Page 100 of Serving Bunt

Relief loosened something in my chest.

“Thanks, coach. We’re not planning to go public just yet, but we would like to tell the guys.”

He nodded. “Only when you’re ready. But keep it professional in the clubhouse. The team comes first. Always.”

“Understood,” Diaz and I said together.

The three of us stood, and for a second, I thought that might be it. By the time Coach Ward pushed himself out of his oversized, leather chair, I was already reaching for the doorknob.

“You know . . .”

We both turned back around.

Coach Ward rubbed a hand over his beard, suddenly looking older than he had a minute ago. The late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the blinds caught the graying at his temples.

“I’ve seen a lot of relationships fall apart because of this game.” He glanced down at the desk, fingers drumming against the wood. “Including mine. Take it from me, baseball asks for a lot. Missed birthdays. Missed anniversaries. First steps. School plays. Hell, sometimes you miss the little stuff too. The things you don’t realize matter until you don’t have them anymore.”

He gave a humorless chuckle.

Beside me, Diaz had gone completely still. I looked over at him. His jaw was tight, his expression thoughtful. It was the kind of look he got when he was listening to something he knew he’d be carrying around for a while.

Coach Ward’s expression softened just a fraction.

“But if you've found somebody who makes all the craziness a little bit easier . . .” He shrugged one broad shoulder. “Well, I’m not about to root against that.”

Diaz’s hand found mine then, just for a second. A quick squeeze against my palm.

I squeezed back.

Coach Ward saw it.

I knew he did.

But all he did was nod once, like he’d just confirmed something for himself. Then, his mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you both.”

I swallowed hard.

“Thanks, coach,” I said quietly.

Diaz cleared his throat beside me. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He pointed a finger at us. “You still have to survive an entire offseason together.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

Diaz snorted.

We walked out of Coach Ward’s office side by side. The second the door closed behind us, I let out a long breath.

Diaz’s hand brushed mine in the empty hallway, fingers grazing my knuckles before he hooked his pinky with mine.

“One down, ‘Bama,” he murmured.

I smiled, squeezing his finger.

“Only twenty-four to go.”

The stadium was electric.