Winning With Him

by Lauren Blakely

  “What is it? I know there’s a but coming. Just tell me,” I say, frazzled and out of sorts.

  He lets go of my face, sets his hands on my hips, shakes his head. “If you’re picking up any worry or fear, it’s only because of what I have to tell you.”

  My stomach craters. “Just say it. You drive me crazy sometimes.”

  “I don’t want to scare you away,” he says, his voice thin with worry.

  “You won’t,” I say, desperate to know what’s going on.

  “I asked for the trade,” he blurts, serving up the admission in a messy heap, like a scoop of melted ice cream, spilling all over the bowl.

  I tilt my head and rub my knuckle against my ear in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

  “When I saw Carla a couple weeks ago, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt how I felt. I knew we were happening, that we were never going to unhappen, and I had to find a way to be with you. I even talked to Holden when he was in New York,” Declan confesses.

  “You told Holden about us?”

  “No,” he says emphatically.

  I laugh. “I actually don’t care if you did. I want everyone to know I’m in love with you. But keep going, now that you’re not freaking me out anymore.”

  He squeezes my hip. “Holden and I went for a run. We were talking about second chances, and there was some woman he wanted to have a second chance with,” he tells me.

  I crack up. “Reese?”

  “Holden is involved with your Reese?”

  I nod, big and long. “Dude, I showed you my note last night. I said both of our boyfriends were on the Dragons.”

  “Ah,” he says with a nod of understanding. “That actually makes a lot of sense now. But I didn’t know it when he was telling me about a woman he was longing for. And I said if you have a second chance, you have to do everything to make it happen.” Declan gives a sweet shrug. His voice goes low, tender. “This is my everything. I have nearly ten years of service in the majors. My contract was coming up at the end of the season. Before I could become a free agent, I made a pitch for the Dragons to pick me up instead. I knew that would make me more attractive in a trade.”

  “You could go anywhere. Any team would have you,” I say, bursting with excitement. He chose to come here. To a team that’s struggling. To a team that’s reshaping itself after a speckled history and a cheating scandal. When Declan could have the pick of the litter, he chose . . . me.

  Just me.

  That’s the choice he made.

  I’ve never felt so wanted.

  I loop my hands around his neck, scooting closer, basking in the best story ever.

  “And I didn’t want to go just anywhere,” he continues. “I only wanted to be here. The Comets wanted prospects, so Vaughn worked his magic to see if the Dragons would pick up my contract. And we made a deal that they could extend my contract for the same price.”

  My eyes pop. “But you could get a massive raise at the end of the season as a free agent.”

  “I make enough money. I make more than enough money for many lives. I don’t need more. I need you,” he says, letting go of my hip to roam a hand up my torso, spreading his palm over my heart and melting me completely. “I wanted to be with you, Grant. And you mentioned once you have a no-trade clause, which is unusual at your age, and also awesome, so I figured if I could get out here, maybe you really would be stuck with me.”

  I beam. “I had a feeling your trade wasn’t just a lucky break. I swear, it felt almost too good to be true. But you made it happen.” I lift my face to the ceiling, feeling like all the sunshine in the world is shining golden rays down on me. I clasp his cheeks, hold his face. “You’re never getting rid of me. You are so stuck with me. If you thought I was in love with you before, now I’m, like, twelve million times more.”

  My boyfriend just laughs as I serve up my overjoyed heart on a silver platter, then he asks, “And you know what I have to say to that?”

  41

  Declan

  “Tell me. Tell me now.” Grant pushes his finger against my sternum, demanding it.

  I clear my throat, trying to collect myself, trying to breathe past the balloon of awesome occupying my chest. “I want to be stuck with you. I’ll take your twelve million. And I’ll give you twelve million more. Asking for a trade was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.

  “You’re a moonshot, Grant. You’re a grand slam. Of course I’d do everything I could to be with you.” I pull him closer. “This is my everything. And the fact that you’re asking me to live with you is all I could ever want. So, I say yes.”

