I hold up my hands in surrender. I tried to win an argument with pregnant Ava a couple months ago and learned my lesson straightaway. Bad idea. Stupid idea.
Ava picks up her old, tattered cloth and furniture polish when I take a step toward our kitchen.
Like I said, weird.
I step into the kitchen, and like it always does, a smile cuts across my face.
I’m greeted with one side of the refrigerator covered in pictures of the last few years together. There is one from a sports grill during Spring Training the year we got engaged. A picture snapped with Ava laughing—I can still hear the villainous tone of it—as we look at a text message on my phone.
It was from my dad. After the fallout from Mitch’s retaliation, Marianne threatened to sue him for libel or slander or something very legal. The fallout against Mitch was severe enough it fell back onto his employer’s reputation.
The text was telling us Mitch left the Vegas area since he was asked to resign. Ava had let me know that’s a nice way to say he got his butt fired for the bad press and slanderous statements he kept trying to make after he was called out.
Last I heard he went somewhere in Florida. There is still a heap of gratification to know I stood up against a guy who bullied to get what he wanted.
It’s a good lesson to use with the kids who flock to the original field house.
The picture next to it is from our engagement party. Then, the day Ava got the same tattoo as me, the one of our first baby’s due date. A picture is tucked in the back from the double date with Drake and the woman who’s now his fiancée. I grin at the one of our first kiss at our wedding, then all the random days in between.
Those memories are my favorite.
I touch the picture of Ava laughing with the three other Kings ladies and Alexis Cole at Parker’s retirement party two years ago that also served as an engagement party for Dax. Alexis put it all together, and I had my doubts she could pull it off, but I still say it was one of the best parties I’ve ever been to.
The one next to it is the same crew at Wren’s baby shower before Griff’s boy was born. Beside it are a few more recent pictures. The day Mason Walker was officially signed as a Vegas King; Ava snapped a picture of me hugging him. But my favorite one is the surprise atmyretirement party.
After a bad shoulder injury, we decided it was time to turn a new chapter. Fitting since the picture is from the moment Ava used the party to tell me we were going to be parents. Someone snapped the shot right before I kissed her, a little onesie in my hand.
We’d been trying for three years to get pregnant. It took a few specialists and a lot of disappointment, but we’re at the finish line now.
I’m not sure I breathed until we made it out of the first trimester, but even still, every appointment I clench my fists, praying that steady beat will be strong and swift. Two weeks away, and I’ve merely decided I won’t stop worrying until the baby is here.
According to our friends, we won’t stop worrying . . . ever.
Life will be different with a baby, but we’re more settled than we were. Achieve Life is run by several people now, but Ava still holds the top seat. She just delegates more and signs off on the final designs of the houses when they pop up around the country.
The original field house for Burton Field is now managed and run by Dax. He joined on after life didn’t go as planned, but he’s perfect for the place and has grown the influence to incredible lengths.
I took a position as a bench coach for the Kings. It’s strange being on the other side of the team, but in a way not much has changed. Parker is still there as a pitching coach, and Skye is still the trainer. Griffin focuses on the All-Star Foundation full time now, but he’s a box seat season pass holder.
A lot has changed, but some things never will. The people we keep close are always there. We’re stuck with them, and I don’t mind at all.
I dig through the fridge, wholly uninspired on what to make.
Ava hates certain smells and basically devours peanut butter, but bread makes her queasy, and sweet things make her gag. I could give her a spoonful of crunchy peanut butter and call it good. She’d probably love it.
My phone buzzes with a text from Drake.
Drake:Hey, is everything good with Ava? Had a feeling something might be up.
Twin radar. I let him know she’s cleaning the feet on tables, and I’m about to spoon feed her peanut butter. I get a laughing GIF in response.
“Hey, Tweets,” I say, stepping back into the front room, unsuccessful with husband-makes-dinner. “How do you feel about eating out? That Thai place had those peanut noodles—”
“Sure.” She says, facing the wall. Her voice is clipped and short.
I narrow my gaze, one brow arched. She’s not letting me read her face, and her tone is impossible to gauge. “Really?”
“Yep.”
