Page 115 of Through the Water

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath to calm my nerves before removing her blindfold. “Okay, we’re here.”

“Killian,” Ari breathed in awe, spinning a small circle as she took in the metal and glass that made up the stadium. “This is—this is amazing!”

“Well, this is only the entrance,” I said with a laugh, before tugging her hand. “Come on. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

After scanning my badge, we took the elevator down to the clubhouse. Ari lagged behind from the moment we stepped off into the hallway—slowing in front of a sign for the laundry room, before coming to a complete standstill when we reached the Wall of Honor.

Her fingers moved over the plaques, lips moving silently as she read the names of players whose jerseys had been retired and the achievements earned by both individual players and the team as a whole.

I pushed on, dragging her along like a kid at a school open house, eager to unveil my plan. The details were crucial as I’d prepared a speech to coincide with each location. Step one was the locker room where I’d reveal the details behind the day I’d been called up. Step two would take place down on the field.

Shit, I think the field was supposed to be step one.

“Wait.” Ari pulled her hand from my grasp. “Just wait a minute. I wasn’t done with that.”

I nodded distractedly and continued moving forward. Clearly, I should have used my sudden insomnia to prepare notecards in case I panicked and forgot everything.

“Okay, so I take it you’re just going to keep going?”

My heart was racing as I tried straightening out the plan in my head. Maybe she wouldn’t notice if we turned back and moved to the field. When we got there, I’d tell her—well, it’d probably come to me.

“Killian?” I turned to see find that Ari was still at the Wall of Honor, brows furrowed in confusion and fidgeting with her necklace.

“Come on, slugger. Thought with two good knees, you’d be able to keep up.”

She shook her head and planted her feet shoulder-width apart, prepared to stand her ground. “No. You come here.”

Locker room… field… stands?

No, that last one definitely wasn’t right.

“I will—just as soon as we see this one thing,” I coaxed. When Ari didn’t budge, I sighed and returned to where she stood. “What’s wrong?”

“This is your name, Killian. Right here.” She pointed to the American League MVP plaque from last season. “And here—you were the Hurricanes MVP in 2017.”

Her fingers moved delicately over the red stitching on the baseball I’d signed after winning an award that hadn’t meant anything to me at the time. I lifted my eyes back to hers. “And?”

She shook her head, reaching up to squeeze my bicep. “Maybe to you this is nothing special, but it’s my first time in your world, Killian. Can I just have a minute to soak it all in and celebrate your victories?”

Damn, had she written hers down on notecards?

“I—” I swallowed. The script in my head had vanished somewhere in the parking lot, so I spoke the words on my heart. “I hate karaoke.”

The organ in my chest was a terrible speechwriter, something I realized right about the time Ari’s hand slipped from my arm and fell back to her side.

“No—wait! Let me start over. I mean, I hate karaoke—”

Ari crossed her arms over her chest with a terse nod. “Yeah, you mentioned that already.”

“I do,” I admitted with a wince. “Shit—what I’m trying to say is that I’ve never really enjoyed witnessing drunk people mumble or squeal their way through a song. But getting to watch you do something you love was a priceless moment that I’ll keep with me forever. I saw you come alive up on that stage, slugger, showing me a side of you I didn’t even know existed. And I wanted to return the favor by bringing you to where I feel most alive.”

Her lips curved up in an almost reluctant smile as she reached for my hand. “Baseball is your church, just like music is mine. You wouldn’t go tearing through Westminster Abbey or St. Peter’s, because holy places deserve respect. And this, Killian? This is a holy place for you.”

I nodded once, before taking a minute to regroup. Ari was right—she was always right. I could drag her all over the stadium while rattling off my biography, but she wouldn’t know me.

“When I was fourteen, I took the baseball from my very first little-league game and made these.” I released her hand to roll my shirt sleeve up. Her attention snagged on my ink before lowering to the two bracelets I wore every single day.

“You made these?”

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