Page 71 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

“Hello?” I’m too tongue-tied to say anything else, and it’s not like this is a spam call. I know the number.

“Hey, Alex. This is John Westhover with the Chicago Cubs. I’m calling to officially offer you a spot in our system in the third round of this year’s draft. What do you say?”

My heart wants to explode in my chest. My arm flies around Nikki, and I hold her close to me, squeezing her so hard I’m sure she can barely breathe.

“Yes, sir. Yes, I’d be honored,” I say, my uncle pulling out the hat he’s been waiting to reveal. He plops it on my head and I push it down, my body shaking with happiness while the man on the other line walks me through all of the terms I was expecting. There will be a formal signing soon, and my uncle will be there for that, too. But for now, I end the call with about seven thank yous, then toss my phone in the air, not caring who it hits.

My dad grabs my shoulders, squeezing them once, and I turn to face him and give him a hug. I feel his body quake under my embrace, and the moment is just as hard for me. But it’s also amazing. And I needed it. I needed him. Even when I didn’t want to.

I kiss Nikki next, then turn to hold my mom, who is not usually a crier but is one today.

“You’re going to have to start coming to games,” I tease her. She playfully shoves at my chest, then presses her hands to my cheeks as she stares into my eyes, nodding.

I shake about a million hands, and relatives I haven’t seen since the last family wedding pile on me, knocking my new hat off and messing up my hair. I basically look like I’ve been run over by the time Nikki’s mom shouts, “Food is ready!”

Nikki and I hang back, letting everyone rush into the tight space. It gives us a short moment alone. The end of the year was so chaotic with the season getting hot and then playoffs; quiet time has been hard to come by for the two of us. And when we’re alone together at night, it’s rather impossible to keep our fucking hands to ourselves. Whoever said athletes shouldn’t fuck before gameday is a moron. There’s no science to the theory that having sex diminishes performance in the sport, at least not for me. And Nikki and I have tested that theory thoroughly, perhaps once in the clubhouse several hours before a game.

Okay. Twice.

Nik got her formal diagnosis a few weeks after her scan. And she’s met with three different surgeons about options. I went with her to the first two. Annabeth joined her for the third. And while it took some time for her to navigate her worst fears, I think arming herself with information and forming a close friendship with Annabeth has helped her feel secure in her decision. She’s going to monitor the tumor, and if her hearing gets any worse, she’ll consider surgery or radiation.

Her audio mixing hasn’t seemed to suffer at all, at least as far as I can tell. Annabeth seems to think she’s a wizard, too, having paid her a pretty hefty sum as a freelance sound artist to help her put together her first album. They’re finishing it up this summer. Nikki thinks it’s going to be huge. I kind of think so too.

Of course, I also think Nikki is going to be huge in the industry. Annabeth might be a newbie on the scene, but she’s garnered some hype. And last week, a pretty big name down in Houston called and invited Nikki out to chat and help with a recording as a test. She swore me to secrecy; apparently there’s an NDA. But let’s just say the guy likes tattoos on his face.

Someone knocks over one of my abuela’s bowls in the kitchen, and a round of oooooohs emanates from the crowded space while the tiny woman in her late sixties threatens to swat someone with her spoon.

They’re all going to crowd back in here soon, so I take this time and kiss my girl without an audience.

“This is weird, huh?” she says, nuzzling her nose against mine after our lips part.

I let my head fall back with a short laugh, but right it quickly, then look her in the eyes while we stand amid the mess my family and hers left in the living room. I cup her face with my hands, my thumbs sweeping her hair from her eyes while she holds onto my elbows.

I shake my head, then let it fall against hers as I close my eyes, my cheeks aching from the smile I don’t think I will ever be able to shake.

“No, Nik. It isn’t weird at all. It’s perfect.”

epilogue

2 Years Later

nikki

“Drugs are good,” I mumble.

I just woke up from surgery. At least, I think I just woke up from surgery. Maybe I’ve been awake for a while. Maybe . . . oh! What if I haven’t even had surgery yet!

“All of this is out loud, Nik. All of it,” Alex says.

I roll my head to the side and meet all four of his eyes.

“You’re pretty,” I slur.

He chuckles and leans over me. His head is enormous. His mouth is coming at me so I better make fish lips. I pucker and feel his soft lips mush against mine.

“You kiss good,” I say.

He pulls back, and now he has two eyes. At least it isn’t three.

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