Page 121 of Lucky 22

He threads his fingers through mine but doesn’t look away.“I’m not saying I regret baseball. I don’t. I love it. I always will. It’schanged my life—our life. But I can’t keep pretending that the cost hasn’t beenreal. On us. On you. And I don’t get to ignore that because the game iscomfortable and familiar and safe for me.”

His words land, slow and heavy. I know what he’s walkingtoward before he says it.

“This is my last season,” he says, his voice low.

The words linger in the space between us. Not explosive. Notshouted. Just truth.

“I’m not asking…”

He places a finger over my lips, silencing anything I haveto say.

“I know you’re not. You never would. This is completely mydecision, and…I’m done after this season,” he continues. “I’ve been so blessed,and I’ve achieved everything I could ever dream of and more in my career.Before I met you, I never knew a life without baseball, and because of you, Iknow what I want my life to look like after baseball. And it’s notmeasured in innings or stats or how hard I can push my body before it breaksagain.” His voice softens, steady and sure. “It’s you. It’s us. It’s being thehusband you deserve, not the one who keeps asking you to put your world on holdso I can play in mine.”

My vision blurs.

He squeezes my hand, gentler now. “And I want you to chaseeverything. Every role. Every dream. Every version of your life that makes youfeel alive. I don’t want to be the reason you ever doubt that you’re allowed towant more. If you want to call Tracy right now…”

Now it’s my fingers over his lips as Ishake my head. “No. That’s not what I want. What I want is right here in frontof me.” I pause, even as the first tear falls. “You. All I’ve ever wanted isyou.”

There’s a profound quiet after that. The kind that feelssacred.

I lean forward slowly and press my forehead to his, both ofus a little breathless and emotionally drained.

He doesn’t try to fix the silence. He simply holds me.Steady. Certain. We’re both free in a way that we’ve never been free before.Our careers have dictated our choices for so long, but tonight we made achoice.

And we chose us.

ChapterTwenty-One

“This feels weird. Don’t you think it feels weird?”

“Um…”

We’re at my apartment in LA now that baseball season isover. We packed up most of our stuff and had it shipped to Florida for storage.Why Florida? Because that’s where our families are. My family moved back toOrlando, and it’s where we’ve decided to eventually put down roots becausefamily is most important to us.

But this apartment? Well, this is so we have a place to staywhen I need to be here to record for The Echo Wars. The show keepsgrowing in popularity, and we’re now recording season three. Despite my agentand manager dropping me, my career has been steadily moving forward. Christianand I are moving forward, too. On our terms.

I slowly walk around the space. The living room that doublesas everything—office, dining nook, movie theater, and dance space. I run myhand along the cozy blue couch that faces the small, wall-mounted TV, and smilesadly at the worn, thrifted coffee table that’s always barely been wide enoughfor a laptop and two mugs. The faux hardwood floors still creak, and thebattered and worn woven rug that used to add a splash of personality is beyondfaded.

Jen and I have lived what feels like many lifetimes in thisspace, and it seems weird to be here without her. The sad sigh is out before Ican stop it.

“You know she moved only fifteen minutes away, right?”Christian teases, reading my mind.

Laughing softly, I shake my head. “I know, but…I’ve neverbeen here like this without her. Sure, there were times I was here, and she wasaway, but her stuff was always here. Now, it feels a little…I don’t know…sad.”

He walks up behind me, wrapping those muscular arms aroundme before kissing my cheek. “Then we’ll just have to fill it with stuff of ourown so it’s not quite so sad.”

That makes me smile.

Plenty of things in this apartment are mementos from my lifebefore Christian, but there are also many from the time since we met. Thethought of us being able to put stuff in here now feels like the closest thingwe’ve had to a place of our own. This little apartment has been the oneconstant since I was twenty, and I honestly love the idea of the two of usmaking it ours.

Turning in his arms, I smile up at him. And yes, my heartstill skips a beat when he smiles back, and I get to gaze into those brilliantblue eyes that I’ll never grow tired of seeing.

“I love that idea,” I say softly. “Thank you.”

He kisses me, and it goes from sweet to a little somethingmore. When we’re here, we’re usually on alert for Jen to come through the door,so there’s something a little freeing about knowing we won’t be disturbed. So,we linger a little while longer before slowly pulling apart, breathless andsmiling.

“We really should unpack…” I say, not really wanting to aswe kiss some more.