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She doesn’t say anything. Probably because she’s laughing too hard.
Like how I slipped that one in there? And hey, I know it’s soon, and we haven’t said it out loud, but I feel it deep inside my chest.
I haven’t said it yet, but I fell in love with her at 6:00 a.m.—her hair a mess and my hand trailing over her skin. That’s when I knew that somewhere between three bases and home plate, this girl was my home run.
After dinner, Sydney leaves with Tatum to get her to bed, and I stand in the parking lot talking to my dad.
“She’s great, Case,” he notes, watching her van pull out of the parking lot.
I shove my hands in my pockets. “She is. The kid’s pretty great too.”
He leans into the side of his car, his arms crossed over his chest. “Cute kid for sure. What’s your plan with them?” His eyes focus on mine. “I see that look on your face, and hers.”
My dad has always been extremely perceptive to what I’m thinking. “I don’t know. She’s one to wait for. I know that much.”
Pushing off the side of the car, he hauls me into a hug. “I’m so proud of you, Case. I can’t believe I got to see my boy pitch a no-hitter.”
Shit. Don’t cry now. I laugh over the tears trying to let loose and hug him.
“Just remember,” he whispers in my ear, “if it’s right, it’s worth waiting for.”
He told me that same advice when I was offered to play in the majors my senior year of high school. He’s right though. Sydney’s worth waiting for.