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Chapter Twenty-Four

Tahlia

July 19th

T he thing about being in love with Jake Reynolds is that it doesn’t hit you all at once.

It builds.

Slowly.

Steadily.

Until one day, you wake up in his bed with your legs tangled with his and his hand tucked possessively over your stomach, and you realize you haven’t slept in your own place in almost a week.

We still bicker.

Still talk shit to each other.

Still pretend we’re not obsessed with each other when we’re in public.

But the truth?

We’re inseparable, and the sex?

Let's just say I'm thankful for knocking on his door in June.

Since we returned from Atlanta, he's been helping me study for the Bar like it's his full-time job.

Highlighting flashcards, timing practice essays, and even playing judge during mock trials when Joi and Lauren come over.

He takes it seriously, too.

Argues as if he's cross-examining me in federal court. It's ridiculous.

And kind of hot.

He’s got a rehab schedule.

I’ve got a study plan.

And somehow, we’re making it all work.

Mornings start with smoothies and silent reading.

Afternoons end with kisses and case law debates.

Today, though, we’re apart.

He’s prepping for his big return, and I’m just getting back from running errands: the usual grocery store, because the man has a bear-sized appetite, dry cleaners for my clothes, and the vitamin shop for our supplements.

I extended my sabbatical from work until after the exam, yet I'm still surviving on color-coded outlines and caffeine.

I freeze when I step off the elevator with arms full of bags.

The woman stepping out of Jake’s condo is tall with long legs and dewy skin. Her hair is slicked back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a tank top, cutoffs, and a confidence that makes me pause. I know his player lifestyle is over, but some of these thirsty bitches just don’t get it until I explain it to them.

She locks the door behind her, turns, and catches me mid-stare.

“Oh—hi,” she says, smiling like this is her place too.

I blink, trying to be mindful of my words. My pulse speeds up, bracing for a confrontation. "Hi."

I keep walking, plastic bags digging into my hands, trying not to let my mind spiral. I mean, we just—last week was… He said he loved me.

Didn’t he?

She tilts her head. “You’re Tahlia.”

I stop in my tracks. “I’m sorry?”

She walks toward me, still grinning. “I’ve seen your picture. You looked shorter on the sports channel.”

I just blink at her, waiting for further explanation.

“I’m Zoey. Jake’s little sister.”

I nearly drop the bags with relief and immediately cancel the smackdown I had in mind.

“Oh my God. Hi. When did you get in?”

“About forty minutes ago. Not long enough to go through my brother’s pantry.”

“You won’t find anything in there.”

She laughs. “Question. Did you think I was one of his flings?”

" No— Okay, yes. Briefly."

“I figured. You had that who-is-this look on your face.” She jokes.

She’s not wrong. I’d been prepared to let her know a few things.

“I’m only back from London for the summer,” she says. “And no, I’m not insulted. It’s honestly kind of funny. I’ve always told him he’s gonna meet the one he can’t breathe without. And when I saw that picture of you two at the fundraiser, I knew you were his person.”

The weight of her words hit me deep in my chest. You always know when you find that someone special, but hearing it from others takes on a whole new meaning.

“Want to come meet our parents? They’re inside and I know they can’t wait to meet you in person.”

I hesitate for all of two seconds before nodding.

“Let me drop this off first. One second.” I unlock my door and place my groceries on the counter, only taking a minute to put the perishables away and to breathe. Meeting the parents is a major thing, and even though I knew they were coming out this summer, I still wasn’t prepared.

Two minutes later, I’m walking straight into the kind of warm, Southern family dynamic that hugs you before you even say hello.

“Look who I found in the hallway,” Zoey announces when we enter.

“Hi, suga,” his mom squeals when she sees me and hugs me warmly.

Tina Reynolds is a beautiful force of nature in her sundress and sandals and her sweet-as-Texas-tea voice.

“It’s so good to finally meet you in person,” she says, eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, no more trying to see you and Jake through that small screen,” Wade adds. He has the same eyes and the same Texas drawl as his son. “I must say, I’m thankful he's found someone to keep his ass grounded. Ever since he signed that contract, the boy's head just got too big, and he forgot about being humble.”

