Through The Water: Fairest Series Book Two

by Myers, Shannon

  “What?” Morgan asked in a thin voice. She’d spent most of the game gnawing her fingernails to the quick and closing her eyes.

  I patted her between the shoulder blades. “Are you okay? They’re going to come back from this. I feel it. Don’t give up.”

  Georgia hip-checked Morgan with a chuckle. “Oh, I don’t think she’s giving up, dear. I think she’s found the winner.” She slid her glasses down her nose and reviewed her notepad, before tapping it with her index finger. “Just as I predicted, Conor Bailey. He was my number one choice too. Lovely job, Morgan. He’ll make you very happy.”

  I pulled my lower lip between my teeth with a shake of my head. There was never a dull moment with Georgia around.

  Morgan hesitated before blurting, “It’s not that. I, um, I know him!”

  “What?” I shouted to be heard over the crowd. “How? You said you didn’t know any of the players besides Killian!”

  She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, avoiding my penetrating stare. “Conor was my neighbor when I was sixteen.”

  “Wait! Wait! Wait!” I held up my hands, drawing Georgia and Sheri’s attention. “A neighbor, or the neighbor?”

  “The neighbor,” she said with a laugh, her voice full of affection as she watched him.

  Morgan’s first and only love—the man she’d given her virginity to—was Bailey.

  “You have to talk to him!”

  Her nose crinkled and she shook her head. “It was a long time ago, Ari. I doubt he even remembers!”

  “But he—” I was interrupted by the crack of Bailey’s bat and turned just in time to see the ball sail over the second baseman’s glove before dropping onto the field.

  “Go!” we screamed in unison, waving our arms as if we could make the giant run faster.

  Bailey’s helmet flew off as he went speeding past the bag, rolling across first just after he did.

  He and the helmet were safe.

  Joe pumped his fist but otherwise stayed silent. Sheri clung to my hand as Killian’s walk-up song began, her fingernails digging into my knuckles.

  “And now, your center fielder, number twelve—Killian Reed!”

  The noise in the stadium moved to a deafening level. Blue foam fingers waved in the air, as well as several large cutouts of Killian’s head.

  I drew in a long breath and released it, unable to resist sneaking a peek at Joe. In a ritual that had become just as much a part of the game as the players on the field, Killian’s father lowered his head, his mouth moving as if in prayer.

  One on, no room for error.

  The game rested in Killian’s hands.

  Morgan linked her fingers through mine before reaching for Georgia’s, the four of us forming a human chain.

  We stood together in solidarity, drawing strength from one another and praying it was enough to get Killian through the next few pitches.

  32

  Killian

  “One of the beautiful things about baseball is that every once in a while you come into a situation where you want to, and where you have to, reach down and prove something.”

  -Nolan Ryan

  The last strains of Andy Grammer’s “Good To Be Alive” faded away as I approached the batter’s box.

  I stopped short and tapped my bat against the dirt when I saw Atlanta’s second baseman deep in discussion with Antonelli. The two of them kept cutting their eyes over to me before Antonelli covered his mouth with his glove.

  “Fuentes,” I said in a falsetto, unable to resist poking fun at the pair to keep my momentum up. “Have you seen Reed’s ass in those pants? Why yes. Yes I did, Antonelli. Best ass in the American League for the past eight years. Oh, crap. He caught us looking.”

  I cracked my neck and bounced on my feet as Fuentes headed back to second base, chuckling to myself when he patted Antonelli’s ass on his way.

  “Ooh, a love connection?” I mused, approaching the plate.

  Their catcher lowered himself into a crouch before peering up at me. “Having a nice conversation with yourself, Reed?”

  I smirked. “Sure am, Darcy. Just wondering when Antonelli and Fuentes are gonna take their romance public.”

  “Heard you tried to do that a couple a years ago and your girl fled the country. Man, that’s gotta suck, knowing she won’t be here to dry your tears when you blow this game.”

  My jaw tightened, but I kept my eyes fixed on Antonelli and dug my right cleat into the dirt. “Speaking of sucking and blowing, your wife already volunteered, so I’m good.”

