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Chapter Fourteen

Sam

I stepped out of the dugout and took my time walking across the field, like if I moved too fast this all might vanish. After blowing out my elbow eighteen months ago, I spent the better part of that time wondering if I’d ever take this walk again.

Looking around, I took in all the sights of Victory Park, wanting to savor the moment.

Chalk lines cut sharp as knives down the baselines, and the outfield grass was striped so perfectly it almost looked fake.

The air was thick with a mix of baked dirt and pine tar, and somewhere close, the smell of grilling burgers wove through the afternoon air.

As I reached the mound, I bent down and picked up the rosin bag, feeling its familiar weight in my palm. Dropping it behind me, I toed the rubber and spotted Leo standing behind home plate sixty feet six inches away. I held up my glove and he tossed me the ball.

I’ve thrown thousands of pitches during rehab and nailed an almost flawless bullpen session in front of the coaches, trainer, and doctors. But this is real.

I threw my eight warm-up pitches, each one snapping into Leo’s glove with a solid pop. My fastball’s feeling tight, and that curve’s got a sharp eleven-to-five drop like I want. The ball felt alive in my hand, as if it remembered me, just like I remembered it.

Leo jogged out to the mound and Jack and Monte joined us.

“You look sharp, Sam. Just like old times.”

Jack clapped me on the shoulder.

“Keep it simple and trust your stuff.”

“You got this,” Monte said.

We all bumped gloves and I settled onto the mound, alone with my thoughts.

I took the time to mentally give myself a little pep talk because this is what I’ve been working toward for eighteen months.

No matter what happens, I have to trust myself.

Trust the work, trust the rehab, trust that I’m ready.

The umpire gestured for play to start and the first batter stepped into the box.

The noise from the crowd faded into a dull roar, a distant hum beneath the pounding of my heart as I tuned them out to focus. Leo crouched behind the plate, signaling for a fastball.

With a quick nod, I started my windup, pulled my arm back, then brought it over the top and followed through, landing right at the edge of the grass. I watched the ball smack right into Leo’s glove. He didn’t have to move a muscle.

Strike one.

Next pitch was a curveball that made the batter jump out of the box, but it landed right on the outside corner.

Strike two.

After a slider in the dirt, Leo put down the sign for another fastball that I placed right on the inside corner for called strike three.

The crowd cheered. And even though it's a fraction of the size of First Allegiant Bank Park, it's no less enthusiastic.

The next batter stepped up to the plate, cracking his knuckles like he was ready to send one into orbit. Leo gave me the sign for a fastball low and away. I nodded, wound up, and put it right where it needed to be, sliding across the corner like it was on a string. Strike one.

The batter dug in, trying to time me better on the next pitch. I mixed in a changeup, slow and sneaky, and the batter swung early, missing by a mile. Strike two.

For the third pitch, Leo went back to a fastball, right down the middle this time. The guy swung hard, too hard, and sent a lazy grounder to second. Oskar Marquez scooped it up and fired to first for the second out.

The third batter went after the first pitch and lined it right into Jack Reagan’s glove for the third out. Kicking off my first game back with a quick three up, three down inning felt pretty damn good.

I stepped into the dugout and dropped onto the bench, my heart pounding like I’d just sprinted a double.

Adrenaline still surged through me, and honestly, I didn’t want it to fade.

The scars on my arm were a reminder that I was still here, still fighting—and I wasn’t the same pitcher who’d blown out his arm.

I was sharper, smarter, and hungrier than ever.

And now that my career’s finally moving in the right direction, it’s time to figure things out with Hope and get my personal life on track too. No question, that’s going to be tougher than coming back from surgery.

But I was ready for it.

Hope

I followed Hannah Reagan through the stadium corridors, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Two weeks. Ava had insisted I take two full weeks to visit Sam.

She’s even using some of her vacation time from her day job to cover my classes.

And before I left, we'd already started planning how to revamp the studio schedule when I get back and maybe even hire another instructor so I'd have more flexibility during baseball season.

