Page 55 of Wild Hit (Wild Baseball Romance #3)

AUDREY

“ T hank you for using your nepo-baby powers,” Lucky says from his bed, loopy as all get out on the pain meds he had to be put on so he could hold out for the end of the game, instead of going to the hospital right away.

Reckless? Yes.

Understandable? Abso-freaking-lutely.

Besides, our staff is top notch. The only thing they can’t do is surgery, but we’re equipped with everything that’s necessary to contain his injury and keep him at ease.

Even then, we’re all around him careful not to cause any more damage.

Consuelo fluffs his pillow and pats him on the head like he’s her long lost child.

In his state, the gesture makes him smile like a pampered little kid.

On the other hand, Rose is wiping the sweat off his face, and Hope is making sure that his injured leg is tied well enough so that no sudden movements can affect it.

Meanwhile, I’m holding his gigantic hand in between mine. I’m not a very touchy feely person, but if I was in his place I think I’d want someone to hold my hand. Even better, hold me .

A song that at this point all of us recognize like the back of our hands starts playing. We all slow down and turn our full attention to the TV screen. It’s large enough that I almost feel like I’m there on the field, watching Miguel walk up from the on-deck circle.

Wow.

Goosebumps break all over my body. The noise in the stadium is so strident that it practically makes the walls vibrate—and that’s not through the TV. It’s like the whole world knows how important this at bat is for the team. And for me.

Lucky realizes that I’m muttering something over and over. The word please . And now he’s the one squeezing my hand. “It’s gon’ be fine. That man is yours already.”

I snap my mouth shut with a loud clacking sound. One of my friends is snickering.

“It’s true.” Marty nods at me. “Dad’s been moping around the house ever since you moved back to yours.”

I duck my face, but since I made the mistake of braiding my hair tonight, it’s not currently available to fall like a curtain and hide whatever expression I’m making.

“Just for the record,” I explain, “I don’t want the team to win just for my own sake.”

“Sure.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m loopy but not enough to believe that lie.”

“Besides, what’s wrong with that? I do want you to become my mom.” Marty shrugs. If she wasn’t on the other side of the clinic bed I’d squish her against me.

“Strike!”

We all turn back to the screen. “Shit, I missed it.” I grunt at myself.

It’s the ninth inning and we’re trailing pretty badly.

I need to watch every single second, convey every ounce of my energy to him.

I’ll be happy to never be able to plug a USB cable right the first time, never match socks, get lost every time I drive to a new place, and find my pillow a tad too warm every night.

All I want is for Miguel to shine—and shut up everyone who’s been talking crap about his performance tonight.

“Please,” the word slips out.

Then Lucky joins. “Please.”

And next thing I know, we’re all please-pleasing as the next pitch comes.

“Ball!”

The booing takes me by surprise. Are our fans doing this to Miguel? I will ban them all from the damn stadium if so.

Until I remember that there are plenty of Denver fans in attendance, and also that pitching such a clear and cowardly ball to someone like Miguel is an affront against the sport. I’d boo as well if I wasn’t busy praying with my simple word.

Our own voices rise once more as the pitcher prepares for the third pitch. A little voice in my head says that this is it, three time’s the charm.

Then the ball is launched. We lean forward, even Lucky. He lets go of my hand to prop himself up. We’re all quiet as the camera pans into the ball, flying into the dark sky as if it had wings of its own.

Lucky starts shaking.

“Shit, are you hurt? Should we call someone?” I all but screech.

Instead, he launches a fist in the air and shouts, “?Así es!”

Then the camera returns to Miguel. Only when I see him start to trot at leisurely pace toward first base is when my brain catches up.

It was a home run.

No, a grand slam. We had full bases.

“Oh my wow.” I stumble. I have no idea when I stood up, but my knees shake and I start going down. My friends are screaming and crying and jumping around. Lucky is fortunately tied to the bed because otherwise he’d topple right over.

And I’m on the floor, sitting stunned. Trapped in a reality in between life as of a moment ago versus now.

The Orlando Wild. The dark horse. The un-historic team… well, not anymore. We just took it all. We’re in the history books now.

And Miguel’s smile on the screen does me in.

I start bawling like a baby, my face buried in my hands. I don’t even understand why—I should be freaking ecstatic, jumping around like my friends are. But my chest is being stung by the invisible stab of mourning.

Adam would’ve loved this moment. In an alternative reality, we’d be celebrating like fools, smashing our hands together and screeching in joy. But that wasn’t meant to be.

Just like the previous version of me wasn’t meant to endure for the rest of my life.

Tonight I’m saying goodbye to the Audrey that tucked herself away from the world, who would rather be alone and cold than risk getting attached and hurt again. As of tonight, I promise to myself that I will live with no reservations.

Someone grunts above me and a big hand grabs onto my arm. “Get up, woman. Time to go get your man.”

