Brayden bowed slightly, spreading his arms wide as he backed away. “Own it,” he told the punk.Own itwas his phrase, the thing he’d told himself on the walk from the bullpen to the mound. Owning it meant he was in command of the game. He was ready to set the pace. He was all in and focused solely on the next pitch.
Newton squatted behind the plate, his mitt out in front of him. Gunner threw an easy ball for warm-up, even though his muscles were wound tight.
Brayden glanced at the bucket he usually sat on during these sessions. He folded his arms and spread his feet apart. There would be no sitting today. A man didn’t sit when there was a lion roaring in his chest.
Chapter Twenty
Tilly
Tilly swiped the tears off her cheeks. “I’m never going to stop crying,” she said to her mom, who was on a video chat. She’d propped her phone up on the dresser, and her mom had a view of the entire room.
“This is going to help you move forward.” Mom smiled as she folded clothes at the kitchen table in her dining room. Her parents rarely used the room for more than family holidays, so Mom had made it her official folding station.
Since Tilly was working diligently at getting over Brayden, she decided it was time to get rid of all the reminders of him that hung around her house. After cleaning his protein powder out of the cupboard and his Symphony bars out of the fridge, she called in some backup. Her mom had agreed to stay on the chat until she’d gotten through the tough parts.
The thing was, they were all tough parts.
Tilly glanced at the neat piles of towels on the screen. “That’s not how you taught me to fold those.”
Mom trilled a laugh. “I got hooked on this show about tidying up. This woman wants to bring joy into the world by teaching people how to fold clothes and organize closets.”
“And you listened to her?” Her mom was one of those people that had her own methods and insisted they worked for her, so there was no need to change them. Tilly had grown up knowing that towels should be folded in fourths. Mom’s were in thirds.
“Well, she has a lot of interesting points.” Mom leaned closer to the screen. “I donated half my clothes to refugees, and I don’t even miss them. My closet is beautiful. I feel so free.”
“That’s great.” Tilly looked down in the box full of Brayden’s things. His T-shirts. A hoodie. A mitt. She was having a hard time giving all of it back to him. It felt like she was pulling off parts of her body and handing them over. Not having Brayden’s presence in her home was wrong. Instead of feeling good about the space it freed up, she just felt empty.
“What’s that in the corner?” Mom pointed behind her.
She turned to see the hospital bags. There were several piled one on top of the other. Her ears burned with embarrassment. “Shoot. Those are the bags we brought back from the hospital.”
“Tilly Creswick! They should have been cleaned out long ago.”
“Maybe I should just throw them out now. I haven’t missed anything that’s in them.” Her harnesses and Brayden’s were probably in there. Some dirt-stained clothes. She blew out a heavy breath as she worked to pile her hair on top of her head in a messy bun. She really loved having her hair out of dreads. She could do almost anything with it now. And the memory of Brayden’s hand brushing the strands was still strong—she got goose bumps every time she thought about it.
“Your spare set of keys might be in there.”
“Oh yeah.”Crap.
Mom finished folding and set the towel on the pile with a satisfied smile. “You know, if you really want to tidy up, you should dump all of it in the middle of the floor and sort through.”
Tilly reached for the first bag and did as her mom said. Brayden’s shirt, shoes, and shorts tumbled out. She pulled in air through her nose, intent on not losing it again. “I’m not washing these for him.” She tossed the shirt into his box. The items she’d worn, she felt the need to run through a wash cycle but these were not her responsibility. When she picked up his shorts, her hand closed around something square in the pocket. “What in the heck?”
She fumbled to get the mystery item out. As soon as her eyes landed on the white velvet box, she gasped and dropped the pants.
“What is it?” Mom sat at the table, her focus on Tilly and the ring box in her hand.
Tilly’s heart raced and her hands shook. She closed her eyes. “This can’t be what I think it is.” Her mind jumped back to that day as Brayden climbed into her Jeep and gave her a lingering kiss hello. The pure love that practically dripped off of him. His excitement to get on their way.
“Don’t open it,” said Mom. “You’re going through enough. You don’t need that memory too.”
“I have to.”
Mom frowned, resigned.
Tilly slowly lifted the lid. It made a small protest, and she cringed. Her hand went to her mouth, her eyes pouring tears. “It’s beautiful.” She turned it around so her mom could see the square diamond haloed with dozens of smaller gems set in platinum.
“Wow.” Mom gaped.
