But still, holding her hand like this, I feel free.
Free to be together.
To know that we need each other.
When we reach her block, I tug her close, thread my hands through her hair, and kiss the breath out of her.
As I let go, she sighs with a “Wow.”
But then, something catches my eye, the way something familiar cues you to pay attention.
A car pulls away from the curb in front of Reese’s place. There’s a red-haired woman in the passenger seat. And behind the wheel is my coach.
32
Holden
This is not how I wanted him to find out about me and Reese.
Not at all.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Do you think he knows?”
What a dumbass question.
She nods to one of the front steps, where I spot the bag with the sweater I gave her. Reese gives me a soft, indulgent smile, and then a gentle whisper. “I think he does now, since that was him dropping off my sweater. I must have left it at his place earlier.”
“Fuck,” I groan. “Do you think he’s pissed?”
“I don’t know him—the man he is now—very well, but he surprised me this morning. And I think he’ll be fine with it. I told him I’d met someone. I didn’t tell him it was you, just that it was someone who made me wildly happy.”
And all the tension melts away. She must feel the shift because she asks, “Are you okay?”
Am I?
At first, I didn’t think I was.
But as I stare at this woman I love, there is only one answer.
Yes.
Thompson just found out sooner rather than later.
“I’m so good,” I say. Then I clasp her face, gaze into her eyes, and tell her, “I’m so incredibly good.”
All other thoughts fade away. Because this right here? This is what matters—standing outside with her.
Being fearless.
Knowing it’s our time.
Knowing this is our chance and we’re taking it.
“Want to know why?” I ask.
“Tell me.”
“Two years ago, all I wanted was to find a way to be with you. I was willing to fly around the country to see you in between games.”
“I wanted that too.”
“Then you had your great opportunity and you took it and that was amazing and I was happy for you. A few weeks ago, I ran into you again. And everything felt right. All I wanted was to find a way to see you more.”
“I wanted that too, Holden.”
“And you know what? We finally have that, after wanting it since we met. I’m not letting this slip through my fingers because of fear. Not because my plans are different, or the timing is wrong. You’re no longer my what-if woman. You are just my woman, and I’m letting go of all of the what-ifs.”
She loops her arms around my neck and threads her fingers into my hair, playing with the strands. “Then you better give me a red-hot kiss before you head to the ballpark, slugger.”
That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. To have her like this, kissing on the front steps of her place before I leave for a game. I drop my lips to hers and give her a good, long, lingering kiss. It’s deep and passionate and true. It’s everything.
“See you at the ballpark,” I say before I go.
I don’t have a plan for what I’ll say to her father tonight, and I’m okay with that.
I’ve spent so much of my career putting plans in motion, running on a routine, being ruled by an inflexible agenda of goals and expectations.
But the problem is I’ve worried too much about what others would think. What the press would think. What the public would think. What my coach would think.
I’ve been hemmed in by a road map, but even more so by my fear of deviating from it.
I put this pressure on myself to achieve as a thank-you to my parents, but that’s not why they did what they did.
That’s not why they went to every game, made sure I had every opportunity to reach my potential. They didn’t do it for me to give them something in return. They did it because they love me.
I’m so damn lucky to see that for what it is. Their time isn’t a debt that I have to repay. It’s a gift they gave me. A gift that made my life possible.
After I head home, I grab my things for the ballpark and call my folks one more time, getting them both on the call.
“Mom, Dad, I just want to tell you I’m so grateful for everything you did for me growing up. Everything you made possible. And I love you both so much.”
“I know,” my mom says. “We love you too.”
“We love you so much,” my dad echoes.
That’s it. That’s all. As I near the ballpark, I call Josh.
He answers on the first ring. “Hey, sorry, I was in a meeting earlier.”
“Cool. Listen, I know you wanted time to figure this out, but I’m telling Thompson tonight. I have to do this now.”
There’s silence. A clearing of his throat.
“Okay,” he says slowly, carefully. He draws a deep breath, then I swear I can hear the faint stretch of a smile as he says, “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
When I reach the park, I head straight for the manager’s office, rapping on the door.
But the hall reverberates with the sound of silence. I push the door open slightly. The office is empty. Thompson’s not here. I grab a sheet of paper, scrawl out a note, and leave it on his desk.
Then I head into the locker room.
He’s not there either.
That’s odd.
When I hit the field for batting practice, he’s nowhere to be seen.
So, I do what I’m here to do. We take batting practice, and my bat is on fire. Gunnar is the same way. He lights up dinger after dinger.
When we walk off the field, I say to him, “You doing okay after last night?”
“Yeah, man. New day, new chance.”
“Sounds like something Crash Davis would say, but it’s also true.”
“It absolutely is.”
We head inside so the Cougars can have their turn at batting practice. Once more, I hunt for Thompson to no avail.
