Page 167 of Through the Water

“All for you, baby,” I whispered, lifting my eyes to the vibrant bursts of color in the night sky.

The entire team came spilling out of the dugout as Bailey tied it up. I crossed the plate behind him, choking back tears as I remembered the little boy who’d dreamt of this exact moment as he swung a bat in his backyard.

My teammates mobbed me almost immediately, slapping my back while jumping up and down. Bailey pushed through the crowd and lifted me off the ground, knocking my batting helmet to the dirt.

“We did it—we fucking did it!” he bellowed, leaving me deaf in my right ear.

I grinned and punched the air before being tackled to the ground from behind. Network cameras circled around us, capturing the high-fives and handshakes, the water bottles being shaken over my head.

Since the beginning of my hitting streak, I’d avoided looking up into the crowd, convinced I’d jinx myself by letting them in. There was also pressure to perform, knowing my parents and their friends were watching. They’d been buying up tickets left and right since the playoffs began, probably for the kinds of people who didn’t care about the game but wanted to be able to brag that they’d been in the seats.

Now that it was over, I couldn’t help but glance up to the club level, scanning the crowd for their familiar faces. I found my dad first, seated on the second level behind home plate. His hand was around his mouth, his shoulders rising and falling on a sob. When our eyes met, he nodded and gave me a thumbs up.

My mama was a couple seats down, embracing a woman in a Hurricanes ball cap and jersey. I assumed it was either a friend or someone who’d become one over the course of the game. Mama was the type of person who’d never met a stranger. When two other women joined their hug, I froze, feeling my jaw go slack.

Someone barreled into my side, slapping me wildly between the shoulder blades, but I couldn’t move. My eyes were glued on the woman in my mother’s arms, willing her to look down at me.

An eternity later, she pulled away, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her thumbs before throwing her head back in a laugh I wished I was close enough to hear. I’d missed her with every fiber of my being, but with one look, the ache in my chest fled, and my mouth curved into a wide grin.

A moment that had been almost perfect was now flawless

You’re standing on the field, surrounded by your teammates and reporters, but you’re not looking at them. You’re looking up into the seats. Who are you waiting for?

Ari.

After one year, nine months, and twenty-five days, my girl had come home.

For me.

* * *

“Now, talk to me about that last pitch from Antonelli. What was going through your head?”

I was in the middle of an interview with James Donovan of Fox Sports when I felt her presence. I turned and caught a flash of red hair behind the blue barricade set up around the stage. We’d been herded onto it for the trophy presentation. I’d gone through the motions, slipping the championship t-shirt over my jersey and smiling for the cameras.

“Uh,” I hedged, loosening the string of my bracelet with shaking hands. “Excuse me for a second. Listen, have you talked to Bailey yet? He’s the real star of the show. His single was a game-changer for us.”

Bailey looked up at the mention of his name and ambled over, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “You rang?”

“Yeah, Donovan’s got some questions for you,” I mumbled, closing my fist around a bracelet that suddenly felt heavier before making my way toward the stairs.

Ari lifted her chin with a frown, biting her bottom lip as she scanned the stage, completely unaware that the man she was searching for was making his way toward her. Just like he’d been under the impression she was in a different country.

Turnabout was fair play, after all.

I’d known I wanted her to be my wife since the night I sat by the bed and watched her sleep. The same night I realized that letting her go was the only way to keep her safe. In the time we’d spent apart since want had developed into need.

Marriage had become a frequent topic of conversation between the two of us for the better part of the last year. I could have proposed any number of times by now, and she’d have said yes. But some part of me had always held back, feeling like the timing wasn’t right.

What started as a means of escape had developed into something of a spiritual journey along the way.

Something sacred.

So, I decided to wait until she was ready to come home. When the ring on her finger wouldn’t feel like a means of control, but a promise of the life we were going to build together.

I worked my jaw as I took the stairs two at a time, rehearsing the words in my head. I’d always pictured this moment happening in an airport, with me dropping to one knee near the baggage claim.

But I had to hand it to her, this was much better.

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