She even tracked down Norah and Sera the last time we were in Grand Oaks, and somehow managed to figure out who Grandma Birdie belongs to. Turns out the girls missed Ruthie too, and even coaches deserve to have someone watching from the sidelines.
As for me? I used to think that stepping away from baseball meant I'd never feel this rush again. Or the opposite—I'd never be as content as I am on the field. I thought it'd be impossible to feel as seen or understood by anything but these stands. And that, besides my daughter, nothing could love me like this dirt beneath my feet—so easily swept clean after mistakes or missteps.
But then I met Tessa.
And now, she doesall of that and more.
The roar fades as Mitchell toes the mound again, but my eyes stay right where they are. I smile softly toward my family—my whole team. My brother tips his chin. Alex chews her lip. Ruthie smiles, waving. And Tess lowers her hand from her mouth—the number on the sleeve of my sweatshirt mirrored back at me—until it rests above her heart.
I suck in a breath—my lungs, my heart…my life, fuller than I could have ever imagined, just in time to watch another pitch soar toward home plate.
Swing and a miss.
Strike two.
The fans still sitting rise to their feet. The stadium erupts in claps and whistles, and it's only when a faint chanting grows louder—Two-Three, Two-Three, Two-Three—that I realize…
It's for me.
"This could be it," Jace says, his gaze still forward.
That reality hits hard, blood rushing toward my cleats.
It's a weird feeling—being at the edge of something ending, yet simultaneously at the start of a beginning. Every rush of nerves is quickly soothed by excitement, each wave of sadness so easily settled by the anticipation of what's to come.
Over the noise from the stands, I still hear the woosh of the pitch—maybe not for real, but the sound goes off in my head all the same. The bat connects, and the second it does, I know it's mine.
It has to be.
The ball pops high, floating over Mitchell's head, and a few steps forward puts me right underneath it. Time seems to slow as it hovers above me—suspended in the air as if it's giving me a moment to soak it all in.
I raise my hand, my glove heavier than it typically is, and when the leather snaps around it, my eyes sink shut, reveling in the sting of the catch.
Because just likethat—
It's over.
Everything happens at once as my team swarms me—Jace jogging toward me as J.J. shoves me from behind. Ruiz joins us, throwing his arms around my neck as Mitchell and Garcia both head my way.
The rest of them—the players and coaches alike—pour out from the dugout, meeting me on the field. Fist bumps. Hand shakes. All of it grounded in chaos and laughter.
"You did good, kid."
The words hit me as the crowd parts, making room for Mack where he belongs—by my side.
"Wedid good," I say, my throat growing tight.
Mack's jaw works as his eyes glaze slightly. He clears his throat. "Yeah, well…" he starts, his voice thick. "What do you say we keep that up?"
I frown. "What do you mean?"
He sucks his teeth. "Eh, I've been thinking." He steps closer, his words coasting over the noise from the stands. "You might be on to something with this whole retirement thing."
My brows shoot up as my eyes widen. "For real?" I ask.
Mack shrugs. "It's time."
A weight I didn't even know was there lifts from my chest, and I stare at him, in shock on top of everything else.