Shortly before game time, he finally appears in the locker room for a pregame pep talk. “Dragons, you know this is an important series. And I want you to play clean, just like you did with the Storm Chasers. Give it your all. Show them that we can be San Francisco’s favorite team again.”
He immediately jets, and I follow him into the corridor, then pause.
Should I chill? Wait till later?
Fuck it.
I’m so tired of waiting for the perfect moment. I call down the hall, “Sir.”
He spins around. “Kingsley. You were looking for me earlier, but I was busy. My wife thought she was having the baby.”
I blink. “Oh, you’re having a baby?”
“Yeah, you didn’t know?”
“I didn’t, sir. You didn’t mention it.”
“Ah, I thought Reese might have told you.”
“No, she didn’t,” I say, and holy shit, did he just say that?
Something casual about my girlfriend?
But that’s not what Reese and I talk about. And that’s not for her to tell me.
“But everything’s good. My wife is fine. It was just Braxton Hicks, and she’s actually here watching the game. You should come meet her later.”
“Thanks, I’d like that, sir,” I say, wondering what the hell is going on.
He hooks his thumb toward the baseball diamond. “I have to go talk to the pitching coach. But I’ll catch you later.”
All I can do is go play the game.
And I do. I play my heart out. There is something invigorating about the fact that my woman’s here, on the first baseline, watching me.
So damned exhilarating that in my first at bat, I do the thing I meant to do a few weeks ago. I meet her gaze. Give her a wink. Then, like the cheeseball I can sometimes be, I blow her a
kiss and mouth, I love you.
She smiles, grins, and waves right back at me.
I don’t know if the cameras caught that, or if anyone watching the broadcast will figure out what I said and to whom.
But I also don’t care.
After the game, Thompson catches up to me as I come off the field with the rest of the team, sweaty and exhilarated from our win. “Kingsley, before the game, you said you have something to tell me?”
“I do.” I try to look sober about it, but a smile keeps breaking out. “I suspect you know what—who, rather—it’s about, since I saw you this afternoon leaving her house.” He looks like he might reply, but I don’t give him the chance. “I’m seeing your daughter, and I love her. But before we chat, I need to go over to the first baseline and give the woman I love a kiss.”
I give up holding back a big, blissful grin. I know where I want to be right now, and it feels great to be so certain.
“Good plan,” says my coach.
On my way, Erin Madison flags me and calls out a question. “Holden, how do you think the first game against the Cougars went?”
I slow down to answer. “You know what, Erin? I think it went great. It’s always good to play your local rivals. And to play your heart out. By the way, have I mentioned that I’m dating Reese Fallon? She’s a local sports marketer and former college athlete. She has a podcast. We went to the same university. She’s smart and passionate about sports accessibility, and she’s amazing.”
Erin’s lips quirk up in a curious grin. “That’s terrific. Thanks for sharing the news that you’re involved with Coach Thompson’s family. I appreciate the heads-up.”
“Glad to share it. She’s putting together a calendar right now highlighting athletes with disabilities, along with their rescue dogs. Did you know that Rafe Wilson has a Norwegian elkhound–Chihuahua mix?”
The reporter laughs, shaking her head. “I’m learning so much talking to you.”
“Cute pooch. Thanks again for your questions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to pay a visit to the woman I love.”
“Have a good night, Holden.”
“You too, Erin.”
Finally, I reach where Reese is in the stands, grinning in a way that matches how I feel—exhilarated, besotted, blissfully happy. She laughs as I lift her over the barrier, pull her onto the field, and kiss her right there on the baseball diamond.
Best place ever for a kiss.
All is well without a plan.
33
Holden
Before the game the next day, Thompson summons me to his office.
Gunnar delivers the message in a low voice. “Skipper wants to see you. Guess I can say I knew you when?”
My stomach nose-dives, but I do my best to keep a stony face. “It was fun while it lasted,” I say, and saunter out of the locker room. Alone outside the coach’s door, though, I draw a calming breath, square my shoulders, and rap my knuckles on the frame.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Kingsley, sit,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him. He’s as warm as he’s ever been, but I don’t know what to make of it.
So, I sit, waiting for him to go first.
“We didn’t have much time to talk last night,” he begins, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.
“That is true.”
“But now what I want to say is this. I know you make my daughter happy. I know she thinks you’re the cat’s meow. And I’m glad you seem taken with her too,” he says, then pauses.
That’s my cue, but it’s not a line when I tell him, “I’m more than taken, sir.”
“Good.” Then he shifts his weight forward and stares at me hard, our eyes locked. “But I also want you to know that, even though I may not have been the best father or husband, I expect more from you as my daughter’s boyfriend.”
“Of course,” I say.
He points at me. “I expect you to give her your all. To put your whole heart into your relationship the same way you do to the game. Anything less is unacceptable.”
I nod crisply. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you understand me?”
