Roman’s laughter boomed. “Don’t be jealous because I have more options, Wesley.”
Soren finally spoke up from his spot near the water cooler. His voice was calm, but it carried the kind of quiet authority that cut through the bullshit. “Focus,” he said. “Game’s not over yet.”
I bent forward, stretching out my hamstrings while I waited for my turn in the on-deck circle. My legs felt solid, better thanthey had in days, but my pulse still thumped hard behind my ears. Not panic, just the good kind of nerves. The kind that reminded me why I loved the game.
Matty tilted his head toward me without looking away from the field. “Hell of a game, Benny.”
I smirked. “Not bad.”
He huffed a small laugh. “Since when is two doubles and a triple ‘not bad?’”
He had a point. This was my best game in weeks.
“We’re good, right?” I asked him. My voice came out rougher than I meant it to.
He looked at me then.Reallylooked. No anger, no resentment. Just that same steady, patient thing he always had, even when I didn’t deserve it.
“Dude, you already apologized,” he said quietly. “Like, six times.”
“I still feel like shit about it.”
“Yeah, well, stop,” he said softly. “You were hurt; you took it out on me. I get it.” His eyes flicked away for half a second. “Besides, you were right. About me being scared. But I’m going to try to get over it.”
“That’s your timeline, not mine. I was an asshole for making it about me.”
He gave me a small, crooked smile.
“I know,” he said. “And I appreciate it. Now, go bring Tucker home. He looks like he’s getting bored out there.”
The walk to the circle felt longer than sixty feet. Coach Ward was waiting just past the dugout steps, sweat darkening the collar of his long-sleeved, red, athletic shirt. How the hell he managed to look so unbothered in the Arizona heat was beyond me. His hat was pulled low over his brow, the way he always wore it, resting on the top of his black-framed glasses.
He clapped me on the back as I passed. “Show them how it’s done, King,” he said, voice low and steady.
“Yes, coach.”
He gave me one more quick pat in that slightly scary, overbearing, fatherly way of his and stepped aside.
Just as I made it into the box, my eyes quickly raked over the family section. It wasn’t hard to find her, especially not when she was sitting beside Dani and her Cookie Monster blue hair.
Three rows back, behind home plate,mygray road jersey stretched across her generous chest.
So fucking perfect.
So. Fucking. Mine.
She had tamed her curls into two low ponytails beneath her Roasters cap. The hem of my jersey had been tucked loosely into high-waisted denim shorts that hugged her hips and showed off those long, shapely legs I had spent the last four days staring at every time she’d walked past.
I knew without seeing them that she had her Loop earplugs in—those little matte-black ones she wore whenever the crowd noise started to feel like too much. The fact that she’d come anyway, knowing how loud it would get, made my chest ache in the best way.
Clarke sat on one side, Dani on the other. And there, balancing on Bella’s knees, was little Bailey, Dani’s mini-me, in a Roasters onesie.
Bella’s eyes caught mine. She lifted Bailey’s little arm and made her wave, then blew me an exaggerated kiss. My heart slammed against my ribs.
The at-bat was quick. Fouled off three, took a ball, and then lined a clean single up the middle, sending Tuck home to score. When I rounded first, I glanced back at Bella. She was on her feet now, clapping hard, legs shifting under those shorts as she bounced on her toes.
You would’ve thought I’d grand-slammed.
Roman grounded out, ending the inning, and we took the field again.
