I laugh through a sob and press both hands to my face.This can’t be real.Sam, standing in the middle of the damn field, pouring his heart out in front of half the town, a five-minute countdown flashing behind him—all this planning … for me.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I don’t even look at it. For once, this moment is mine.
I wipe my face, take a breath, and shake my head, still smiling, still crying. “I can’t believe all this fuss is for me.”
This doesn’t fix everything, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t matter to be seen, as cheesy as it is.
Nessa is still screaming somewhere. The clock reads 2:48. I look at Sam standing on that pitcher's mound—the one he said was sacred space—waiting for me.
And then I run. I don’t think. I don’t stop, I just keep looking straight ahead, just like Mr. Coulson in the movie.
The wind catches in my hair. The lights are too bright. My heart is pounding so loud I can barely hear the crowd, but they’re cheering. Or maybe I’m imagining that part. Security looks confused at first but smiles warmly and lets me through.
The scoreboard ticks down: 2:43.
I hit the edge of the field and jog a few steps before I start walking to him. Sam doesn’t move. He’s waiting; jaw tense, eyes locked on me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he blinks.
I don’t stop until I’m right there in front of him. For a second, I just look at him. I need to see it up close, make sure it’s real.
His chest rises. I grab two fists of his shirt and yank him down toward me.
Then I kiss him.
It’s not polite. It’s not soft. It’s not for the crowd. It’s for me. For every lonely night. For every fight. For every apology he finally said out loud. For the man who wrecked my heart and then stood in front of a damn stadium to earn a second chance.
The scoreboard behind us reads: 2:39.Sam's hands find my face, mine stay fisted in his shirt. And I don't give a single damn who's watching. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know nothing is fully settled. But for the first time … I don’t let that stop me.
34
SAM
After the best kiss of my life, I can’t drag Becca out of the stadium fast enough. Unfortunately, our friends and family circle us before we make it three steps.
Why did I think inviting everyone who loves us would help?
Becca stands in the middle of the group while people talk over each other. Her cheeks glow pink, eyes bright, the crowd noise bleeding into the celebration around her.
Phoenix leans forward, pointing at the field. “That was literally a movie brought to life.” Becca laughs, covering her mouth for a second, and I catch the way she tries to hide how pleased she is.
I could watch her smile like that for the rest of my life. A nudge hits my elbow. Grandad.
“Nice work, kid,” he says, squinting up at me. “Knew you had it in you.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Still not enough.”
“Damn right.” He chuckles. “At least now she knows you’re capable.”
“Hey.”
He laughs harder. Before I can defend myself, Mack barrels into my side and throws an arm around my ribs. The woman may be small, but she still hits like a linebacker.
“Thank you,” she says, squeezing tight.
“For what?”
“For making her movie dreams come to life. Becca deserves hearts and flowers. Even if she never budgeted for them.”
“She deserves a hell of a lot more than I gave her.”
