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Fork Guy grins, completely unbothered. “Hey, do you guys wanna go swimming? The pool’s got heated jets, and Brody here’s teaching me how to cannonball. Also, he doesn’t know where his parents are, but it’s cool, we’re on an adventure.”

The kid gives a little wave. “He said he’d buy me a Fanta.”

Jaxon steps up behind me, rubbing his temples. “Why do you have a child?”

Fork Guy shrugs. “He was doing the worm by the vending machines. We vibe.”

I stare at Jaxon, and he stares back, both of us silently asking: Is this really happening? Apparently, it is.

Fork Guy bounces on his heels. “So, pool party? There’s a lifeguard who looks like she could bench press a bus, so we’re safe.”

Jaxon leans in, dropping his voice. “Should we call someone? Like, hotel security? Or, I don’t know, Brody’s actual parents?”

Fork Guy waves us off. “Oh, he’s got a room key. I’m not a kidnapper, jeez. Besides, he said his mom’s playing slots and she’s ‘bad at winning.’”

Brody nods solemnly, as if this explains everything.

I can’t help it—I burst out laughing, some of the tension finally letting go. Jaxon groans, but he’s grinning too.

Fork Guy perks up. “So, is that a yes? Or are you two gonna keep having your epic romance moment? Because Brody and I are about to dominate the pool float obstacle course.”

Jaxon sighs. “Go. Swim. Just… try not to get banned from the hotel.”

Fork Guy salutes with a fork. “You got it, Captain!” He turns to Brody. “Let’s roll, little dude!”

They disappear down the hallway, Fork Guy’s wet feet squeaking, Brody trailing with the weary resignation of a kid used to chaos.

I shut the door, still laughing, and Jaxon looks at me with raised brows. “That’s your fault, you know.”

I nudge him. “He’s your friend.”

He shakes his head, smiling for real now. “We are never naming our firstborn after him.”

I collapse onto the bed, the absurdity of it all making everything feel lighter.

After Fork Guy and his pint-sized sidekick leave, the room settles into something softer, quieter.

Jaxon and I end up side by side on the bed, legs stretched out, the half-eaten ice cream between us.

The TV murmurs in the background, tuned to something forgettable—white noise against the swirl of everything I wish I could say.

We talk about nothing for a while. The hotel’s weird wallpaper. Last week when Jameson set off the fire alarm microwaving a Pop-Tart. He tells me Fork Guy asked to be team mascot next year, and got no promises from the coaches.

Our conversation is easy, almost normal. Like before everything got complicated.

But then the laughter fades, and I feel that old ache twist inside—the one I’ve carried since the blog post, since Inez wrote my life out for everyone, since I lost control of my own story.

I’m quiet for a while, staring at the ceiling. He senses the shift, waits me out. Finally, I turn on my side, facing him, the sheets cool against my skin.

“Jaxon?”

He looks over, eyes soft and worried, like he’s bracing for bad news. “Yeah?”

I take a shaky breath. “I know you didn’t tell Inez. About the miscarriage. Any of it.”

He goes still, relief so raw it almost hurts. “Cam…”

“It was Brynn,” I say, and it feels good to finally let it out, like pulling a splinter I’d left buried too long. “I found out a few weeks ago. I should have believed you when you said you didn’t tell her.” I stare at my hands, voice barely above a whisper. “And I pushed you away because of it.”

Jaxon shifts closer, arms tentative, then certain. He pulls me in, holding me against his chest. I let him. I let myself breathe, for a second, in the space where everything isn’t broken.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just holds me, smoothing my hair, steady and warm. His heartbeat is slow and solid, and I press my forehead to his collarbone, letting myself believe we could survive this. That I could.

“I think it was better that you did push me away,” he finally says, voice rough. “We both needed to live without ‘us’ as a fallback.”

I close my eyes. “I know. I just… I wish I’d believed you.”

He kisses the top of my head. I can feel him smile, a little sad, a little hopeful. “It’s okay. You had every right to be angry.”

For the first time in weeks, I feel okay about the way things are between us.

We lie there, the hush between us easy and my thoughts drift.

It’s impossible not to think about where I was this time last year—how I’d lost so much, how everything inside me felt hollowed out and raw.

I remember another hotel room, the AC rattling, trying to hold myself together the night before a game while hurting because of the baby and the breakup.

I tried to pitch anyway, but my arm felt like lead and my heart wasn’t even in my chest. I couldn’t look at anyone in the dugout.

I couldn’t even look at myself when it all fell apart.

Failure tasted sharp and metallic that day. I thought it would kill me, or at least end the version of me that believed I was built for this and the career I’d hoped to have. For weeks after, I replayed every mistake.

But now, lying here with Jaxon’s arm heavy and warm across my waist, I feel different. Not fixed, but changed. Stronger. I’m not the same girl who crumpled under the weight of grief and expectation. I know I can survive it. I already have.

My dad always said, “Failure is feedback, Cam. It’s the game’s way of telling you what you need to learn.

” I used to roll my eyes, but now I get it.

Losing didn’t end me. It stripped away what didn’t matter, so I could see what did.

I want to win tomorrow, more than anything—but I know I’ll be okay, even if I don’t. I know how to get up again.

Jaxon’s breathing deepens, and I let myself settle into the rhythm, letting the future come as it will. I’m here. I’m ready. And for the first time in a long time, I actually believe it.

I’m drifting between memory and hope when Jaxon shifts, propping himself up on one elbow. His face is serious but open, his eyes searching mine like he wants to make sure I’m really here, really hearing him.

He clears his throat, fingers tracing gentle patterns on the blanket between us.

“Cam,” he says, voice almost a whisper, “whatever kind of relationship you want from here, I’m all in.

If you want to be friends, I’ll do that.

If you want more, I’m down for that too.

You won’t have to wonder about me anymore.

No more situationship, no more guessing where we stand, no more halfway.

” He holds my gaze, and there’s a steadiness there that wasn’t there before.

“I’m in it for you . Whatever you need. I want you in my life, for real. The rest is up to you.”

The words settle over me, warm and solid. For so long, I felt like I was chasing him, trying to decode his silences, trying to guess if he wanted me back, if I was asking for too much. But now—now I have space to choose, and the safety of knowing he’ll be there, however I need.

I let out a slow breath, the knot in my chest loosening. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice thick, “for saying that. For meaning it.”

He smiles, small and real. “I do mean it. All of it.”

We lay there together, and for the first time, the future doesn’t feel like something I have to brace myself against. It feels like something I might actually get to choose.

Tomorrow, the bases will be loaded—on the field, and inside my chest. Pressure everywhere, no guarantees, everything on the line. But I finally get it: you don’t have to knock it out of the park every time. Sometimes, just standing in the box, refusing to run, is everything.

I don’t know what happens next for Jaxon and me. I don’t know if I’ll get the win or strike out swinging. But for once, I’m not afraid of what the game throws at me.

Bases loaded. Full count. Heart pounding. And for the first time, I’m ready for whatever comes next.