Page 35

[Declan]

After our final home game, ending the official season, I enter the media room for another blasted interview. A post-game debrief where I’m certain to be asked about the season and what my hopes are for the month of October.

A team in April is very different from a team seven months later.

As I field questions from various sports reporters from newspaper columns to podcasts, I finally call on India, who isn’t generally in the small, cramped room after the games.

“Tough loss,” she says, her voice loud and clear but off from her typically distant tone. She smiles.

“They all are. Some more than others.” I keep my eyes on her. She’s been my biggest loss this season. The hardest one.

It’s been another ten days since our Vegas reunion. A night where I simply held her in my arms and then repeated our silent sleeping arrangement for two more nights before she flew back to Nashville and I headed to Wisconsin. We didn’t talk again about the future, just basked in the present.

“Truth,” India loudly states, as if agreeing with me about loss.

“Another truth,” she pipes up. “Any to the rumors about you leaving Nashville?”

I narrow my eyes, wondering what she’s playing at. She knows I’ve put out interest for East Coast teams in hopes to set up somewhere near her future.

“My contract is up and I’m open to negotiations, but it never hurts to keep my options open.” I don’t want to leave Nashville, which means leaving Montgomery in her high school years, but once again, I need to make decisions about my future as well.

And I want India to be my future. Loving her is my biggest truth.

“What if the only choice is Nashville? Say three more years? Allowing time for more growth with the team.”

I tilt my head while I defend my boys. “Our team has grown a lot this year.”

“What if I needed more time to grow?”

With wide eyes, I glance at the corner of the room where Connor Reid, India’s boss, stands with his arms crossed, his fist raised to cover his mouth while his head bows. His shoulders jiggle like he’s chuckling, but I can’t be certain.

“I’m not certain what the question is, India?” Because I’m confused by her wording. If she needs more time to grow? I don’t think I heard her correctly.

“Dare.” She smiles in that lazy way she has, and my eyes shift around the room. Am I being punked right now? Are one hundred miniature rubber ducks going to be dumped on me, like the young players have been doing to each other?

“Stay in Nashville.” She smiles bigger, wider, a full-wattage India smile. In public. Aimed in my direction. “With me. ”

I take another cautious glance at Connor Reid, wondering just what the heck is happening here. Amid the gasps of other reporters, some turn in their seats to look at India, where she slowly stands from her chair in the third row.

I stand as well, needing the table in front of me to steady myself a second. Ignoring the microphone and the cameras aimed at me, I round the table, stopping in front of it which brings me closer but not close enough to her.

“Truth,” I announce over Marcus Trent, a local newspaper sports reporter. “Explain to me what’s happening here.”

India glances at her boss, slightly behind her, before she excuses herself to the end of the third row and I meet her there, both of us standing in the narrow aisle.

“I came clean to Connor,” she says to me once we are face-to-face. “I told him about our friendship in the past. Our connection now. I couldn’t wait for this season to end, because there would always be a next season and the next.”

She exhales heavily as her eyes grow hesitant. “And I want to live my life, not wait for another season.”

I nod, watching her, offering her a warm smile in agreement.

A common theme in baseball is there is always next year .

For wins. For losses. For opportunity to go all the way.

But in the meantime, we need to play the game, accept the wins, reflect on the losses, and treasure every opportunity along the way.

“Truth,” India says, lowering her voice. “I love you.”

Despite cameras flashing and subtle chatter, I meet her eyes and brush back a wayward curl that sprung loose from her swept-back hair.

Then, I pull her into my arms, not needing to publicly declare my truth.

“I love you, too, wildfire,” I murmur near her ear, inhaling her wintery scent mingled with the warmth of this room.

“Dare,” someone close by us hollers, catching on to the game tossed between India and me .

The challenge is obvious.

Kiss her.

Which I do.

+ + +

Thank you for taking the time to read DOUBLE PLAY.

If your eye is on the silver fox baseball coach more than the game, you might also enjoy ELEVATOR PITCH .

When a romance author with writer’s block is stuck in an elevator with her sports’ crush, a professional baseball coach.

Turn the page for a sample.

Batter up.

Who is next in the Tennessee Terrors lineup?

CURVEBALL by Ruthie Hendrick

Turn the page to read the first chapter.