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You have to let go of who you were to become who you will be. CANDACE BUSHNELL
Once upon a time, I might have been the hero of this story. After all, I had everything a hero needs. Wicked fastball. Killer instinct. Cocky grin. Full package. (And believe me, I knew how to score.)
What I’d told my sister and Josh was true—I didn’t know the first fucking thing about babies. But I knew that eighteen years ago, April Sawyer had given birth to one. And it had been mine.
Only you have the power to hold yourself back or push yourself forward. Decide for yourself which one it will be.”
That’s what family does—they love us and they’re proud of who we are, not just what we do.”
“I do still have red hair, because as any redhead will tell you, it’s nearly impossible to color. You have to bleach it, which I tried once with disastrous results.” I cringed at the memory. “It was not a good look for me.”
Tyler seemed surprised. “Why would you want to change it? I fucking love the color of your hair. I always have.”
“I thought you missed baseball.” “I do.” He picked up a slice of bacon and tore a piece off with his teeth. “And you aren’t sure what the next move should be.” He gave me his best menacing glare as he chewed. “You don’t think you have something valuable to offer the next generation of players?” “I know I do.” He quirked a brow at me. “I never said I wouldn’t be good at it.”
“What’s she looking for?” “A husband, two-point-five kids, maybe a cat.” “And you?” “A club sandwich. And look at that, dreams do come true.” I leaned back as the server set a plate in front of me. My sister sighed dramatically. “I don’t even know why I bother.” I picked up a French fry and stuck it in my mouth. “Me neither.”
“I don’t even remember Jenna Jones.” I smiled. “Jenna Holmes.” “See? But I remember you always smelled like birthday cake. I remember the way you’d play with your hair while you did math problems. And I remember this one little skirt you had, the way it would ride up your thighs when you sat on your knees at the kitchen table.” Forget about dancing. I couldn’t even feel my feet on the ground anymore. “Tyler?” “Yeah.” I slid my hand into his thick dark hair. “I want you to kiss me.” “It’s about fucking time.” That cocky grin flashed for a fraction of a second, and then—finally—his lips were on
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“I don’t want to leave here tomorrow.” He pushed my hair back from my face. “I want to stay.”
“Tyler.” I took his face in my hands. “You deserve it. Do you hear me? You deserve to be loved the way I’m going to love you.”
“I don’t know what the second act of my life is going to look like, but I know you’re the best part of it.”
“It’s not just about the ballfield. It’s not about strikeouts or home runs or the speed of a fastball. In the end, it’s about who’s there for you, and why. Through the highs and lows, the wins and the losses. It’s about the people who love and support you through anything because of who you are, not what you do. It’s about family.”
“Wherever you are is home to me. And I don’t want to leave home again.”
“You know, I never imagined I could fall in love with anything the way I fell in love with baseball. But now . . . ” “Now?” I asked hopefully, my heart pounding. He pressed his lips to mine, and his kiss tasted like forever. “Now there’s you.”
“Remind you of anything?” he’d asked, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his hand. “Of course it does.” I looked at him and grinned. “Do you remember your line?” “I’ve got a better one.” He reached out and slipped his hand into my hair, but this time, instead of come here, what he said was, “I love you. And I never want you to leave. Stay with me.” I’d moved in the following day.
Maybe he sat me down after that, and maybe he didn’t. I couldn’t seem to feel the ground beneath my feet for days. But it was okay with me. I had Tyler, I had family, I had a past I could be proud of and a future to look forward to. I had lessons I’d learned I couldn’t wait to pass on. I had love in my heart and hope in my bones. Everything was going to be okay.
