Page 94 of Praising the Pitcher

For a while, we sit here in this chair exactly like this, neither in any hurry to detach because honestly, I love being close to her.

Finally, she pulls back and smiles at me.

“I guess I better go finish putting books away,” she says, cupping my cheek. “You don’t have to wait for me though. I’ll be a while.”

I shoot her a teasing glare. “Of course I’m going to wait for you.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Take your time.”

Her face lights up, looking at me like I just told her I was giving her a million dollars, and she smiles. “How are you real?” she whispers. “And why are you so damn good to me.”

“Because I love you,” I say, and honestly, it slips out so fast even I don’t expect it. But once it’s out, and she’s staring at me with eyes wide, I know I can’t take it back. I don’t want to.

“What?” she whispers, fighting a smile.

I cock my head to the side playfully. “You heard me, Smoke.”

“You … love me?”

“Gigi, I’ve loved you since the beginning,” I say earnestly. “I think I’ve loved you since the first time you slept in my bed and I woke up next to you, to be honest.”

Her eyebrows pinch together. “R—really?”

“Yes.” I nod. “I hadn’t said anything because I didn’t want to scare you away. Or make you feel like you had to say it too. I’d never want you to feel like⁠—”

“I love you too,” she blurts out, cutting me off mid-sentence. She blushes with a huge smile on her face. “I was waiting for you to say it first.”

“And what if I was waiting for you to say it first?” I counter, and she simply shrugs before looping her hands around my neck.

“I don’t know, but I’m glad you didn’t.” She presses her lips to mine. “Noah King loves me …”

“Damn right,” I say. “Don’t forget it either.”

Even though I’ve been wanting to tell her for a while, I really didn’t want to scare her away. I had no intention of blurting it out right now, especially when my dick is still out of my pants and we just got done fucking on her boss’s desk, but what can I say? I’ve never had the best timing, I suppose.

All I know is, when it comes to a woman like her, I didn’t want to wait much longer to say how much she means to me. And today somehow felt like the right time, even as unplanned as it was.

The sparkle in her eye right now and the smile on her lips make me thankful my big mouth blurted it out after all.

THIRTY-THREE

GIGI

I look at the boxes that are stacked neatly in the corner of my room. It doesn’t matter that they’re perfectly lined up and tucked away in a certain order—they are still clutter in my eyes, and clutter has always stressed me out.

I pull in a breath and pull my hair into a no-nonsense ponytail, like I’m ready to do a workout or something, when in reality, it’s six boxes, all of which aren’t even that big. But this is a task, and I’m ready to get to it.

A few days ago, Noah and his dad arranged to go get some things from my father’s house that I had left behind in my room. Lucky for them, my dad was in France with his girlfriend. Oh, and her kids. Because they are certainly a happy little family.

I was shocked Cal allowed it, but I think in his mind, he stopped caring what happened to me once he thought he cut off my ability to train and get better. The joke’s on him because since I started training again a few months ago, I’m throwing harder than I’ve ever thrown before. And my changeup may have already been nasty, but I’ve perfected it to be even more so.

It’s straight up gross—which is exactly what my coaches and I want.

Noah offered to help me sort through everything, but when I peeked into the boxes at all that had been packed up from my room, I realized some was stuff I’d left, but there was also some of my mom’s stuff my dad must have shoved in there after he moved his new girlfriend in. And though I might regret my decision once I start really digging into everything, I felt like I should do this alone and come face-to-face with the feelings that sprout from it.

For years, I think I’ve tried to bury everything down and throw myself into softball. It’s always been my escape. But now that I’m seeing a therapist regularly again, I’m coming to terms with the fact I can’t run from my grief.

No one will ever be fast enough to do that.

I grab the first box and sink down onto my knees to look inside, a smile tugging at my lips when I’m met with old trophies, medals, my first Little League uniform, and travel team pictures framed with each noting the year. I run my fingers over everything before deciding to tuck this one away for later. I know there are harder things to unpack than this walk down memory lane that revolves around my youth athletic career.