  Grant goes soft and melty, his eyes shining with happiness. “You’re my walk-off home run.”

  That’s all I need to hear.

  I smother him in kisses. Because I can. Because I want to. And because I want him to feel all the certainty, all the love that he’s given to me. He wraps his arms around me, hauls me in close, and lets me kiss his forehead.

  I’m learning that’s something he seems to crave. Gentle, tender touches. A kiss on the cheek. A sniff of the hair. An arm around his shoulders.

  I love that I can give him what he needs. He’s given me so much. His love is never qualified; it never has a price tag. He loves hard and big, and he supports me in ways I didn’t know I needed but now can never go without.

  As I hold him close, all I can think is these are couple goals.

  Five years later, I have them. I have him. I have everything.

  That evening, I have a job to do, and a boyfriend who’s going to be in the stands rooting for me.

  The only issue is he’s going to need to hold his applause till after the game. “Now, don’t go all crazy wearing a Steele jersey, okay?” I instruct as I head down the stairs.

  “As if I’d do that,” he scoffs.

  “Maybe I can get you some Rafe Rodmans with my number on them. Custom-made.”

  “I’d wear the hell out of them,” Grant says. He tosses me the keys to his Tesla from the entryway table. He insisted I take his car tonight, so I kiss him goodbye and leave for work.

  Even though I’ve been playing for ten years, switching to a new team—my third team—dredges up those old high school nerves. Will they like me? Will I fit in? Will I do a good job?

  I can only control one of those things, so I focus on that. On playing the game.

  I punch up my playlist. My 90s rockers help me get in the zone, so I turn to Eddie Vedder, Kurt Cobain, and Axl Rose as I drive familiar roads through the city that was once my home and now is again, in a new and better way.

  The music centers me, wipes away the lingering worries as I pull into the players’ lot and the stadium and park my boyfriend’s car.

  That makes me smile.

  I’m driving Grant Blackwood’s car to work.

  I head into the ballpark through the players’ entrance, where the team’s general manager waits for me with a big, welcoming grin. We chat along the way to the locker room, and she tells me the Dragons have number eighteen already stitched on my jersey.

  “Hopefully, you’ll feel at home here right away,” she says.

  “I already do,” I tell her.

  I go into the locker room, say hi to the team’s PR guy, a cool dude named Owen. We spoke on the phone yesterday as he was prepping the news about my trade. “Anything you need, any time of day, just let me know,” Owen says.

  "I will,” I tell him.

  Then he introduces me to my new coach—a former minor leaguer named Edward Thompson—and after that I say hi to my new teammates.

  Holden stretches his arms out wide. “Lucky us! Who would have thought? A couple weeks ago you were doling out wisdom, and now you’re my double-play partner,” he booms, the first to greet me, with a clap on the back.

  “Life works in mysterious ways,” I remark, then I say hi to Gunnar, the team’s third baseman, to Dante, the starting pitcher, and to the rest of the guys.

  “Let’s do this,” Holden says. He seems
poised to become a team leader. I’ll have to tell Grant later that I’ve got a good feeling about his best friend’s guy.

  We head to the field, stretch, and take batting practice. A reporter calls me over, so I give a comment to the media about the trade, then we make our way to the dugout before the start of the game.

  As I go, I walk along the first baseline, my gaze straying to the second row.

  I stop in my tracks.

  Grant told me he was lining up everyone, but I am surprised by the strength of the emotions hitting me all at once.

  My man sits on the first baseline, along with my mom, Tyler, River, Reese, Chance, Sierra, Crosby, Sullivan, and Miguel. So many friendly faces. So many people from different parts of my life. My mother, who guided me when I needed her most, and her husband, who’s the best man she’s ever known. My baseball friends, who were my crew once upon a time, and who I hope will be again.

  Grant’s sister is here too, and I recognize her from the picture Grant showed me once upon a time. There’s my boyfriend’s best friend, Reese—his rock, and I’m damn glad he’s had her by his side for his whole life. Then, there’s River, the outgoing bar owner who was the first person to witness the intensity of my feelings for Grant Blackwood.

