points to the name of her back, I grin so wide my cheeks hurt. At some point she bought a new jersey without telling me. It’s not Miller’s jersey she’s wearing to the game this time. It’s mine. She’s mine. She’s officially fucking mine and I’m in the middle of a goddamn game and can’t do anything about it.
When the game is over, I run out of the dugout and onto the field, pointing at her. We won and the only person I want to celebrate with is her. She’s already running down the stairs towards the gate to the field. The attendant opens it and she barrels through at full speed and jumps midway into my arms. Cheers erupt around us as I claim her in public for the first time.
“Oh my god, that was amazing.” Her energy’s infectious asshe laughs wildly. In this moment, I know we’ve truly won. Not just the game, but her and I. We’ve been through our share of hardships the past couple months, but right here, right now, none of that matters because we fought hard for each other. For this. To be able to love each other out loud, here in the open, and it’s more than I could’ve ever wanted or hoped for.
“I love you, Bree.”
She frames my face in her hands, her hair falls in a curtain around us and it’s just the two of us in our own little bubble.
“I love you too, baby. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
“Chaser, sorry to interrupt.” Fuck I’m still on the air. “We don’t want to interrupt your celebration or anything, but the people want to know—are you dating Gabrielle Pierson?”
“I don’t know, Princess, are we dating?”
“Hell yeah we are.” She smiles brightly and I want to devour her on the spot.
“You heard her boys. If you don’t mind, I’d like to turn this mic off so I can go kiss my girl again.”
“You got it, Chaser, and congrats on the win. We’re looking forward to seeing you in the postseason.” Paul’s words die off when Bree unhooks the microphone from my jersey and tosses it to the ground. Someone will pick it up later. With my hands on her ass, I hike her higher and spin us around in circles. Her laugh is wild and carefree. Everything I’ve always wanted for her.
Miller runs over and sprays us with something, and then we’re surrounded by our friends—Preston, Ivory, Taylor, Miller, Bree, and me celebrating as a unit. One big family I didn’t know I was getting when I came to Nashville, but I found my place here. My girl’s here, a family, and a long future with the Troubadours.
It all started in a tequila-fueled night on an island in the Caribbean when I met a blue-eyed girl’s gaze across the bar and it’s ending with forever.
All I gotta say is I’m really happy that what happens on vacation doesn’t always stay on vacation.
Six Months Later
MILLER
How are the boobies?
Taylor changed the name to Gabby’s Tit Talk
“I love your friends,” Chase laughs and pockets his phone as he opens the passenger door of his truck for me.
“They’re your friends too,” I remind him with a kiss on his jaw before climbing into the seat and watching as he rounds the front and settles into the driver seat. “I’m surprised it took her this long to rename the group chat with how much they’ve asked about my breasts over the past six months.”
“Pretty sure she changed it every time the conversation came up. How are you feeling?”
“I’m not sure I’ve fully wrapped my head around it if I’m being honest.” We’ve just left my six month follow up appointment for my biopsy. It’s a surreal experience to sit in a room with an almost perfect stranger while they ask your family history and type everything into a machine for it to spit out your chances of breast cancer in the future.
“The doctor said you’re at no greater risk now than you were before. We got good news, baby, but I canunderstand how that may be hard to comprehend after everything you’ve been through.”
He’s been my rock since the biopsy. The mental load of a cancer scare isn’t one I fully appreciated until I was knee deep in it and the mood swings kept happening. I was fine one minute and the next I was an anxious mess. While the results were favorable, it takes its toll. For me, it was hard to believe the doctors at first when they said it was benign. Thankfully, with the support of Chase and my amazing chosen family, I’m doing much better mentally than I was.
Lacing my fingers through his, I say, “You’re right. The appointment this morning was further confirmation that everything is fine. We’ve made it past this challenge. I’m sure there will be more, but I can conquer anything with you by my side.”
