Page 40 of My First and Only Crush

“No, baby, it’s okay.”

“The plane is too quiet,” I say, my voice breaking. “This should be a party.”

He swipes away another tear. “Yeah, all right.”

The second the seat belt sign turns off, he unbuckles and stands up. “Where’s the champagne?”

“Got another announcement to make?” someone calls from the front.

Oh God. I shrivel into a very small ball and cover my face with my hands.

“It’s definitely not about your RBI over the series,” Trick snipes back. “But you’ll get a ring anyway so shut the fuck up. Last night we did something incredible.” He moves down the aisle, addressing his team in a way he probably never has before—definitely on the content, but probably also on the sheer volume of words that spill out of him. “And then after that,Idid something privately incredible. I realized I’m in love. I didn’t fall in love. That happenedmonthsago. And I kept it a secret from all of you fuckers because I knew it would it would derail us. I made that sacrifice for you all, forus, so you can all do Sinclaire the honour of respecting her enough to party like the animals that I know you all are, because you are motherfucking World Champions.”

I can hear the confused, whispered reactions.

Months?

Love?

Secret?

And it hits me. I wasn’t the only one who sacrificed over this season so the team could perform well.

Trick did, too.

I unbuckle my seat belt, too, and I stand.

The champagne is behind me. The flight attendants are getting it ready, but I can help.

They smile at me when I reach for the first glasses.

“It’s harder than it looks to hand them out with stumbling,” one of them says.

“I’ll be careful.” I move ahead. The players in the row just ahead of where we were sitting are friendly, making eye contact and everything, and after they take their champagne, I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

It’s going to be okay.

The noise volume rises as we move up the aisle. Trick keeps walking ahead of me, backwards, so his gaze is on me the whole time.

My beautiful oak of a man.

He’s so glorious in his confidence that I don’t even realize that I’ve reached the row where my dad is sitting.

My hand shakes as I hand him a glass of champagne.

He hesitates, than takes it. Then he pats the seat next to him. “Sit and toast with me?”

I hesitate, too, but he’s done roaring, I can tell.

I slide into the seat, and this time it’s Trick who handsmea glass of champagne.

Then he keeps going, serving the rest of the staff.

My dad clinks his glass against mine. “Happy belated birthday, kiddo.”

“Thanks.”

“Why did Trick say he’s loved you all season?” His voice sounds like he’s swallowed razor blades, but it’s a polite enough question.

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