  Most of all, there’s Grant.

  The man I love wholeheartedly.

  He tries to rein in a smile for me, but it’s futile. He grins big and wide. Crosby gives a loud hoot, Chance joining in too. Sullivan and Miguel do some kind of dance. Mom shouts at the top of her lungs, “Go Dragons!”

  Maybe I’ll make a Dragons fan out of her after all.

  As I regard all of them, my heart squeezes, then grows a little bigger as it tries to climb up my throat. The scene is overwhelming. A bit foreign. But it’s also energizing—not a single one of them is going to stumble drunk onto the field. None of them will cross lines. And, God forbid, if someone else shows up, I’ll know how to handle it now.

  I’ve learned how to deal with the shit life throws at you.

  Learned how to handle the hard stuff without losing the good stuff.

  Like that guy who made all of this happen—Grant is the good stuff.

  So are all these people. So is this game.

  I wave to the crew then head to the dugout to wait for the announcer to call the starting lineup. First the visiting team. Now, the home team.

  “And now, batting third, in his first game as a San Francisco Dragon, is the team’s brand-new shortstop. Hailing from the city by the bay, number eighteen, Declan Steele.”

  I trot out to the field, glove in hand, and wave to the crowds. They all cheer. When I look to the first baseline, I find Grant, and our eyes lock.

  The end of our secret love affair passes between us. The hidden tryst is over tonight.

  The next part of our life together is beginning.

  But first, I play ball.

  I don’t want to disappoint anyone. Not my friends, or the new team, or my new hometown. I dig in at the plate in each at-bat, getting in the zone, putting on blinders so I’m One-Track Steele, impervious to distractions.

  I nab a walk in my first plate appearance, pop out to center next, then hit a clutch single in the seventh inning, which gives the Dragons two RBIs. I pump a fist on my way to first, and I swear Grant cheers the loudest for me. When I reach the bag, the first-base coach pats me on the shoulder. “Welcome to the Dragons, Steele.”

  I thank him, then toss a quick glance to the stands. My heart flutters when I spot Grant and he sends a wink in my direction. I try to suppress a grin, but it’s hard. So damn hard.

  Since I want to impress my boyfriend.

  Those are all new thoughts swarming my brain. But absolutely cool ones.

  42

  Grant

  Declan’s on first, and Holden’s at the plate.

  Chance is next to me, brow furrowed. He’s quiet, but his eyes are on me, brimming with one question.

  Did you just wink at Declan Steele?

  I grin like I have a dirty little secret. On my other side, Reese leans in closer, bumping shoulders with me. “You’re still in trouble but I love you. Mostly, though, I want to go on a double date with you guys,” she whispers.

  I roll my eyes. “That’s so straight.”

  “Newsflash—I am straight.”

  “For you, then, I will,” I say, then redirect her attention to the field.

  Holden takes a swing, then smacks a whopper of a double into the right-field corner. Declan runs his ass off, rounding second, hellbent on third, then he’s waved home as the center fielder scoops up the ball at last. Reese and I are both on our feet, arms in the air, cheering and double high-fiving because of what our guys just did.

  “Yes!” I shout.

  “Woo-hoo!” she seconds.

  River joins in, hollering, “Go, go, go!”

  Crosby’s brow shoots sky-high. Sullivan deals me a curious look. Reese and I just shrug and grin, wrapping each other in a hug, proud of our men. When we pull apart, I reach behind me and offer Declan’s mom a fist for knocking. “Pretty impressive, isn’t it, Cyndi?”

  “Almost makes me want to be a Dragons fan.”

  “Almost, but not quite.”

  “You know it,” she adds.

  My Cougar buds stare at me. I’m doing the worst job at faking not being interested in Declan Steele.

  Ah well, fuck it. They’re going to find out in two hours anyway.

  At the Spotted Zebra, Reese hangs out at the bar with Sierra. River took off for work, and Miguel said goodnight to go see his wife and their newborn, so it’s just the baseball guys in the game room, shooting pool.

