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I rub my hands together as the first pitch is thrown. “Come on, baby,” I whisper under my breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dani lift an eyebrow, but I barely notice because I’m too focused on Miles. Though the ball seems to fly down the middle of the plate, he stands back and doesn’t swing. “Why didn’t he swing?” I growl.
Jesse leans over from the other side of Dani. “It’s his thing. It helps disarm the pitcher. I’m surprised he didn’t do it earlier in the game, but he might’ve wanted to make more of an impact.”
I let out a rough sigh. I don’t understand any of it. All I know is I want him to hit the ball far, so maybe the person on second can score and he can get to base. On base? I don’t know what the right wordage is.
“That’s strike one for Miles Hyun-Hansen. With a .474 batting average, Miles leads the division.” Trevor’s voice booms through the small stadium. It’s clear he loves announcing.
The pitcher gears up again and Miles watches closely. He throws, and again Miles doesn’t swing, but this time because it’s low.
“Seriously, breathe,” Katie instructs from behind me. “I know you’re new at this, but trust me, he’s making the right calls. He wants to get a hit.” She rubs her hand over my back and leans closer to whisper, “Especially with you here.”
I turn around to look at her, and she smiles. It’s similar to Miles’s cocky smile—not too surprising he got it from his mom.
I turn back around and stare at Miles, only to see him looking in my direction. His eyes lock with mine, and even from a distance, I can see his cocky smile. My stomach does a little flip, and somehow, I know he’s going to hit this one. Still, I watch with bated breath as the pitcher throws. Miles’s stance shifts ever so slightly, and then there’s a loud crack as he slams his bat into the ball with so much force it easily tears across the stadium, flying into far left field, and then over the fence.
I jump to my feet, screaming and cheering.
“And that’s number twenty-four this season for Hyun-Hansen!” Trevor yells through the speakers as the crowd goes wild.
My man just hit a home run.Myman? There’s less and less question about that every day. I’m scared I’m not ready. Terrified I don’t know how to do this after years of doing everything alone. As my hand comes to rest on my stomach, I know the truth. One I can’t hide from anymore. I don’t just want this baby. I don’t just want Miles. I want the life the three of us could have together. And that scares the shit out of me, but again, I feel that whirl in my stomach, one that pushes me to believe I’m on the right path, and this is where I’m supposed to be.
Wherewe’resupposed to be.
As he crosses home plate, he looks into the stands again, pointing toward us—me—and I suddenly get the urge to scream,that’s right, I’m having his baby,to all the thirsty girls drinking him in.
Okay, that’s it. These pregnancy hormones have made me crazy.
That or else I’m falling head over heels for Miles Hyun-Hansen.
Miles
Every hit is for her. Every perfect catch and ball whipped back to Aaron’s glove. Every inning closed out is to make her proud. It might be stupid or completely fruitless, but I want to make her proud. I want to see her eyes light up when she walks up to me after the game. I want her to know that it’s all been for her. My baby mama. My girl. Whether she likes it or not, that’s what she is, and tonight, she has my name on her back for all the world to see.
She’s having my baby.
I never thought that would be so fucking hot, but it is. It makes me feel primal, like I’m hopped up on steroids. One home run wasn’t enough. I want more.
In actuality, it really wasn’t enough because the score is tied again. They got another run in the top of the eighth, and since then, it’s been a shut-out. It’s the bottom of the ninth, and we’ve got to get our shit together or this will go to extra innings. Not that I wouldn’t mind an extra inning or two out here, but people tire out, and things get sloppy. It’s better to win it now than not at all.
Joel’s on second, and our outfielder, a sophomore, is up. I’ve been working with him all season on reading pitches because he’s got good power, but last year, on the rare occasion he played, he’d swing at damn near anything. There’s an advantage to being choosy. Not everyone can throw a pitcher off like me. I’ve honed that skill over years of baseball, but you can learn to read pitchers.
I hold my breath as I watch. There are no outs, and I know Joel can get to third with damn near any hit because he’s fast as fuck, but if it flies to just the wrong spot, it could be a double play that would put us two outs closer to extra innings. Our hitter needs to get deep into the outfield.
The first pitch runs low. Ball one.Come on.One more batter after him, and I’m up. Then Ricky, then Aaron. We’ve got a powerhouse set here, we just need to get there.
The second pitch flies toward the plate and he swings. He doesn’t get as much of it as I wish he would, but it’s enough to get Joel to third and our hitter to first. The next batter steps up. He gets in a shitty groove of fouling off until finally he gets a solid hit, but it’s a pop fly. One out.
Fine. We’ve been in worse spots. With Joel on third, any hit away from third base could get Joel in.
I stretch my neck a couple of times, then step into the box. Here we go. I watch the pitcher, the way his fingers sit on the ball. Slider. I watch and wait, but ultimately don’t swing. The ump calls it a strike, but it was on the edge of being too low. I take another breath and wait. Next pitch. I can tell from the release it’ll be high—and it is.Breathe.I quickly glance toward the section of the stands where our group is sitting. All of our friends, a bunch of the parents, Rae’s grandfather, Jesse and Dani, and my girl. Her eyes find mine for half a second, then my eyes are back on the pitcher. He takes his position, and I know this is my hit. Unfortunately, the ball dips as I swing and I don’t catch as much of it as I want. It goes right down the third base line. Joel doesn’t run, but our guy on first moves to second and I safely get to first.
Ricky is up next, but unfortunately, he’s our second out. Bases loaded, and Aaron freaking Cooper is stepping into the batter’s box. Aaron isn’t a powerhouse hitter, but he’s consistent, and that’s what we need right now. Something to get Joel across home plate.
He looks at Joel, who winks at him, then at me. I nod. Then, of course, his eyes drift to Rae. And he might just knock this fucker out of the park, because there’s not a damn thing he wouldn’t do to win this game for his girl. After all they’ve been through, I know exactly how much this means to him.
Aaron is a methodical hitter. He doesn’t skip a pitch for the hell of it like me. He watches. He waits. And he swings at just the right time. Tonight? That’s the first pitch. It fouls off, but Aaron stays calm. I lean off the bag, ready to run as fast as possible. The second pitch flies, and this is it. I can see it in his eyes.
It’s right in his sweet spot, and he nails it. It soars into right field and we all take off running. Joel crosses home plate before the ball gets to the infield. Our sophomore crosses next, and I don’t bother trying to run over home plate one last time. Trev is already announcing that we’ve won, and the rest of the team is swarming the field, but I turn and run toward the mound. Joel and Aaron meet me a few feet before I get there, and we throw our arms around each other, sharing a quick group hug before our girls come barreling across the field. We turn and wait for them, and I have to say, I wish I could’ve had this for a little longer. As much as I love Mackie running to congratulate me, it’s different as Amelia walks through the crowd toward me. Rae dashes by me and leaps into Aaron’s arms.