I smile, nerves slowly unwinding. “Well, sir, we found each other when needed. No matter how it came about.

“How did you two meet?” Tina asks, settling on one of the barstools beside where I stand.

I take the unspoken social cue and sit in the chair next to her while Wade looks on.

“Oh, God. Am I gonna have to leave the room? I don’t want to hear some things about my brother,” Zoey sasses.

“No, no. It’s not like that, exactly. Let’s just say he knocked on my wall with his headboard, summoning my inner rage."

"Ugh, I don't need to hear this," Zoey proclaims with disgust and walks to the living room.

We laugh at her dramatic exit and continue getting to know each other.

I spent the morning hanging out with Jake's family. They are just as sweet and charming as my parents, which made it easy for me to be myself around them. They doted on the fact that I'm a lawyer, and no matter how many times I kept saying I had to pass the Bar first, I was shushed and tsk’d like I was their child. His dad even said Jake and I were perfect for each other. We were both stubborn as a damn Ox. He would know.

Jake texted me earlier to let me know a delivery was coming. When it arrived, inside were jerseys and T-shirts for us to wear tonight, including for my family, right up to the size 2 T-shirt for Ari. Her shirt says Jake's lil’ darlin’ on the back instead of his name. She really did take to him at the family dinner and must’ve made quite the impression.

He also confirmed we will be in the suite instead of the stands, where I usually sit. The suite will be stocked with snacks, drinks, and activities for the kids when they lose interest in the game.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say Jake has been in a somber mood for the past two days. He still moves through the motions, but something in his eyes concerns me. I know this is a big moment for him, and his nerves have to be through the roof.

I check in with my family to let them know we will meet in the parking lot so they can get their new gear.

Joi arrives looking fabulous as ever. “Are you ready to go see your man make his return?”

I let out a deep huff. “Just about. But here’s a jersey and tee for you.”

Joi takes a look and decides to wear the jersey over her old Terrors T-shirt with the mascot on the front.

My phone buzzes, and I'm praying it's not someone backing out. This is a big day for Jake, and we need to all be there for him. When I see the name, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Jake: You sure my mom’s not terrifying you yet?

Me: She hugged me, called me gorgeous, and told me if I break your heart, she’ll ruin my life… but like, very sweetly.

Jake: Sounds about right. How are you?

Me: Well, my boyfriend is making his return today, and this major test I’ve been preparing for my entire life is coming up in ten days. Other than that, I'm great. Your family's amazing, even Zoey, though she did roast your entire fashion history.

Jake: That little traitor.

Me: You nervous?

The bubbles stop dancing for a minute or two before they reappear.

Jake: A little. It’s been weeks. What if I’m not the same?

I sit on the edge of the bed, thumbs hovering over the screen. I get it, and he's right. Something that sidetracks your trajectory, no matter how small, will give someone a tiny ounce of doubt.

Me: You’re not the same.

Jake: …wow. Thanks, babe.

Me: You’re better. Stronger. Focused. And you’ll have a full suite of people who love you. You don’t have to prove anything.

Jake: I’m glad you’re coming. I need to see you in the seats.

Me: Wouldn’t miss it. Got your name on my back and everything. And there will be a stadium full of people who don’t know it yet—but they’re about to remember exactly who Jake Reynolds is.

Jake: Fuck, I love you.

Me: I love you, too.

“Are you finished playing lovey-dovey with your man? We are ready to go, Ms. Girlfriend of a major league ball player,” Joi states.

Jake's family is standing beside her, holding in their laughter.

I roll my eyes, “Yes. I’m ready.”

When we arrive, the stadium is buzzing with energy. We meet in the parking lot, I pass out the new fan wear to my family. Making our way to the suite, Marcus stays behind with the kids so they can play in the area designated for little terrors.

Wade and my dad settle down with a cold one and are already deep in conversation about pitching rotations and cattle feed.

Lauren and Joi start in on their usual prodding of my nerves.

