I reach over and still them, threading my fingers through hers.
“This anxiety you feel?” I say gently. “It’ll disappear the minute everyone knows.”
She gives me a look that’s half disbelief, half hope.
I chuckle softly.
“Sorry,” I say. “I think I’m sounding more like you right now.”
That earns the faintest smile.
“You’re the optimistic one,” she says quietly.
“No,” I correct her. “I’m just done hiding.”
I lift her hands to my lips and kiss her knuckles.
“You deserve to be loved out loud,” I tell her. “Not in shadows. Not between sneaking out doors.”
Her eyes shine again, but this time it’s not just fear.
It’s something softer.
“What if he hates us?” she asks.
“Then he hates me,” I say simply. “He might punch me first, but he won’t hate you.”
She exhales, leaning forward until her forehead rests against mine.
“I don’t want to lose my brother,” she murmurs.
“You won’t,” I promise. “We’re not doing anything wrong. We didn’t manipulate anything. We fell in love.”
The word doesn’t feel reckless anymore.
It feels earned.
“We tell him tomorrow?” she asks.
I nod. “Tomorrow.”
Her grip tightens on my hands, and I can feel the storm still swirling inside her, but there’s resolve there now too.
This won’t be easy.
But nothing worth keeping ever is.
And if standing up for her means risking a fight, a transfer, or a headline, I’ll take it.
Because I’m not losing her to fear.
Bottom of the ninth.
We’re down by one.
The stadium is alive. Loud, electric, the kind of pressure that makes most guys tighten up. The San Antonio Stars have a runner on second, two outs, and everything hangs on this next pitch.
I stand on the mound, ball tucked into my glove, dirt beneath my cleats grounding me.