Hannah glanced back at me with a knowing smile.

“Nervous?”

“Terrified,” I admitted, clutching my purse tighter.

Thankfully she'd given me her number at Leo and Anjanette's wedding and said to call if I ever needed anything. When I reached out about surprising Sam, she'd immediately offered to help pull it off.

“Here we are.” Hannah opened the door to a private suite. “Normally we sit in the regular seats, but we don't want Sam spotting you and getting thrown off his game. And with the sun reflecting off the glass, he won't be able to see you in here.”

Her caution made sense, considering this was his first game back after surgery.

“The other ladies will be up in a minute,” Hannah said.

The last word had barely left her mouth when Ivy, Chloe, and Abby filed in, all warm hugs and excited chatter about my surprise visit. They told me that Karen and Sabrina would arrive later, but Nori wasn't in St. Pete yet but would be here in two days.

“Oh, he’s back on the mound,” Ivy said.

I found myself completely captivated despite knowing almost nothing about baseball. But even I know that the fact that no one reached base is a good thing.

“He looks good,” Abby said as the Waves headed off the field. “Like the old Sam. Totally locked in.”

“I take it that’s a good thing.” They all laughed at my cluelessness. “Obviously I have a lot to learn about baseball.”

“You’ll learn,” Ivy said. “I didn’t know a thing when Rusty and I first started dating and now I can tell the difference between breaking balls.”

I watched the game, sometimes talking with the other women about everything and nothing, sometimes falling completely silent as Sam faced challenging batters. I was completely invested in every pitch and totally disappointed when another pitcher walked out to the mound in the fifth inning.

“Why are they taking him out?” I asked. “I thought he was doing well.”

“Actually, I'm surprised they kept him for four full innings,” Hannah said. “It's his first outing since surgery so they'll be careful with his arm.”

With Sam off the mound, my attention drifted away from the game. Instead, I split my time between chatting with the ladies and searching the dugout for glimpses of Sam. Every time I spotted him, my heart skipped a beat.

Before I knew it, the game was over. The Waves won, 3-0.

“You ready?” Hannah asked, as she stood and adjusted her lanyard.

I nodded and followed her down the steps through the quiet interior of the stadium. She led me past security and down toward the dugout.

“Wait here,” she said, then slipped inside.

I stood alone for a moment, the noise of the world muffled around me. And then Sam appeared. He stopped short the moment he saw me then climbed the shallow steps like he couldn’t do it fast enough. I barely had time to breathe before his arms wrapped around me, and his lips pressed against mine.

“Hi,” I whispered, when he pulled back.

“You’re here,” he said, voice rough. “You’re really here.”

I nodded, tears springing to my eyes.

“Ava’s covering the studio, and when I get back, we’re reworking the schedule, and maybe even hiring another instructor. I want to be able to travel during the season. I want to be with you, Sam. I’m all in.”

“You really mean that?”

“Every word,” I said, laughing through my tears. “I loved your letter. I’ve read it dozens of times. It wrecked me in the best possible way.”

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for months.

“How long are you here for?” he asked.

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks,” he repeated, seeming a little stunned, like he had to say it out loud just to believe it.

His eyes locked on mine, wide with something between disbelief and a grin he couldn’t quite hold back.

“You were amazing out there,” I said. “That was some serious big pitch energy.”

Sam chuckled, then pulled me close, and the sounds of the stadium melted into silence as we lost ourselves in the kiss. I had no idea how long we stayed that way before finally pulling back for air.

“We have so much to talk about,” I started, but he silenced me with another kiss.

“Later,” he murmured against my lips, his voice low and a little unsteady. “We’ll figure it all out later. Right now, I just need to hold you and prove to myself that you’re really here.”

And in that moment, wrapped in Sam’s arms, I knew I’d made the right choice.

The flight, the nerves, the waiting were all worth it for this. For the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that made sense in his whole world. For the way I felt in his arms, like maybe I could finally stop holding my breath.

And whatever came next—home or away, wins or losses, long nights or long-distance—I was all in.