Page 85 of Playing Hard to Hate
“You could have fooled me. You look hot as hell,” Millie sputtered. “I hope I look that good when I’m pregnant.”
Logan’s eyes filled with warmth and happiness at the compliment. “I really like you two.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, a quick reminder that this is game five of the playoffs, and what a night it’s been! The Atlanta Braves are currently tied with the New York Navigators, 2-2. The Braves are just a few innings away from punching their ticket to the next round.” The announcer’s loud voice boomed through the stadium, catching our attention.
“On the mound, we’ve got a living legend, Jaxon Dexter, who could be making one of his final playoff appearances before retirement. After an incredible career spanning over a decade, the veteran ace has hinted this might be his last run, and what a way to go out if the Braves can seal the deal tonight!”
Millie and I both turned to look at Logan, who was squirming under the gasps and stares from the other wives. Guess that cat was out of the bag then.
“But the big question on everyone’s mind is who takes his place when he hangs up the cleats? Griffin Silver’s name keeps coming up, and for good reason. The rookie has been nothing short of sensational this postseason, with his first major playoff win hanging in the air and a level of confidence you just don’t see every day. Could we be witnessing the passing of the torch in real time?”
It was my turn to squirm when all eyes turned to me. Griffin hadn’t mentioned anything to me. I had no idea he was going to be promoted, and with all eyes on me, I felt like a total idiot.
“Right now, though, Dexter is locked in, looking to shut down the Navigators and secure the win for his team. He sets, delivers…and strike three! A beauty of a pitch! The veteran still has plenty left in the tank!”
There’s a tense silence in the room now, one that I immediately hate.
“Stay with us. This game isn’t over yet, and neither is the conversation about the future of the Braves’ pitching rotation!”
They won.
The stadium buzzed with the lingering energy of victory, the roar of the crowd still echoing in the tunnels. The Braves had won game five, pushing them one step closer to the championship, and the entire city would be alive with celebration tonight.
I stood near the private entrance to the locker rooms, arms crossed over my chest, trying to steady my racing heart. Millie had left. We had come in her car tonight so I could drive home with Griffin. Logan had led me here and had already been swept up into the arms of her adoring husband.
Around me, the scene unfolded like clockwork. Wives and girlfriends of the players leaned casually against the cool concrete walls, scrolling their phones or chatting like they’d done this a hundred times. Security did their best to keep the media at bay. A few children, too young to understand the pressure of the playoffs, giggled as they ran between their mothers’ legs, waiting for their dads to emerge.
I felt out of place. We hadn’t announced our relationship to the public. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to wait here. Maybe he wanted to keep things private. His agent sure as hell did.
Then, before I could talk myself into leaving, he appeared.
Griffin walked out of the locker room, still in his dirt-streaked uniform, hat pulled low over damp, sweaty curls. He looked utterly exhausted, but he was grinning.A few of his teammates clapped him on the back as they passed, but his eyes scanned the small crowd, searching.
Searching for me. He wanted me here.
The second his eyes found me, he didn’t hesitate. He crossed the small space in a few long strides. I felt the pressure of many eyes on us, but he didn’t seem to give a damn.
My breath caught as he closed the space between us, the scent of sweat, leather, and fresh Gatorade surrounding him. His smile softened into something only I got to see, something real.
“You stayed,” he murmured, voice rough from yelling on the field.
I swallowed. “Of course I stayed. You never mentioned becoming a pitcher again.”
He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Just rumors for now, I promise. Didn’t think you would stay.”
I didn’t know if I would, either. But standing here now, with him looking at me like this, leaving had never really been an option.
His fingers brushed against mine. Just a light touch, hesitant. A question.
I could pull away.
Or I could let him kiss me here, in front of everyone.
“You were my good luck charm tonight,” he whispered quietly.
And I let him inch closer, the space between us diminishing as his nose brushed mine and then his lips.
Braves Take Game Five—But Griffin Silver’s Post-Game Celebration Steals the Show
