Page 47 of Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots #4)

With one hour to go until the home opener, Skylar sat in her car staring at the license plate of the SUV parked in front of

her. BUBOUND read the license plate. On the glass, just above the stationary windshield wiper, were various boasts. My kid graduated with honors from Sun Valley High School. Sun Valley Honors Society.

How many kids did this person have? Surely it couldn’t all be the same kid.

What kind of bumper stickers would she and Robbie have on the family car? Hypothetically, of course. If she hadn’t blown the

whole relationship to smithereens.

He’d definitely have to slap something hockey-related on there.

Our kid ate your honor student. Easily.

She’d let him put whatever bumper stickers he wanted on the car with the caveat that she be allowed to get her dream license

plate. 3XUROUT. If their kids turned out to be competitive freaks like their parents, that car would always be parked outside

of arenas and gymnasiums and fields, just like the one in front of them.

Thinking this way was pointless. Premature, too.

Skylar hadn’t heard from Robbie since Thursday night when he left Rhode Island in an Uber, and she didn’t even know if he wanted children.

These tales she’d been weaving in her mind since that awful night were a form of self-punishment and she couldn’t seem to stop doing it.

Upon waking up every morning, she opened her eyes and thought, What would Robbie say if he was waking up beside me right now?

I’m starving was usually the front-runner.

Skylar rubbed her weary eyes and dropped her head back heavily against the rest. “Get out of the car,” she urged herself,

hyperaware that she only had ten minutes before she was due on the field for warm-ups. “Go to the locker room. Change. Wake up. ”

Not so easy, it turned out. Her legs didn’t want to work, let alone her pitching arm.

Instead of exiting the vehicle, for the one-millionth time she went into her Notes app and read through the various text messages

she’d drafted to Robbie. None of them were good enough to send. He’d probably already moved on in spectacular Robbie fashion,

anyway, and she couldn’t blame him. At some point, she’d have to do the same, but... she didn’t want to. That was the problem.

She wanted to stay right where she was.

In love with Robbie Corrigan.

That’s where she was supposed to be.

Skylar turned off the engine with a choppy grab, using the back of her hand to swipe away the excess moisture in her eyes.

She stepped out into the cool spring evening, popping her trunk to remove her equipment bag, settling the strap on a shoulder

that only wanted to droop.

After securing the trunk lid and locking the car, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, beginning the shaky walk to

the locker room entrance. As she approached, the voices in the distance grew louder. Her younger teammates and their loved

ones exchanged final well wishes before the players disappeared into the red double doors. Her parents never walked her to

the entrance on opening day, though she’d always wished they would—

Skylar slowed to a stop when she heard her father’s unmistakable chuckle, followed by her mother’s high-pitched titter.

Elton’s sarcastic tone. They were waiting outside the locker room?

Really? She’d known they were coming to her home opener, of course, but they usually just went to their seats and waved to her during warm-ups.

As she got closer and noticed they were in the Boston University T-shirts Robbie had bought them, Skylar almost turned around

and ran back to her car, because everything north of her belly button tightened at once, her neck tendons turning like cranks,

her tear ducts burning. But she couldn’t turn back now, because Elton had spotted Skylar, giving her that smug/dry smile reserved

only for siblings.

This is what she needed. A boost from her family.

She’d take it, then do her best to get focused.

“Well, if it isn’t legendary pitcher Skylar Page,” Elton said, too loudly. On purpose.

“Hey,” she called back, forcing a smile and reshouldering her bag. “What are you guys...”

That’s when she noticed the man standing beside Elton. He’d been crouched down tying his shoe. But he stood to his full, impressive

height now, red hair visible around the edges of his Bearcats cap, his gaze cutting through the agony of the last few days

and stopping Skylar in her tracks. The bag slipped off her shoulder and landed with a shoof on the ground, her pulse flying into a chaotic sprint. She couldn’t find any words, probably because they were all twisted

around her vocal cords and squeezing.

“Hey, Rocket,” Robbie said, levelly.

Still mad at her. Still mad. “You came?”

“Didn’t I say I would?”

She zipped her gaze to the ground and left it there while she tried to swallow the emotion in her throat.

Looking at him was too hard when she needed to be composed.

Focused. When she finally gathered enough wherewithal to lift her chin again, though, Robbie was standing directly in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking out everything behind him.

“Hey,” she said, lamely, unable to meet his gaze. Staring at the slight cleft in his chin, instead. Or was that a dent from

a puck?

“Hey,” he said, pausing for a moment before taking off his hat, dropping it to his outer thigh. “You going to look at me?”

“I can’t.”

“It’s bad enough suffering through hour after hour without you, Skylar.” His voice turned gruffer as he spoke. “Knowing you’re

in bad shape, too, might be the death blow, you know that? Look at me.”

