“I have to apologize.” My dad’s voice startles both of us. “I followed you in here on instinct. My only daughter was clearly upset, and I rarely see her like that. And I was sure I’d either be the one to comfort or maybe I’d overhear something that would justify the disappointed feelings I had earlier, but it’s clear to me now… Sweetheart, I wish there was something I could do to override the will so you can have everything you want, but with your grandfather no longer with us, I don’t think that’s possible. I know you love that house, and buying another would probably feel wrong… So, if you two were to get married, know that you don’t need my blessing, but with what I just overheard, you have my understanding. I’d sign as a witness if you asked.”
My whole body goes numb. Luckiest girl in the world, alright. “Thank you, Dad. I appreciate that, but?—”
He holds his hand up. “No. I know you both really need to talk it out and come to a decision together. But Mia, if your hesitation stems from how I or your mother would feel about it, we’re good. We will always be in your corner. For now, let’s put it on hold and have a meal together.”
“Okay,” I say, wiping under my eyes. Hell, I guess I should probably invest in waterproof mascara. “I’m going to freshen up quickly. I’ll be right out.”
My dad nods, then leaves Adam and me in the hallway.
How do we have this conversation about what to do next? How do I make sure he doesn’t simply agree with whatever I say? I don’t want him to resent me down the road…
Adam brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not going anywhere, Mia.”
I huff in amusement. “Do you mean for the bathroom break, or for life?”
“Both. Let me remind you, I’m not fragile.”
Chapter 22
Adam
“Strike two,” the ump calls from behind me as the ball smacks into my glove.
The batter calls for a challenge for some reason. Will threw that slider perfectly. I have a lot of doubts and worries in my head, but that ball being a strike isn’t one of them.
The one other person who I know agrees with me, outside of Will from the mound, is Mia. All game I’ve been able to hear her judgment on calls and cheering for the team, not just me.
I told her again that if she didn’t feel like coming, she didn’t have to…but I do love seeing how invested she gets. I love that she’s here in general, actually. I needed her in the stands, but didn’t know how to say that.
Us having to tell her parents on game day wasn’t ideal, but there was no way I was going to let her tell them without me, and it would be extremely selfish to have her wait for one of my few and far-between days off.
I keep telling myself Mia and I will catch a break, and something will go our way, but the hits just keep coming. It’s like we’re getting challenge calls with every throw.
I meant what I told her—I would marry her if that’s what she wanted. If that’s what we have to do for her to feel better about this and be in that house, then, yeah, I’ll do it. And I know Dex told me not to get wrapped up in the what-ifs, but this is a whole other level of complexity that’s been added to the list.
Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise to have to play today. If I didn’t, I’d probably be sitting on Mia’s couch completely spiraling over our decisions.
When the strike is confirmed, I hit the button on my coms for another slider and nod slightly for the same spot.
I don’t have to read too much into Will’s body language to know he got what I said. I can’t even begin to express how much I needed for him to be on the mound today. My mental capacity is maxed out.
Changing up my stance in rhythm with Will’s throw, the ball goes right in my glove.
“Ball,” the ump calls.
I may have a lot of shit going on in my head, but I’m positive I just caught that in the same damn place I did when it was a strike.
Will calls for the challenge before me. It runs back through the system, and what do you know? It’s another strike.
The ump grumbles a few curse words behind me, but I bite my tongue on a dick response. Normally, I’d rarely register a remark from the ump outside of game calls. Most stay pretty quiet, but there are a few that make remarks, and you learn to drown out the extra bullshit.
The best way for me to do my job is to focus on the players in front of me. But my patience has been worn thin with everything going on, so the guy behind me having a piss-poor attitude isn’t going to help.
I have Will switch it up to a four-seam fastball. The batter might whack the crap out of it, but they’re pretty consistent in the strike zone, so if he strikes it should be pretty clear.
“Ball.”
What the fuck?