“I don’t know what took you so long to admit you were taken with that man,” Lauren states when she sees me staring out at the field watching Jake warm up.

“You were walking around all calm and collected,” she says, “but you were secretly daydreaming about Jake Reynolds sliding into your home plate the whole time, weren’t you?”

I roll my eyes. “Not sliding. Just… standing. Shirtless. Maybe holding a bat.”

Zoey nearly chokes on her water. “Eww. I’m right here,” she protests.

Joi high-fives me. “Nice comeback, sis. Glad to see you are finally not in denial.”

“How could she be? Jake has chucked that wood so good…” Joi begins but is admonished by my mom.

“Let’s not talk about Tahlia and her private life in front of company, Joi.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joi concedes.

I smile when I think Mom has put a stop to the ribbing these two usually give me over my love life.

“Oh, it’s okay, Angie. Jake was raised on a ranch and knows all about breaking in wild horses," Tina adds, sending them into a fit.

“Well, Tahlia knows a thing or two about riding them. Got it from her momma.” Hard laughter erupts from them all.

“That’s it. I'm done with all of y’all,” I say joining Zoey at the bar.

“They giving you a hard time? Or is that my brother’s job?” She keeps the momentum going and rejoins the others.

"You too, Zoey?"

I give in and join the laugh parade, reminding myself to tell Jake about this later.

Down on the field, the lights dim.

My anxiety increases as I take my seat between our moms.

The speakers come alive after the pre-game anthem and player introductions begin.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen… your starting lineup for your Tennessee Terrors!”

“Leading off, playing shortstop… number 23… Gunnar McNeer!”

“Batting second, at second base… number 7… Damien ‘Diesel’ Donovan!”

“Batting third, the designated hitter… number 24… Lucas Hamilton!”

“Batting cleanup, playing first base… number 21… Eric Wiseman!”

“Batting fifth, in left field… number 19… Evan Parker!”

“Batting sixth, at third base… number 11… Chase Thorne!”

“Batting seventh, catching… number 25… Cassidy ‘Tripp’ Nash the Third!”

“Batting eighth, in right field… number 34… Kelton James!”

The music stops, the lights dim, and then the opening beat to “Centerfield” by John Fogerty plays.

“And batting ninth… making his long-awaited return to the field…”

“Put your hands together… and welcome back to center field… number seventeen…”

“JAAAAKE… REYNOLDS!”

The chorus kicks in as Jake steps out of the dugout last—completely out of order, because of course they saved him for the end.

The place erupts. Fireworks. Lights. Music and cheers so loud it rattles the glass.

Inside the suite, the TV announcers comment on the celebration of Jake’s return.

Announcer 1: “Listen to that welcome. Reynolds is back in the lineup after nearly three weeks off following that brutal rib injury earlier this month…”

Announcer 2: “This crowd has been waiting for this moment—and so has the team. The Terrors have struggled without him in center. But if that smile’s any indication, he’s ready to remind everyone why he’s one of the most dynamic players in the league.”

He takes off his hat, waves to the home team, and other players clap in a show of respect.

Then he looks right at us, smiling brighter than the stars at night.

Our gaze meets, and he blows me a kiss.

Tina squeals. My mom clutches her chest. And I just… melt.

Announcer 1: "And don't miss the kiss—I'm sure he's blowing it up to his girlfriend. But then again, the whole family is here cheering him on. So, who knows.”

“Look. Ti-Ti is on TV," Ellis says, pointing to the display in the suite.

All heads swivel to catch the short delay of the cameras catching me in my swooning moment, and there is no wondering who has his heart for now until forever.

Jake jogs into center field like he never left. His shoulders are loose, his steps light, and he no longer seems worried. He's confident. As though he’s been waiting to reclaim that patch of grass since they carted him off two weeks ago.

“Jake looks relaxed,” Wade says.

I nod my head in agreement. I wish I could be as optimistic as they are. Or maybe they're hiding their worries too. That one game shook me to my core, and I don't know if I can go through that again.

The game has begun, and Murph has already put one down and is working on the next. At the top of the first, the second batter cracks one deep to center.

