Page 46

Chapter Forty- Six

“ I can’t believe you wanted to sit in the cheap seats. Again,” Owen grumbles beside me, shifting every two seconds, attempting to get comfortable. His leg cast is huge, neon yellow, and it creaks with every move of his bulky weight. My eyes roll to the back of my head, annoyed by the constant complaints, but I try my hardest to be nice—he’s miserable but trying.

“Owen, you can always head to Dad’s luxury box. The game’s nearly over. There’s no shame in hobbling up there. I’m sure you’d be much more content.” Silently, I beg him to leave, but the way he locks his jaw lets me know that won’t be happening anytime soon.

“No. You need me here to protect you,” he mutters mutinously .

“She most certainly does not,” Emma pipes up from my other side, her curly black hair swinging back and forth in a long ponytail. “Miller has no less than three bodyguards and five rows of separation between us and the nearest people. So, try again, Mr. Surly Sack.”

Owen glowers at her, and she glares right back, not giving him an inch. They’ve been giving each other shit the entire game, and it makes me miss the soft, kind presence of Mari all the more. I love Emma to death, but she’s utter crap at soothing a grumpy Alpha. Unfortunately, Mari’s headed to a whole other continent to help take care of her sister. She’s planning to be gone for six months, tops, but something about the whole situation gives me a stomach ache.

I hope she’s all right.

“Fine. Fine. You don’t need my protection. You’re a big, strong, independent omega and all that…” He pulls the baseball hat from his head and crushes it between his hands before shoving it back on his head. I could take his attitude personally, but we’ve been working on his dickish behavior. Raising my eyebrow, I give him the look. An exasperated sigh floats from him. “Fuck. Sorry. I’m an asshole.”

He’s awful at apologies, but at least he’s learning.

“You forgot to mention, smart and a successful business owner,” I sniff primly before sticking my tongue out so he knows all is forgiven. I’m joking, but it’s also the truth. The professional equipment Miller set up for me has doubled my efficiency, and my jewelry is selling out as fast as I can make it. Custom orders are rolling in, and with graduation just around the corner, I can’t wait to devote myself to my craft full-time .

The delicious scent of nachos reaches my nose, and I marvel at how much more vibrant life is now. Scents are all around me: the field grass, so many foods, Emma’s light perfume—coming to the stadium is totally different. The kind beta server eyes my brother warily as she passes us the snacks.

“Thank you,” I say, nudging my brother in the cast before passing his nachos.

“Ouch. Oh. Right, thanks,” he utters distractedly, piling chip after cheesy chip in his impossibly large mouth. Such a neanderthal.

Emma makes a gagging noise, and I can’t help but laugh. He is the grossest.

“Oh, fuck it all. COME ON, CRIMSON,” Owen shouts, leaning forward, his fight with Emma forgotten. The game has been brutal. Without our star pitcher, wins have been harder to come by. If the Feckers lose this one, all our playoff chances are going to blow right out the window. A win or a tie will keep our season alive. The backup pitcher isn’t any good, and the rest of the team just seems off without Owen’s leadership, which leaves them where we are now.

Losing 1-0 at the bottom of the 9 th inning with only two batters left.

Glancing at the stands, Crimson, unflappable as always, smirks and flips off my brother before choking up on the bat and stepping up to the plate. He does a practice swing, making the air whoosh around him while the stadium holds its collective breath. If he gets a home run, we’ll tie, while a single or double would still leave a bit of room for a win. Unfortunately, Miller is the final batter, and it’s not his strength. There’s a good chance the Feral Feckers are going to lose today, but as die-hard lifelong fans, we never lose hope until it’s over.

The pitcher winds up and sends a curveball sailing past home plate. A swing and a miss for Crimson. Strike one.

“Get it together!” Owen hollers next to me like a maniac.

He winds up again. This time, it’s a fastball that hits Crimson hard on the shoulder. Shit, a walk. Frustrated, Crimson hangs his head and jogs slowly over to first base. Definitely not what we needed.

Now, our only chance hinges on Miller being able to hit at least a double or more—something he rarely does. A loud whistle blows, signaling a timeout, and my Alpha walks over to talk to the head coach.

“This is so bad. Your stupid boyfriend is the worst batter in the history of baseball,” Owen gripes. His nerves make mine worse than ever.

“He’s my mate ,” I correct automatically, my eyes never leaving Miller. Like he can feel my gaze, he lifts his head, and our eyes lock together. I send him every ounce of love pulsing down the bond and blow a kiss. The big goof snatches it out of the air and brings his hand to his mouth before shaping his hands like a heart.

“God, you two are so gross. Absolute barf,” Owen grouses.

“Can it, Grumpy Gus,” Emma snaps, narrowing her eyes at him. “If they lose, it’s not the end of the world. And we all know Miller and Posie are adorable. You’re just super jelly your pack hasn’t found their omega.”

It’s a below-the-belt hit, but it packs a big wallop, and Owen growls at her. Emma couldn’t care less, though, relaxing and meeting his eyes with her own show of dominance. She shouldn’t be able to, but my girl stares down my big brother until he’s the one who turns away, leaving me shocked. He never backs down.

The whistle blows, signaling the resumption of the game.

Miller saunters up to the plate in all his pinstriped glory, his ass bunching under the flimsy material. My mouth waters, watching his muscles clench and flex. Even his damn forearms make me needy with desire.

He steps forward, and I can feel what he does. His heart thumps steadily in his chest, and his awareness narrows to the swath of land between him and the pitcher. He can do this; I know it deep in my soul.

The first ball arcs wide, a slider that no one saw coming. Miller misses it by a mile.

Come on, baby.

He shrugs it off and taps the plate a few times with the nose of his bat before taking up his stance once more. Crimson trots a few steps away from first, and the pitcher winds up. My palms get sweaty, and my hands clench so tight that my knuckles turn white.

A nasty curveball breaks to the right. Miller misses. Fuck.

“STRIKE TWO,” the umpire yells, and I want to jump down onto the field and punch him in the nose. Can’t he see Miller’s trying?

Miller glances up at me, and I mouth the words, “I love you.”

With a smile, he steps up once more. This time, a fastball speeds for home, and everything goes in slow motion. Miller’s bat smashes forward, crashing into the ball and sending it soaring high. He tosses it to the side and runs as fast as he can for first base. Crimson heads for third, and the crowd is up on their feet screaming.

The ball’s still going, heading for the stands, and some grateful fan’s mitt. My heart pounds, and my feet carry me to the railing behind the dugout to cheer my Alpha on. Watching him run the bases, I scream so loudly that I become hoarse.

“IT’S GONNA BE A HOME RUN!!!!” People are on their feet, shouting. Crimson crosses home plate, securing a tie while Miller rounds third. The crowd goes wild.

He crosses over third plate, arms and legs pumping with everything he’s got, and heads for home. The crowd goes wild, throwing hats onto the field, but I only see Miller, his arms outstretched as he runs right over home plate and keeps running.

Right to me.

Tossing my legs over the rail, I bend forward, and he plucks me out of the stands, lifting me high above him for the kiss of the century. His lips cling to mine, pouring all his love, passion, and elation into me until I’m breathless.

The roar of the stadium is deafening, and when we finally break apart, our picture flashes on the jumbotron for all to see. I laugh as he continues to hold me up for another moment before sliding me slowly down his body.

“That was an amazing hit,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his back.

“It was nothing. You’re my real home run, Puff…” He cups my face, tilting it for one more kiss before lifting me into his arms and carrying me off the field and into our…

HAPPILY EVER, FOREVER