  It’s the former spring training crew, plus one—Holden is here, along with Crosby, Chance, Declan, Sullivan, and me. More than five years have passed since the day I met the guy who lives with me.

  Our lives have all changed.

  Chance was married and is now divorced.

  Crosby, once single, has fallen in love with the owner of the city’s football team.

  Holden’s new to the crew, and he’s met the love of his life in my best friend.

  Sullivan is single, eyes and mind and heart open for the right woman.

  As for me, I suppose the more things change, the more they stay the same. My heart still thunders for the same man. But Declan and I have both changed for the better. He’s broken down his walls to let me in. I’ve become the man I was meant to be, so that I could finally have the life I want.

  And that life is this.

  “Okay. I’m going with Matthew McConaughey,” Crosby declares as he lines up his shot.

  Chance laughs, tossing his head back, then taking a drink of his beer. “Because that actor’s got as many weird verbal quirks as you do. I bet he even calls people Turkey Burgers and Dick Nuggets.”

  “Alright, alright, alright,” Crosby drawls. “I picked the right person to tell my story, then.” He tips his chin to Sullivan. “What about you, my friend?”

  “I’m tempted to say Morgan Freeman because everyone wants to say Morgan Freeman, but really, I think I’m going to go with Hugh Jackman,” he says.

  Declan cracks up. “You’re not Australian.”

  Sullivan jerks his head back. “So what? Hugh Jackman is awesome, isn’t he?”

  Declan laughs. “You won’t get any argument from me there.” My boyfriend tosses a glance to me. “And what about you?”

  Before I can answer, Sierra sails in with a tray of drinks. “Wait. Is this the ‘who’d narrate my life’ question?”

  “You know us so well,” Chance says, flashing her a smile as she hands out the fresh round. “Who’d narrate yours?”

  After she gives Chance a beer, she taps her chin, then says, “A badass rock star who doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

  She leaves, and Chance’s jaw might be hanging open. That’s Sierra—exiting on a high note.

  It’s my turn now. “I’d have to go with Daniel Craig since I’m a fan of James Bond,” I say
in my terrible accent.

  Declan laughs. “Rookie, you always did suck at the English accents.”

  We didn’t plan this moment. We didn’t decide when we’d tell our buds. But as Declan and I lock eyes, we both know—this is it. “So, there’s something we wanted to tell all of you,” I say.

  Declan dips his head, laughs slightly, then looks up. “We being him and me,” he clarifies, pointing from him to me.

  I set down my pool cue. Declan does the same. I step closer to my guy.

  Crosby, Chance, Sullivan, and even Holden have the decency to wipe the I already figured this out when you lost your mind rooting for him at the game expressions off their faces.

  “What’s that?” Chance asks like he has no clue, when he clearly has all of them.

  Declan swallows and reaches for my hand, linking our fingers. “We’re together,” he says, meeting their eyes. “We wanted you guys to know first. Before the media finds out that we’re living together.”

  My heart doesn’t just soar. It takes a rocket-fast trip around the solar system and then lands right back in his hands where it belongs.

  “That’s not really all there is to tell, Deck,” I tease him.

  He arches a brow. “What did I leave out?”

  I point at the guys. “Tell them I’m awesome at cuddling. They doubted me. Last month, before you were back in town, they called me out on it, man.”

  Declan laughs, holds his hands out wide, and announces to the crew, “Grant Blackwood is a world-class cuddler.”

  I plant a kiss on his stubbly cheek, smacking loudly. “There. Now it’s official. They know.”

  Crosby clears his throat, adopting a blank expression. “Thank you for spelling it out. I literally had no idea that Grant was rooting for Declan at the game.”

  Chance chimes in next. “We absolutely couldn’t tell that Grant was way more excited than he’s ever been about anyone else on another team hitting in a run.”

  Declan wraps his arm around me, squeezing my shoulder hard. “Aw, that’s so cute. You were rooting for your boyfriend even though he plays for the other team?”