He’s not the Baseball Buddha now. He’s not the wise old man in the Webflix Christmas special. He’s simply a dad looking out for his girl.
“I promise, sir. I will give her everything.” That is absolutely my plan, and a promise I can keep.
“And then he went all gruff and said, ‘Treat her like a queen,’” I tell Reese later that night, recounting my heart-to-heart with her father.
She snuggles closer to me, her hair spilling over my chest and shoulder. “When he decides to dad up, he dads up.”
“He does indeed.”
“And what did you say?” She shifts around so she can prop her head in her hand and meet my eyes.
I run my fingers down her bare arm, watching the gooseflesh rise in their wake. “I told him that would not be a problem at all. I’ve got this covered.” Then I draw her in for a long, hot kiss that goes to my head.
When we break the kiss, she taps her fingers on my chest. “So, you’re off to Chicago next week for a series.”
“I am. You angling to line up some phone sex with me while I’m on the road?” I arch a brow, flicking my tongue along my lips.
“Maybe I am,” she says, all coy.
“Maybe I can fit you in,” I tease.
“Hey, treat me like a queen,” she says, laughing.
I tug her close, kissing her cheek. “Always, beautiful. Always.”
She sighs happily. “And what about Josh and your sponsorship deals? Are any coming through?”
I shrug. “He’s still working on them. It’ll happen when it happens.”
“Look at you. So laid-back and chill,” she says.
“I play a game for a living, and I found a wonderful woman to spend my days and nights with. What more could a man ask for?”
She arches a brow. “A World Series?”
“Well, duh.”
A couple days later, she drops a kiss to my lips before she leaves for work. “Good luck on the road. See you this weekend?”
“You will.” I yawn and sit up, then I grab a bag from the nightstand and hand it to her.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She opens a small bag and lets her tongue loll out. “Chocolate. You must really want me to think of you while you’re gone.”
“I do, Reese. I really do.”
I kiss her once more and tell her I hope she has a great day at work then watch her go, knowing I could get used to doing this every single day.
Epilogue
Reese
* * *
The next week, I go over the game plan with Layla and Tia as we pile into a Lyft to head to Sausalito. “If anyone asks us when Holden and I are having babies, what do we say?” I quiz as I click my seat belt.
“‘We’re not sure yet. We haven’t moved past the we’re having too much fun trying part,’” Tia fires off.
Layla squares her shoulders, clearing her throat. “My favorite line I like to use is, ‘My fiancée and I are aiming for July twenty-third at three thirty a.m.’ How’s that?”
“My go-to is ‘We’re thinking of getting a cat first,’” I put in.
Tia adds, “Or you could say, ‘I’m going to have a cow if another person asks me about babies.’”
“Oh, that’s a good one,” I say. “Keep that one in your back pocket.”
“Seriously, though,” Layla asks, “do people really ask that at a baby shower?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. This is my first one, since neither of you has made me an honorary aunt or is likely to anytime soon.” I add a sassy wink so they know I’m not adding to societal pressure to procreate.
But it turns out, no one at the baby shower asks us those questions. Becky’s sisters instead want to know how we became friends, how hard it was when we were apart, and if we’ll be sad when Layla returns to Turke
y soon.
Those answers don’t need rehearsal: through athletics, terribly hard, and yes.
We share the stories of our friendship, then chat more with Becky’s friends and sisters, her mom and her aunts.
Is it the most fun I’ve ever had?
No.
But when my own sister, Kelsey, gets there, I throw myself at her, overjoyed. “It’s been so long. Stop avoiding me.”
She hugs me tight. “Yes. I’ve been ignoring you in the ER,” she teases.
“I knew it.” When I let her go, I cast my eyes to Becky. “Check her out. She’s got our little brother parked inside her. Weird but cool.”
“Funny, that’s how I always described you growing up,” she says.
“Sisters. The ribbing never ends.”
“And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Truer words.”
We have a great time, drinking mimosas—virgin mimosas for the mom-to-be—playing baby word games, and opening gifts containing onesies, bottles, and cloth books.
When the shower winds down, I give Becky a hug and thank her for the invite.
“No, thank you. It means the world to me that you came,” she says with a squeeze of my arm.
I wave goodbye to her big bump.
Two weeks later, my half brother arrives, and when I visit him for the first time, my heart rises into my throat and lodges there.
As tears slip down my cheeks, I give him a soft kiss on the forehead, inhale his baby scent, and understand my father a little more.
Second chances—I get it.
I’m glad he has one.
In a way, I found my second chance with Holden.
If you’re lucky enough to get one, I figure you better not let it pass you by.
My father is embracing his, and I’m loving mine.
One night in May, Holden takes me out to a fantastic Korean restaurant by the Ferry Building, where we dine on bibimbap and kimchi. After dinner, we walk along the water, heading to the spot where he took that first picture of me.
The Virgin Game Plan Page 25