“Sorry, babe,” I say when he reaches me.
His grimace tells me he’s frustrated. “It happens.”
Shifting back to Maverick, I raise my eyebrows and that’s all it takes. He knows the drill, and we work through a couple quick checks of his shoulder. It doesn’t take long before I’m satisfied he didn’t do any damage with his slide.
“Oof,” I say, grimacing myself when the baby decides to give a strong kick to my ribs. “Settle down, baby bird.” I rub my stomach as Dan comes over, having heard my grunt.
“Everything okay?” he asks, running his hands over mine.
“Yeah, just your daughter waking up.”
His face softens into a grin as he drops into a crouch to press his lips to my belly. “Hi, baby bird. Love you, kiddo.”
Finding out we were having a little girl made Dan even more excited. That week, he showed me the Pinterest board he started for a nursery, filled with all kinds of baseball-themed items in nothing but purple and teal colours.
He stands up as there’s another cheer, and we look to see our batter making it to second, bringing the previous one home.
“We’re tied,” I exhale. It’s been a close game, which is always nerve-racking for everyone.
“Their pitcher is on fire,” Dan admits, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as we watch the game. “His curveball is deadly.”
Sure enough, that curveball strikes out our next player, ending the first half of the seventh inning. Which means…
En masse, every Tridents player and staff in the dugout comes over and crowds around me.
The voice on the loudspeakers announces the seventh inning stretch, and then music starts to play. Everyone who can reachmy stomach places a hand or even a finger on it. And right on cue, our little girl starts to go crazy, flipping around, punching and kicking.
It doesn’t feel great, but it is special the way everyone gets excited, wanting their chance to feel the baby enjoying the cherished tradition of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” It just proves the idea that family isn’t always about blood. It’s about the people who love you, respect you, and support you.
It can look like many things, and for Dan and me, it’s an entire baseball team and staff celebrating our daughter.
The players all raise their voices near the end of the song, something that started a few weeks ago when the team had the strongest second half of an inning ever after singing along to the final few words.
“For it’s one, two, three strikes, you’re out, at the old ball game!”
Chapter forty-five
Monty
“You realize you have to give her back to me eventually, right?”
I tuck my teeny-tiny daughter into my chest and turn away from Lark’s hospital bed with a glare. “Not unless she’s hungry. I can do everything else.”
She chuckles, then winces, and I immediately feel guilty. Turning back, I gingerly sit on the edge of the bed.
“Fine, fine. I guess you need the oxytocin boost this little one is giving more than me.”
She looks at me dryly as I transfer Stella into her mama’s arms. “Gee, you think?”
Once my girls are settled, I lean back on the cramped hospital bed, resting my hand on Stella’s back.
“You’re amazing, you know that? I knew you were strong, powerful, and brave, but holy shit, Birdie. Watching you give birth, watching you bring our daughter into this world, I…” I choke up again.
Lark leans her head forward and kisses Stella’s downy head before turning to look at me. “I couldn’t have done it withoutyou.”
I give her a watery smile. “Yeah, you could have, because you can do anything. But I’m so happy and honoured I got to be here by your side.”
“You did cut it a little close,” she remarks, and this time, I’m the one wincing.
