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With my ear buds in, my athletic trainer does her best to get me ready for the game. Why didn’t I just have Talynn professionally massage me instead of kissing her? My heart broke all over again. I’ve never felt this stinging internal ache before—it’s fucking pain on steroids.
“Tackett, you’re all done. Let me know if you need anything during the game,” Brenda says as she finishes.
Nodding, I go to my locker, get my uniform on, and check my phone one time before heading out to the field. There’s a text from Talynn, with no words, just a link. “I Won’t Give Up” by Jason Mraz. The song grips my balls. Squeezes my heart. Scrambles my mind.
Am I the kind of person that gives up? I reach into my drawer and pull out the pocket watch Oscar gave me. Prior to opening it, I run my thumb back and forth over the case. The words of the song fade as I hear Oscar’s words.
“When you find a woman whose smile makes the earth stand still and her smile alone can make the sun rise, put her picture right here.”
With a flick of my thumb, the watch opens, and Talynn’s smile is the sun. It doesn’t make the sun rise—itisthe sun. The song ends as I return the gift from a wise old man to its home.
“Hey, birthday boy. Ready to win a game?” Ortega knocks my cap off and ruffles my hair.
“Yeah. But I’m twenty-one, so you can stop with the messing up my hair thing.”
He laughs. “So, you’re a man now?”
“Exactly.”
“Then prove it.” He arches his eyebrow like he’s not talking about baseball but my manhood.
When we come out of the tunnel for warmups the stadium is relatively empty, but by the time the game starts the stands are completely full, except for two seats by Hagan and Harper. My cheering section shrunk tonight because Jayson flew out for a meeting overseas. I guess Talynn isn’t coming. Why would she? The kiss I gave her promised her the opposite of tomorrow.
The game starts, and I check the stands. Harper waves. The first inning is uneventful. I bat lead-off, and the pitcher walks me. The next three guys strike out or ground out. Second inning, still no Talynn. Why didn’t I text her or call her after she sent the song?
As I run in from centerfield, glove tucked in my underarm, I do a double take. Talynn is sitting by Harper and beside her is—Oscar. I stop in between second and third base. Her smile is tentative, but she brought Oscar. She loves me, and I’m an idiot. Oscar holds up a sign that says, “It’s my first game.” I laugh and shake my head as I run into the dugout.
I hit a double, and as I’m widening my lead the pitcher throws to second. I slide and the umpire calls me safe. I need to be closer to Talynn, and she’s near our dugout. I make a jump and dash to third base. The throw comes from their catcher. It’s going to be close. Shit. Run faster. Which way should I slide? All these things are running through my head in the two seconds it takes for me to slide headfirst.
“Safe!” The umpire yells and gestures with his arms out like an airplane. The crowd goes wild but there’s only one person I’m trying to impress. I stand, dust myself off, and wink at my girl. She’s jumping up and down. Boobs are bouncing. Life is going to be good after this game. She doesn’t know I’ve changed my mind, but maybe the wink will clue her in.
Instead of the seventh inning stretch, the crowd sings “Happy Birthday” to me. My face is on the video screen. Tackett Towles #9. I take my hat off, waving it around, thanking the crowd. Talynn is the lone person in the crowd with a sign that readsHappy Birthday.
Then I hear, “Whatever It Takes,” blaring through the sound system. I look around and the whole stadium is now holding up signs. But they don’t sayHappy Birthday, they sayWhatever it takes.
What the hell?
I look at the beautiful blonde haired, hazel-eyed, perfect-for-me woman that’s standing beside my best friends and the wise old man I love like a grandfather.
She turns her sign over and in thick black letters it reads,Invite Me to Your Birthday Party!
I don’t walk, I run, jump the brick fence, and step over a corporate dude all just to get to her. I don’t care if I get in trouble. Hell, right now, I don’t care if I ever play baseball again. I need her like a catcher needs a glove, and fans need hot dogs.
Her chest rises and falls as I invade her space. My heart is already healing. We both stand still even though there’s eight thousand fans with their eyeballs on us, I ask, “Will you come to my birthday party?” She nods with tears falling.
I look down at her shorts, a fucking pair of Blue Jean Daisy Dukes. I take her face in my hands, and I kiss her. It’s not a peck. It’s anI-love-you-for-eternitykiss. Oscar is laughing as he says, “That’s my boy.”
The fans go absolutely crazy.
Finally, we pull apart, then I wrap her in my arms and whisper, “The signs?”
She smirks. “Megan asked Kenni for help. The benefits of my sister being the president of the team.”
I kiss her twice more, then wiggle my brows, “Tonight, you’re going to reap the benefits of being my girlfriend.”
“I better, but not until after the party.” This time, she winks at me.
Wiggling my brows, I say, “Maybe.”