Suffering? Her eyes lifted of their own accord to search for signs of misery and... God, she found them. His eyes were

bloodshot and sunken deep, creases on his forehead that hadn’t been there before, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “You see what life without you does to me?”

Her breath caught. “Did you come here to tell me you’re miserable?”

“I didn’t know what I was going to do until I got here and saw you.”

“And?”

His Adam’s apple lifted. Stuck. “You have a ball and a couple of gloves in that bag?”

“I always have a ball and a couple of gloves,” she whispered, aching with the barely controlled need to throw her arms around

him and inhale his scent. “Why?”

“You told me the first pitch is the hardest. That once you throw the first one, you settle into your game.” He toed her fallen

bag with his boot. “Why don’t you throw it to me before you go in? Get the nerves out of your system.”

I love you.

I love you I love you.

The gesture wasn’t necessary. They both knew the true first pitch wouldn’t start until she stood on the mound. That would be the one accompanied by ten thousand mosh pitting nerves. His offer was simply proof that he knew her so well. That

he still cared. That he had been listening and paying attention and learning her.

It meant the world.

“Okay,” Skylar said quietly, surprised when her agreement seemed to drop Robbie’s shoulders with relief, his chest expanding.

Trying not to read too deeply into his presence, his actions, she got out the gloves, handing him one. As he backed up along

the edge of the stadium, Skylar saw that everyone else had left, including her parents and Elton. It was just her, standing

with the ball, and Robbie, dropping into a catcher’s stance thirty yards away, his hat turned backward, waiting, the sounds

of the parking lot beginning to hum with early arrivals.

She expected the pitch to be a formality. A quick show of goodwill that she probably didn’t deserve. But that’s not what happened

at all. As she stood there, preparing to throw, his unwavering gaze slowly started to calm the choppy ocean surface inside

of her. His lips weren’t moving, but somehow, she could hear him, feel him on every side of her, his presence a reassurance.

Everything was currently not all right, but the longer she took to throw the ball, the more his expression changed, becoming one of naked vulnerability,

the knot in his throat getting trapped beneath his beard.

Skylar wound up and pitched, hitting the dead center of his glove.

He smiled at her, stood, and removed the glove while shaking out his hand.

“Nerves.” Robbie winked at her. “What nerves?”

She threw her glove down and ran to him. And it was a singular kind of euphoria knowing that even though things weren’t perfect

or back on track by any means, he’d still catch her. He’d still show up. Halfway to his open arms, she knew she could trust

this man with her heart. Trust him, period. It was right there in the unwavering dedication in his eyes, in the way he didn’t

budge an inch when she landed against him, his arms catching and holding her there. Squeezing her tight and rocking her, neither

one of them seeming to breathe.

“I might still be hurt and angry that you doubted me and went on a revenge mission after I went all in on us, Skylar,” he

said, hoarsely, “but I’m painfully in love with you, too, and that’s not going to change.”

Heart elevating, she made a choked sound into his neck. “I miss you so much.”

“God, I miss you, too. Every fucking second.”

Tell him you love him.

Skylar needed to say those words, but they wouldn’t come out. They remained locked in her most stubborn of recesses, refusing

to be uttered until she earned the right to say them. When she did, when she allowed herself to make that declaration in return,

he needed to know she meant them with her entire heart. Right now, he still doubted her, the way she’d doubted him—and the

turnabout sucked, but there it was.

There they were.

Robbie set her down with palpable reluctance, holding her against his body, his breath accelerating against her temple when she shifted against him, lifting on her toes and letting him feel her breasts and belly and the gap between her legs, trapping a moan when he braced a forearm against her butt and rocked her closer, his mouth finding hers in a groaning kiss, a melting, hungry one that at once satisfied and starved her even more.

The kind of kiss someone gave their partner before sending them off to war, but it was coming from both sides, so much passion in the single melding of tongues and lips, she grew dizzier and dizzier in the sunlight.

Gloves and ball were dropped in favor of his fingers digging into her hair, while Skylar traced the grooves of his ears, his neck, his shoulders, simply needing to reacquaint and memorize.

A car door slammed a few yards away and they still couldn’t stop kissing, not right away. It was more of a gradual slowing

down out of necessity, both of them pulling back, dazed while trying to catch their breath.

“There is no one in this world for me except you,” he said, looking her in the eye. “Go in there and pitch the lights out.

I’ll be there. I’ve got your back.”

Skylar’s heart rapped wildly in her chest. “I know.”

He swallowed hard as he backed away. “Good.”

That was the last time she saw Robbie until he was sitting in the stands, wedged in between Elton and her father. Eating a

foot long chili dog. Obviously.

Everything was going to be all right. That belief was unwavering.

Robbie had made himself clear by showing up. Declaring himself so lovingly.

Now she had to find a way to do the same.

To give him the same faith and security he’d given her.

A grand gesture.

An idea would come to her... but would it be a good enough one?

That was a different story.