Page 95 of Saving The Shortstop

“I’m more than sure,” I promise. “Come on.”

DALLAS

I couldn’t sit down during the draft, so instead, I paced behind the couch, wondering if everyone came out tonight for nothing. We’re only five players into the first round, and I’m sweating, telling myself that I’m probably not going to get picked.

I’m not even that good, probably.

“Hey,” Haven says to me during a commercial, reaching over the back of the couch and touching my arm. “You okay?”

I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets and shrug. “I don’t … I don’t know …” I look her in the eyes, and immediately, I know she understands all the thoughts in my head.

Lifting her arms up, she smiles. “Hey, come here. Give me a hug,” she whispers, and gradually, I lean down, hugging her over the back of the couch. My parents’ house is loud. Too loud. I’m a fucking wreck, but with her keeping me grounded, it all drowns out.

“Any team will be lucky to have you, baby,” she tells me, rubbing my back. “I promise you that.”

She hugs me a little longer, but when the draft comes back on the screen, her arms slowly drop and I stand up straight. For a moment, she calmed me. But right now, I don’t think anything could cure my nerves.

“Can you just … hold my phone,” I murmur, holding it out to her. “I can’t—it’s …”

Gently taking it from my palm, she nods. “Sure, D.”

“Carolina is on the clock,” the announcer says, and my brain spins.

It’s still early in the first round, and I doubt I’ll get chosen this soon. I’m just a kid who started playing football when I was ten years old. Some of the dudes getting picked tonight practically had a ball in their hands when they were born.

I’m so busy watching the television, I miss the screen of my phone lighting up in Haven’s hand until she’s holding it up for me.

“Um … D? You might want to take this,” she whispers, trying not to alert everyone.

With shaky hands, I take the phone from her and reluctantly slide my finger across the screen. I hear her say something to everyone, and within seconds, the room grows silent.

Too silent.

“H … hello?” I hate how shaky my voice is. I need to get it the fuck together, but my palms are sweaty, and my legs feel weak.

A part of me wants to walk into my bedroom because being the center of attention this way makes me extremely uncomfortable. But, when my mom’s tear-filled eyes meet mine, and I know she’s hanging onto every word she hears me say into this phone, I can’t take this moment from her.

“Hey, Dallas?” a deep voice with a thick southern accent says.

“Hi,” is all I can muster before my brain no longer knows how to talk thanks to the nerves taking over.

“This is Carl Rose with the Carolina Cyclones,” he says, and I put a hand on the back of the couch to steady myself. “How would you like to come play some football with us down here? We’re calling you up, son. You’re the sixth pick, and you’re everything we’re looking for in a quarterback.”

My eyes fall to Haven’s, whose are the size of dinner plates, I swear.

“I ...” Work brain. Fucking work. “I would love that,” I finally manage to force from my lips. “T—thank you, sir.”

“Welcome to the team, Rivers,” he says. “We’ll be in touch real soon.”

The call ends, and my hand drops to my side. I know why we’re all here tonight, and it’s for this very reason. But I don’t think I truly believed someone would have enough faith to draft me. Coach King has always been my biggest supporter, but part of me thought that after NEU, my days would be over.

“I’m …” I stop, looking around the room, feeling a bead of sweat drip down the back of my neck. “I’m a Carolina Cyclone.” I say the words, not fully believing them even though they’re coming from my own mouth.

Leaping over the back of the couch, Haven is in my arms, gushing with excitement and kissing practically every inch of my face.

“I’m so proud of you!” she screams as her legs wrap around my waist. “I love you so much!”

When her lips finally press to mine, I don’t think either of us cares that there’s a room full of people because this moment is too big to give a fuck about any of that.