Page 124 of Force Play

Moving doesn’t help, it doesn’t hurt either. But nothing I do eases the discomfort. Thankfully, the procedure itself isn’t bad. I’m in and out within an hour of arriving and the Gatorade they give me afterward is life changing. Unfortunately, that bloating has turned to cramping and even just getting to the car from the clinic is a struggle.

Poppy would have gladly helped me today, but having Dom here is a relief. The after-effects are worse than I imagined.

“Take it easy, Baby,” Dom says, as he helps me into bed when we get home.

“Will you lay with me?” I ask. “You can put on a movie or something,” I add nervously.

The moment he crawls into bed with me and presses his forehead to mine the minty scent of his toothpaste takes hold and I know it was silly to be worried. This man has put aside his life for me time and time again over the past three months to make sure I’m taken care of. Laying with me while I recover from a procedure isn’t going to faze him.

“You couldn’t keep me away if you tried,” he says, crawling in behind with the utmost care not to disturb me.

The next twelve hours are rough, but things improve when I wake up two days later feeling human for the first time since he got home. It only gets better when the clinic calls to let me know we have ten mature eggs. It’s a great number, but we will still need another round if we want any chance of having more than one child using my eggs in the future.

It’s a problem for another day because Dom and I only have a few hours before he leaves again for Chicago. The plan is for me to join him for the second or third game of the series, depending on how I’m feeling.

Chapter 47

Dom

“Since coming back from his one-game suspension at the beginning of the postseason Dom Duran has helped his team battle back to end up here in Chicago tonight for the League Championship Series. Demi is on the field with him to hear firsthand what he thinks about tonight’s match-up.”

Demi Wilder from ESPN stands in front of me, a megawatt smile on her face, as the crew passes it down to her for the pre-game interview.

“Tell us what we have to look forward to tonight, Dom.”

“Hey, Demi. We’re thrilled to still be playing and I’m ready to make some contributions out there to help my team take this season as far as we can. The guys are pumped and win or lose, it’s a great night for baseball.”

Tonight, I have an even greater incentive to play my ass off. My wife made the trip. Not only that, but after the game this afternoon we’re getting dinner with my father-in-law.

“We’re eager to see what the Bandits can do with their first playoff run in the last decade. With the series tied at three wins each, it’s sure to be an exciting game,” Demi says, before switching off her microphone. “Good luck out there tonight. I’m rooting for you guys. My dad grew up in Denver and even though I wasn’t raised there, I’m a long-time fan.”

I glance over my shoulder to find my wife sitting with her dad behind our dugout. “That father-daughter bond is really something.” Her eyes track my stare.

“Mhmm. Nothing like it. Enjoy the game tonight, Dom. Looks like you have some big fans here,” Demi comments before crossing the field to speak with the Chicago players.

Jogging over to the netting that runs along the third baseline, I crook my finger at Indie, calling her to me. She skips down the stairs, an uncertain look on her face.

“What’s going on?” Her brow furrows adorably when she stops in front of me.

“Can’t a guy just want a good luck kiss from his wife?” Hooking my fingers through the netting I snag her jersey, the one with our last name on it and drag her to me, our lips connecting in one of the small squares. “There, now everyone here knows you’re mine,” I say, a little roughly from how she affects me.

“Go win your game.” She chuckles against my lips and I feel the vibration of that little laugh everywhere because it’s light and airy—happy. Which has been rare since Indie came back into my life.

“Are you my prize?” I tease, keeping her close as fans fill in the seats around her.

“Sure, hit me a home run and you can have me anyway you want me tonight.” It’s a whispered promise just for us.

“Coming right up.” I step back and hit her with a wink.

We didn’t win the game, but the home run I hit in the top of the eighth helps to soothe that sting. But what helps even more is the look on my wife’s face as we sit across the table from her dad after sharing a meal in a Downtown Chicago pizzeria as he watches the video from our wedding. Both their eyes are brimming with unshed tears.

“I love you,” I say quietly brushing my lips over her temple.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for my daughter,” Samuel says, looking up from the phone.

“No need to thank me. Getting a second chance with your daughter was the greatest gift of my life. I’ve never had to work as hard for anything, but I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, because she’s always been it for me.”

“Either way, I’m proud to call you my son-in-law. Not just anyone could’ve gotten Indie to accept help the way you did.”

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