It’s fast and tailing toward the wall.

Jake doesn’t flinch.

He takes off at a sprint, eyes tracking, glove up, then dives. Full extension. Arms out. Body parallel to the ground. He snags it just before it hits the turf, lands hard, and rolls.

The stadium explodes in a raucous cheer.

Tina’s clutching her chest as if she might faint. Wade slaps the glass while Joi screams.

Jake pops up, glove raised with all the cockiness he can deliver.

I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face when I see him back in his natural element.

But he’s not done.

In the top of the second, he reads a blooper before it even leaves the barrel. Charges in, slides low, and scoops it inches from the dirt. In the third inning, he guns down a runner tagging from second with a no-hop throw to Tripp behind the plate.

Every time the ball leaves a bat, he’s there. Fast. Focused. Fearless.

And the crowd is eating it up.

It’s the bottom of the fourth, and Jake steps out of the dugout for his first at-bat of the night. The stadium lights lock on him.

He's wearing his black compression sleeve, which he refuses to wash on game days, because superstition apparently trumps hygiene. His jaw is rough with that stubborn layer of pre-game stubble. And I know for a fact he didn't shave last night.

He steps into the left-handed batter’s box, crowds the plate for a second, then shifts back a few inches, just to screw with the pitcher’s rhythm. Typical Jake.

He lowers his bat. Taps the plate once, then twice. It’s his tell. His ritual. His way of saying: I’m home.

The pitcher winds up. First pitch—high and tight. Damn near clips his chest.

Jake doesn’t budge. Doesn’t blink. Just stares back like he’s daring the guy to try it again.

I, on the other hand, gasp so hard that my chest hurts. I grip my knees to keep them from bouncing, my fingers digging into the denim of my jeans.

Tina slides her hand over mine as if she knows I’m seconds from coming unglued.

My mom doesn't speak. She just squeezes my other hand once, tight and grounding. No one in the suite is breathing normally.

Down on the field, Jake takes a breath like it’s nothing. Like a ninety-four-mile-an-hour heater almost clipping his ribs is just background noise.

Second pitch—fastball. Low and inside. Strike one.

Jake exhales through his nose. Doesn't argue. Just readjusts his stance and loosens his grip.

That little hitch in his swing, that tiny delay that used to drive scouts crazy, flares up in his hands. Like his whole body is saying: I dare you.

The third pitch comes, and he swings.

A foul ball popped straight back into the net.

The suite shifts with nervous energy.

“I can’t look,” Joi professes, placing her hands over her eyes.

Two strikes, with the bases loaded, and two outs. This is it for this inning.

The pitcher stares Jake down as if he’s trying to intimidate him.

Jake grins with a delicious smile. And just to be a menace, he crowds the plate.

The fourth pitch comes in high again, almost identical to the first.

Jake spots it when it leaves the pitcher's hand and leans back. Doesn’t even bother to chase it.

“Ball ,” The umpire calls.

The pitcher’s rattled now. I can see it in his stance and how he keeps tossing the ball into his glove.

Jake steps out. Adjusts his gloves. Taps the plate. Once. Twice. Then he lifts the bat again.

The crowd leans forward, studying the next moment—the one that can make the inning go longer or end.

The fifth pitch is a fastball. Center-cut. Hanging just long enough.

"Come on, baby," I whisper.

He clocks it and swings.

CRACK.

It’s not just a hit—it’s a shot. One of those clean, brutal sounds that makes the entire stadium pause for a half-second before detonating.

The ball launches deep right.

The outfielder doesn’t even bother to turn. It’s gone before it clears the wall.

A GRAND SLAM.

The suite erupts. Fireworks blast from the scoreboard. People are screaming, stomping, and hugging.

I’m on my feet. Hands over my mouth. Heart racing.

Jake rounds the bases like it’s nothing—but I know better.

Third base. Home plate. Helmet off.

He taps his chest twice.

Then looks up right at me.

Like I’m the only one in this stadium who matters.

And just like that, the air comes back into my lungs.