Page 61 of Saving The Shortstop

“Yes,” she whines. “Please … yes.”

She throws her head back slightly but keeps her eyes on mine as she comes on my dick. She grinds her hot little pussy back and forth greedily, rocking as my cock explodes inside her.

My cock jumps with each release, and I grind my back teeth together as a hiss erupts from my throat.

“I love you,” I rasp, my body still convulsing. “I love you, Haven.”

Her pussy slowly stops convulsing on my dick, and her brows pull together just before her eyes fill with tears.

“I love you.” She croaks the words, her lip trembling as a tear spills down her cheek.

My movements slow, and I roll onto my back, pulling her right along with me and keeping my dick still inside her heat. She buries her head into my neck and shudders gently against me.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she whispers, sniffling. “Thank you.”

I don’t say anything back because in this moment, in this quiet, calm house, I don’t need to. She knows now, and that’s all that matters.

I have loved her for years, and finally telling her feels like a weight off my chest. I just hope that with her light around me, the dark thoughts won’t come in.

I’ve waited for this for so long too. And I’m not going to let anything come between us.

Not even myself or my fucked-up genetics.

TWENTY-SIX

DALLAS

Haven sleeps soundly, curled up into my side, even though the sun has been up for hours. I’ve laid here as still as I can, not wanting to wake her because it’s rare for either of us to have a morning off. Besides, after the past few days and all the fucked-up events that have taken place, she’s exhausted.

Plus the fact that we stayed up most of the night fucking.

In the back of my mind, I know damn well we haven’t seen the last of Tabor—even if he has disappeared for the time being. Because of that, until he’s located and either in jail or a mental facility, I’m not leaving her alone at night.

Even as she sleeps, her stomach growls, telling me she’s hungry. Stretching my arm to the nightstand, I grab my phone, cringing a little when I see that it’s ten thirty in the morning and half the day is pretty much gone.

I’ve never been one to relax and especially not to sleep in. Something inside me has a hard time sitting still for long and an even harder time chilling out, but right now, it’s not that hard with her beside me, snoring softly with absolute peace on her face.

Gently, I unwrap her arm from my body before sliding from under the covers. Pulling on a pair of gray joggers, I take out a T-shirt and sweatpants for her and have one last look to make sure she’s still sleeping soundly before I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

I stare at myself in the mirror, not recognizing the set of eyes mirrored back at me. They aren’t filled with demons threatening to come out. They’re just … relieved. They hold something inside them that I’ve never noticed before. Hope. And excitement.

Tearing my gaze away from myself, aware that I’m being a weirdo, I head downstairs because I know my mom has the kitchen fully stocked with everything for breakfast, even if they are out of town.

I tiptoe down the last few steps before walking across the hallway and into the kitchen. My mom’s kitchen is like something out of a magazine, but their house isn’t over the top just because my dad is a retired NFL player. I mean, it’s huge, don’t get me wrong. Fancy—but not overkill because my mom always wanted a modern farmhouse feel. And she got it too.

Searching the cupboards, I find pancake mix. As a kid, whenever we’d go to the Kings’ house to celebrate Haven or Noah’s birthdays, Haven always requested chocolate chip pancakes—with extra chocolate chips. Her brother hated chocolate chips in his and wanted blueberries.

Me? I was so used to not eating before being adopted that they could have put just about anything in front of me and I would have eaten it. Still, usually Anna knew that I liked both, so she’d give me a few of each. And fuck yes, I’d demolish them. Then again, so would her daughter. And then she’d usually ask for more. Sometimes, she and her brother would have competitions to see who could eat the most. I swear nine times out of ten, she won. Even when it was clear she felt sick and was full, she was so damn competitive she’d continue to stuff her mouth.

She didn’t give a shit who was watching or judging her. She’s always had a bold, kind of over-the-top personality. As a kid, I’d claim it annoyed me. But inside, being around her felt like sunshine. We’re so different, she and I. And yet, I’ve always been drawn to her, even when I was denying it.

Pouring the mix into a bowl, I fill a measuring cup with the appropriate amount of water before dumping it in. I mix until there are no clumps and then get my pan ready.

I’ve never made breakfast for anyone, but here I am, making her chocolate chip pancakes because I know she loves them, and after hearing her stomach growl, I know she’s hungry.

The thought runs through my mind that in the midst of my biological father always leaving and coming back, he never once made my mom food. He never did anything nice for her actually. And she was always too sad or high to get out of bed to make sure I got fed. So maybe … I won’t be like them after all. Maybe I could be good for Haven.

Maybe I could be who she deserves.