Page 30 of The Umpire Strikes Back

We make out like that for what feels like hours, hands roaming but still mindful of the fact that Juniper is asleep down the hall. The intensity flares, and each kiss grows more heated, more desperate. She rocks against me, and I feel her heartbeat thudding in sync with mine. Every brush of her lips sends a delicious ache through my body, and I’m half tempted to carry her to my bedroom right now.

As if reading my mind, Kali slides off my lap just enough to catch her breath, cheeks still flushed. “We should… probably talk about how this is going to work,” she says, voice husky. “Like, with Juniper, and boundaries, and… everything.”

I nod, still trying to steady my pulse. “Yeah. We’ll figure it out. Together.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against my side. She rests her head on my chest, her fingers idly tracing circles on my forearm. It’s so domestic, so sweet, that a part of me aches with gratitude. I never thought I’d have this—a real chance at love, with someone whogetsme and isn’t scared off by my life.

After a few beats of comfortable silence, she lifts her head. “So… we’re doing this, right? Exclusively?”

Relief sweeps through me. “Absolutely,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple. “No question.”

Her smile lights up the room, and she snuggles closer. “Good. Because I’ve already broken the news to Bristol that I’m completely gone for you and Juniper.”

I laugh, exhilarated at the thought that she’s telling people about us. My heart feels almost too big for my chest. “Guess I’ll have to let Hattie know we’re official. She’s gonna tease the hell out of me, but hey, she’s on board.”

Kali tilts her chin up to kiss me again, and this time it’s gentler. I cradle her face, matching her unhurried pace, savoring the warmth of her lips and the taste of her. When we part, we rest in the quiet, bodies tangled in the space of my living room couch, hearts finally on the same page.

“I’m yours,” I murmur, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. “And Juniper… well, she adores you. I think we’re stuck with you now.”

She giggles, eyes shining. “Good. I was hoping to be stuck.”

With that I pull her in for another lingering kiss, and then we head off down to my bedroom.

18

Kali

I’m perched on a low bench near first base, watching the kids scatter across the makeshift diamond as they scramble to their positions. It’s Saturday morning, and the weather in Starlight Bay is perfect for baseball—crisp, sunny, with just a slight breeze to keep the heat at bay. Normally, this is my favorite part of the week: coaching these enthusiastic little players, sharing tips I’ve picked up over the years. But today, my heart isn’t fully in it.

It’s not because I’m unhappy—far from it. In fact, things with Ripley have been amazing these past few weeks. We finally told Juniper we’re officially together, and the way her eyes lit up was pure magic. She raced around the living room whooping, “We’re a real family!” and jumped into my arms, nearly toppling me over. Every time I think about it, warmth floods my chest.

But right now, I’m distracted because Ripley has a day game, and I couldn’t be there. And Juniper’s with me instead of cheering on her dad. Once I wrap up here, we plan to drive over to the ballpark to catch the tail end of his game. Ripley was bummed, but we both figured Juniper would have fun helping me with the other kids.

I glance over to where she’s standing with a small cluster of players, explaining the importance of bending their knees when fielding. She’s wearing her purple T-shirt and cap, her cheeks flushed from the excitement of being “Coach Juniper” for the day. My heart squeezes at the sight. She’s so proud to be helping, so thrilled to have a special role.

“All right, kids!” I call, standing up from the bench. “Let’s reset for one more drill before we wrap. Remember to keep your eyes on the ball and?—”

“Kali!” Juniper’s panicked shout stops me cold. My gaze snaps to her just in time to see a little Caleb swinging a foam bat—except it’s not a foam bat. He somehow grabbed a heavier practice bat we keep in the back. The kid is mid-swing when Juniper steps forward to demonstrate the stance.

Everything happens in a blink. The bat drops, and Juniper trips over it. She tries to catch her fall, but she yelps as her arm hits the ground. The world slows, and my stomach twists with dread.

“Oh god. Juniper!” I sprint over, my heart hammering so loud it drowns out the startled gasps of the other kids. Juniper is curled on her side, tears streaming down her cheeks, her face contorted in pain.

I drop to my knees beside her, careful not to jostle her arm. “Sweetie, it’s okay,” I murmur, pushing hair away from her flushed forehead. She’s whimpering, clutching her arm protectively.

“Kali,” she sobs. “It hurts. It really hurts.”

My chest constricts so tightly I can barely breathe. The other kids and a few parents hover anxiously, unsure what to do. Instinct kicks in—I need to get her to the hospital. If Ripley were here, he’d scoop her up in a heartbeat, but he’s on the mound somewhere, totally unreachable.

“It’s okay, Junebug,” I manage, my voice trembling. “We’re gonna get you checked out. I promise.”

With the help of one of the parents, we gently get Juniper to her feet. She’s guarding her arm, and my panic spikes. I suspect it’s broken, or at least badly sprained. I instruct the parents to wrap up the session, stammering out apologies, then guide Juniper to my car as quickly as possible. She cries softly the whole ride, her face pale, eyes wide with shock. I’m practically vibrating with fear and guilt, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

At the emergency room, the receptionist takes one look at Juniper’s swollen arm and ushers us into the pediatric ward. Nurses hustle around us, asking me questions I’m barely able to process. I hold Juniper’s hand, trying to keep it steady while an X-ray technician explains that they need images to confirm the fracture.

Once they whisk her away for the X-ray, I fish out my phone. My heart sinks—it’s useless to try calling Ripley mid-game. He’s probably in the bullpen or on the mound, his phone stashed in a locker.Hattie,I think, pulling up her contact info with shaky fingers.

She picks up on the second ring. “Kali? Everything okay?”

I swallow hard, tears burning in my eyes. “No. It’s Juniper. She’s hurt. It’s her arm. It’s probably broken. We’re at the ER. I can’t reach Ripley—he’s in the game and?—”

---