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“I returned them. Well, most of them.” I smiled. “Besides, you melted two of my best Transformers. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.”

“How about a truce, then?” She took my baseball hat off and lifted her crown before placing it on my head.

I bent down and let my forehead press against hers. “Does this mean you won’t knock it off of me?”

“Not on purpose.” She smiled, and her eyes turned misty under the floodlights. “Reed, I’m sorry I thought for even a second that my family losing the stadium would be worse or even equal to the loss yours would face. Fairfield isn’t Fairfield unless the Fultons are here.”

“It isn’t Fairfield without the Crowleys either.”

“Reed—”

“Hold on. I’ve gotta get all this out.” I swallowed hard. “You are the top of the lineup with a full count when the bases are loaded in the bottom of the ninth. I used to be afraid of that kind of game, of those kinds of risks, but I’m not anymore.” My heart pounded so loudly, I thought my jersey might move with it.

“I love that you call me on my bullshit, that you know how to hit the hell out of my curveball and that you can throw some heat. I love that no matter where you end up, you’re going to shine brighter than anyone because you’re the one holding the light. And I know long distance will be hard. But I don’t care.” I paused and stepped back so I could see all of her. “I want to be with you. I need to be with you. You’re what keeps me grounded when everything else tries to knock me down.”

A tear fell onto her cheek, and I brushed it away. “There’s no crying in baseball, Crowley.”

“Are you going to kiss her or make us wait all night?” someone yelled from the stands. Both teams were near each other now. Most of them with their phones out and pointed at us. Of course.

“A Crowley and Fulton standoff.” She laughed and wiped her eyes. “How predictable of us.”

“I can think of something that would be unpredictable.” I took her hand.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

I grinned. “Will you hit me if I kiss you?”

“No.” She dropped my hand and slid both of hers around my neck as she rose up on her toes. “But I will if you don’t.”

It didn’t matter that the entire town watched us or that neither of us knew what came next or that the ground tilted when she kissed me.

Eliza Crowley was my gravity. The constant that stayed with me when everything else blurred or faded into shadow.

She was the no-hitter. The two-seamer I so desperately needed but never thought I’d get. Never thought I deserved.

The game hadn’t been perfect between us, but, hey, baseball—love—was far from perfect.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Eliza

“The fault […] is not in our stars, but in ourselves.”

—William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

One week later, on a Friday morning, I woke up to the sun beaming into my room and the noise of a lawnmower across the street. Two bouquets of flowers perched on my desk side by side—daisies from Reed and lilies from Dad. Both had come to the Saturday night show the day after the championship and opening night.

They had sat together.

And through some act of God—or who am I kidding, maybe the juju of Andrew Lloyd Webber—I didn’t miss any cues, despite peeking at the back of their heads more than I did the stage. How could I not?

Reed and I had spent every moment we could together over the last several days. He introduced me to his nana’s eccentric chickens, and his granddad even gave me an official tour of their farm. We had survived a Fulton-Crowley luncheon at Angelo’s despite a heated moment about—you guessed it—baseball. And Reed had survived a family dinner—even when TJ made a smart-ass comment about the Yankees buying championships. At that point in the evening, though, Reed didn’t have to say much. Dad had put TJ in his place in a matter of seconds, like he always did when TJ said that.

I just wished I could’ve slowed it all down.

Reed’s family was due to go back home today.

And in three days, we’d be visiting Arlington and then Philly to look at some houses and performing arts schools.