Page 50 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

“You all know, my ambition was always the World Series. And now we’ve won it, I think it’s time to go out on a high. I’m not done with baseball yet. But recently, I’ve learned that there’s more to life than the game. I’ve realized that family can be important too. So, yes, I’m retiring. Starting now.”

With that, he gets up and walks out of the room without another word.

Matt and I share a baffled look. “Where’s he going?” asks Matt.

About three seconds later, the door opens and Jackson bursts in, almost breathless from running to us. “Freya,” he gasps.

“Jackson, what the hell are you doing?”

“Didn’t you hear? I’m retiring.”

“Why?” asks Matt, just as shocked than I am.

“For you guys,” he says. “For the baby. What more do I need?”

He breathes out hard and looks at us both as we stand there with our mouths wide open, neither of us knowing what to say now. Then he lets out that easy grin and starts laughing. Matt glances at me from the corner of his eye as Jackson comes up to us and collects us both in his arms, and, as if it’s contagious, we both start laughing too, until the three of us are hysterical, our ribs aching from joy.

“Jackson, your career,” I say at last. “What are you going to do?”

“Well, Ms. Journalist,” he says teasingly, and I hit him lightly in the arm to knock some sense into him. “I don’t know yet. Coach, probably. But it doesn’t matter. I got what I wanted. I got the win, and I got you.”

From behind us, I hear a camera shutter click, and my stomach does a somersault as I realize that that quote is probably going to be a headline.

“They’re looking at us,” hisses Matt. “What do we do?”

“Hide your face if you don’t want to be in the paper,” mutters Jackson, then he turns his head to look at me. “But I think we should give them a real good picture for the front page. What do you think?”

I grin at him. “I totally agree.”

With that, he sweeps me up in his arms and kisses me hard, his big, gentle hands cradling my body as his soft lips melt into mine, every single atom of his body crying out with the promises he’s making to me, and every atom of mine believing him. Nothing in the world matters but this. Our family.

EPILOGUE

FOURTEEN MONTHS LATER

Richie wrestles with me as I try to get him out of the car. “Hon, come on,” I beg, finally managing to pick him up and deposit him into the stroller. He looks up at me with the same puppy-dog eyes as his father’s, and I shake my head fondly. “You’re going to grow up to be a sportsman just like your daddy, aren’t you?”

He farts in response. Such is the life of a five-month-old.

I wheel him through to the field, where Matt and Jackson are still playing. Jackson meant every word of what he said to me that day. We’ve moved in with him, he’s coaching Matt’s team, and we’re happy. He still has his grumpy moments, but he smiles more than ever these days. Matt likes having someone other than me there, too; someone he can talk ball with endlessly and run around the house with.

“Hey, Freya!” hollers Jackson from the field. “We’re just finishing up.”

“No rush,” I call back, parking Richie and myself on the bleachers to watch.

Matt comes up to bat, smacking it far into the outfield. I cheer for him, and he looks back at me with a look that’s half disgusted and half pleased that he’s getting recognition. As always, he’s a teenager. He’s going to be embarrassed by me, and he’s going to have to cope with it.

The boys keep batting for a while, and I sit back, relaxing into the slow pace of the afternoon. I can’t say I’m not excited to get back to work — yes, having a baby is a full-time job, but I feel ready now. I’m getting bored at home, and I know Jackson is more than capable of looking after Richie without me needing to be there all the time.

I didn’t realize it before, but I couldn’t do this without the support he offers. It’s good to have someone I can lean on.

Finally, the last kid bats, and the group start packing up. Jackson gives them all instructions, then jogs over to me and Richie. He picks our baby up and launches him high into the air. “Hey, batter!” he grins.

“Careful!” I say, holding out my hands instinctively.

“And hello, love of my life,” he says to me, cradling Richie to his chest and leaning in to kiss me. “How’s your afternoon been?”

“Richie cried for most of it. I think he’s restless. We went for a walk, which calmed him down a bit, but he’s in a mood.”

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