"Who says I'm checked out?" I ask, tapping my glove with my fist.
He chuckles, shaking his head and peering over. "That goofy grin you've been sporting for the last five minutes. Nothin' says game face like smiling at dirt."
"I'm not smiling at dirt," I snap too aggressively.
"Oh, I'm sure of that," he says with confidence.
I part my lips to argue—or question how he knows—but Solano strikes out the Angels' lefty, and both of us reset, the crowd erupting into cheers.
"What's her name?" he calls over the noise.
I roll my neck to either side, pretending not to hear him. After another few seconds, I chance to look his way, but Jace is just standing there, waiting, his brow arched expectantly.
"The girl, Two-Three." He nods toward where Tessa and Ruthie are sitting. "What's her name?"
"No girl." I shake my head casually, but the flashing warning sign in my chest screamsLiar!and threatens to expose me.
Jace huffs out a laugh, pulling one arm across his chest before squatting again into position. I assume he's simply dropping the question—maybe giving me an out—until I watch his expression transform. His lazy smirk falls flat as his jaw ticks, and his eyes burrow two holes into the dirt.
"What makes you think there's a girl?" I ask, bending down the same way, my eyes on the next batter stepping up to the plate.
He doesn't answer, not right away, but then I spot him shaking his head as he blows out a heavy sigh. He mutters under his breath, thinking his words will get lost in the rumble of the stadium. But in perfect timing, the crowd hushes as silence settles again for the next pitch.
Silence except for his answer.
"There's always a girl."
"Dad!"
The sound of my daughter's voice grabs my attention as I walk out of the locker room toward the bus.
"Roo," I laugh, walking to the side of the door to meet her. I drop my duffle on the ground and pull her into a hug. "What are you doing here?"
"She just wanted to say goodbye one last time before you took off," Tessa says, stepping up behind her.
"Good," I manage, meeting her gaze before my eyes drift quickly over her. I swallow the way she looks in her tight dark denim and the Gators hoodie I know so well.
Stunning.
Mine.
"Hey, be good for Tess this weekend," I say to my kid, forcing myself back to the moment. "And kick some parent-player ass, okay?"
Ruthie's eyes grow wide, her smile even more so, as her mouth drops open. "Dad…" she laughs.
I wink at her and squeeze her again, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. When she pulls away, her face is still glowing, and it's the perfect image to store in my mind for these next few days away.
The door clicks open behind me, and we all turn to see who it is. "Uncle Mack!" Ruthie calls as my infield coach steps into the parking lot. He stops on a dime at the sound of her voice.
"Bambi!" he shouts back, his arms stretched wide. He waves her over, and Ruthie looks up at me as if to ask for permission to run to him.
"I love you," I say, crouching down to her eye-level.
"Love you too, Dad." She smiles almost mischievously. "Kick some L.A…"
"Roo..."
"What?" she asks defensively. "I was gonna say butt, jeez."
