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“And I’ll pick out yours.”
She makes to swat at me, and I grab her hand and hold it against my chest.
She remains still, quiet. Looking right at me, she finally asks, “You sure about this?”
“You know I am.” I lift her hand and brush my lips across her knuckles. “And, Whit?”
She cocks her head to the side in question.
“If shit starts going in the wrong direction, I have enough money to keep us in Europe, but instead, I think we should keep going east. Playing ball in Japan would be pretty amazing.”
As tears fill her eyes, I pull her closer and wrap her up tightly.
“You and I have got this. Everything’s going to be better than fine, Whit.”
The Sox have been up by three since the top of the fifth inning, when they put Bares into pitch. At the bottom of the ninth with one out, Lou and Frankie are on second and third, and I’m up at bat. My aim is to hit a ground ball between first and second to right field with just enough gas behind it to make the center field man work to make a play and to get Frankie home. I’m hoping to get to first. Being that Turner’s on deck, there’s a chance he’ll hit a home run, and we’ll win this one too.
The first pitch Bares throws, I’m gonna swing—I always do. When I feel the ball connect with the bat, I’m a bit surprised as I head to first. Luck is on our side because Betts stays deep and has to haul ass to get to the ball. He guns it to home, but Frankie scores a run, and I’m safe on first.
I’ve done real good, keeping my focus in the game, but when I see Whit jumping up and down, foam finger in the air, I can’t help but think about her falling asleep in my arms. Can’t help but smile because she stayed just like that all night and didn’t wake up until I was coming out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel to get dressed before meeting the team to catch the bus and head here.
When Turner steps up to bat, brows furrowed, I take a small lead in anticipation of him nailing it, but he swings and misses, so I tag back. The second pitch is another strike. He lets the third go by, and the fourth, he rails it, sending Louie and me home, tying the game.
Joel is up next and pops out.
I glance up at Whit and the rest of them, and all I can think about is that overtime would suck because, today, I’m going to kiss Whitley Mae Belington after she takes my last name.
When Scoot hits the ball, it doesn’t get far, and although there’s no force and Turner doesn’t have to run, that’s exactly what he does.
Waiting for my mandatory press time, I see that Whit sent a text.
Whit:
Another amazing game, but we didn’t expect any different. Your parents would be so proud.
And another.
Whit:
If you’ve changed your mind about this whole thing, I understand, and there will be no hard feelings. I’m probably overreacting.
That message was just five minutes ago, and I hit her back.
Me:
When you get back to the hotel, there’s a dress waiting in our room. Marks knows where we’re meeting, and he has strict instructions to handcuff you and drag you there if need be. Because today, I’m marrying my best friend, and I’ll get to call her my wife.
What’s her reply?
A thumbs-up.
15
Saturday
“Stop fussing with your hair.” Chloe bats my hand away as I run my fingers through the waves, trying to loosen them up a bit. “It’ll relax all on its own.”
“The fact that you’re even upright today blows my mind,” York says, zipping me into the dress that Pope had sent to his room.