I emerge with a gasp and let him help me up. Placing a kiss on his forehead, I say, “Thank you, Lucky. For everything.”

He leans back on the pillow. “Make sure the camera captures you and your husband.”

“But like, don’t make it too embarrassing.” Marty cringes a sort of smile.

Chuckling, Consuelo shoos me off with a wink. “Do what you want, I’ll distract Marty over here.”

“Let’s go!” Rose elongates the last word, and with that it gets the three of us going.

The route I had mapped in my head from the family section to the field is no longer necessary. Since coming to keep Lucky company in the team clinic, we have a much shorter commute through the medical wing, then the clubhouse, and straight out of the dugout.

All three of us run with joined hands even as we rush through the tunnel. But once we hit the dugout and our attention shifts solely on finding our boys among the celebrating mass of people on the field, we have no choice but to let go.

“Godspeed, soldiers,” Hope says.

Rose nods. “You too. And don’t forget that kids are watching.”

“It’s okay, I’m in PR. I know how to write a good apology.” The laughter that comes out of my chest is brand new, never before released into the wild. My friends echo it as we split up.

My eyes jump through every face, my heart thumping at a furious pace against my temple.

Every limb trembles with pent up energy, my feet shuffling around to get a better view of the players and staff spread around the diamond.

Streamers and confetti in our colors rain down from the stands, and sprays of various drinks explode like geysers between the players.

And then I find him.

Miguel is surrounded by his teammates, his uniform soaking through and sticking to him like a second skin. His face is split in absolute joy, eyes shining like the stadium lights, his smile so unabashed that I get a glimpse of how he must’ve looked like as a boy.

And then he finds me.

Amid the commotion and glee all around him, somehow my presence is a magnet that has him turning his head clear toward me. I take a step forward that is too timid, too heavy, like my legs are caught in quick sand. Miguel starts making his way between his teammates.

Thomason, who was a fantastic closer for this game, gets the attention of the players around. “Guys, guys. Watch out! It’s time for romance!”

I crack a laugh. Gosh, I love these silly geese. Or silly gators, considering they’re all wearing Lucky’s socks.

If anything, Miguel’s smile grows positively more beautiful as his teammates start clearing a path for him. Finally my legs start cooperating, there’s no cell in my body that can wait any longer.

I’m not the athlete here, but I run—harder than I ever have, my thighs burning and the balls of my feet digging into the green. Miguel blinks in surprise and now he’s the one in quicksand, because he can’t seem to move.

I launch myself at him with all my might, in a feat I probably wouldn’t be able to repeat if I wanted to.

My arms wrap around his neck and my legs around his waist. In my haste, his cap gets knocked off and I’m finally kissing him.

A whimper escapes from my throat, a recognition that I’d denied this moment to both of us for far too long.

Miguel takes a deep breath even as I devour his mouth, those massive and hot hands splaying across my butt so I don’t fall.

Or maybe just because. I squeeze him even harder, delving deeper into his delicious mouth with my tongue, trying to make up for lost time in a single kiss.

I release one hand to press it against his jaw, loving the way it works so hard to savor me as well.

A myriad of voices bounce all around us and dazed, I pull back just a little, enough to find nearly the whole team jumping around us.

“Ack!”

Of course, I should’ve expected to be doused with a cold drink. My muscles tighten and I squeeze harder onto Miguel—All-Star, single dad, my fake husband, my real love.

He laughs into my neck, chasing away the cold with his breath.

“I don’t want to get divorced!” I all but shout over his head.

In case he didn’t hear me, I lean back again, still hanging off him and knowing he won’t ever let me fall.

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to screw up our chance just because I’m always afraid.

I like you way, way too much—more than I dare to say right now—and I also like who I have become since I’ve met you.

I want to learn what being a family is like with Marty and you, and I don’t care what anyone says but—I want to stay with you. ”

I’m holding his face, kind of squishing it. There’s a touch of gold in his eyes under the blaring stadium lights, and they search all over my face. Please continues to repeat in my mind, never have I wanted anything more than I want a lifetime with him.

“Hey Audrey?” Miguel asks softly.

“Yes?” I bite my lip and it catches his attention for a solid moment.

He swallows hard and forces himself to meet my eyes once more. “I also have something to say.”

“What’s that?” My lower lip trembles. I have to use the rest of my willpower to not trap it between my teeth again.

This joyful man gets a glint in his eyes, and next thing he’s squeezing my cheeks a bit harder. Not the ones on my face.

“Turns out I have to disappoint you?—”

“What?” I screech.

“—Because I can’t just be your friend. I want to be that and more. Your lover, your rock, your refuge.”

“You do?” I ask with a thread of voice.

And finally, this friggin’ man breaks into a grin. “Yeah, we might’ve gotten fake married, but I really fell in love with you.”

The fireworks explode in my chest, and laughing, I lean down to claim his lips as mine. Forever.