  Darcy grumbled something in response, but I tuned him out and glanced back at the dugout, getting the sign to take the first pitch.

  With a deep exhale, I cleared my mind of everything, until it was just Antonelli and me. Except, it wasn’t just us. Just like every at-bat before, Ari was there too.

  No matter where in the world she was, a piece of her would forever be standing on first base, gripping my heart in her hands.

  “This one’s for you, baby,” I said under my breath. “It’s all for you.”

  Even before Antonelli’s arm came forward, I knew it was a fastball. High and outside.

  Ball one.

  The organ made a low humming sound just before the opening notes of the “Let’s Go Chant” began to play over the speakers, taking the energy of the crowd and amping it up.

  I looked to the dugout and got the sign to take the second pitch.

  “C’mon, you pussy,” I muttered when Antonelli threw another high and outside.

  Ball two.

  I saw it in his eyes, the next one was going to be on the inside. My eyes darted over to the dugout again, getting yet another sign to take it.

  Fuck.

  The muscles in my forearms tightened as I adjusted my grip on the bat. I knew what he was about to send my way, convinced myself I could get a piece of it but held back. The last time I’d take my own advice on the third pitch, I ended up writhing on the ground just off first base.

  I could be patient—hell, it hadn’t failed me in the past thirty-six games.

  The slider came across the inside half of the plate, smacking Darcy’s glove with a loud pop, like the sound of a whip being cracked.

  Strike one.

  Shit. I could have gotten a single out of it, advanced Bailey to second…

  I stepped out of the box and rolled my shoulders, trying to center myself. The volume in the stadium was like nothing I’d ever heard before—the fans chaotic and wild. One fan had even brought in a cowbell, the incessant clanging of it vibrated through my skull and rattled my brain.

  My focus returned to Antonelli, and I took a deep breath, waiting for him to show me what was next. Throwing another pitch inside was too risky. He was going to try to blow one by me again.

  “What’s it gonna be, Antonelli? Fastball outside because you don’t trust me?”

  I looked to the dugout and got the signal I wanted.

  Swing away.

  After taking a practice cut, I stepped back in the box and planted my cleats.

  If you can visualize it, you can make it happen.

  Forty thousand people, but hers was the only face I wanted to see. In my mind, the entire stadium held its collective breath in silent anticipation. Well, everyone but the mouthy redhead seated behind home plate.

  What are you gonna do, superstar? Make a move or just stand there some more?

  I exhaled a breathless laugh, hearing Ari’s voice as clear as day. Darcy muttered something about my deteriorating mental state, but his insults were garbled.

  Her.

  I only heard her.

  And that was all I needed to face Antonelli. A lot of pitchers sat into the back leg, but not this guy. Atlanta’s closer was old-school, using his entire body with every pitch, which was probably why his pitching velocity was unmatched.

  A worthy adversary.

  He moved into his starting stance, and I aligned my knuckles, keeping a relaxed grip on the handle of the bat.<
br />
  Like you’ve done it a million times before, Reed…

  Antonelli’s arms went over his head as he took a short start-step to the side, before pivoting in front of the rubber, his movements slow and deliberate.

  He stepped in, breaking his hands at the exact same time his leg came up off the ground. The announcers, the screaming fans, the cowbell—it all disappeared. I was left with the buzzing stadium lights overhead, and the sound of my exhale as the ball left his hand.

  Fastball.

  I swung at the offering, the maple bat connecting with my target in a loud crack that sent the ball soaring deep to left field. I turned my face up, wincing when I saw the bright yellow foul pole in its path.

  Fuck, I’d been too early on it.

  Stay fair. Stay fair.

  After tossing my bat to the side, I began jogging to first, keeping an eye on its trajectory. It was gone, or it was foul. I’d made it about a third of the way up the first baseline when it disappeared just inside the foul line.

  I stumbled, feeling as if the breath had been knocked from my lungs.

  Home run.

  There was an immediate seismic shift within the ballpark, a rumbling magnitude that I felt through the bottoms of my cleats. The sky above me erupted in an explosion of fireworks and cobalt blue streamers as I rounded first, raising my fist in victory.

  We’d done it.

  I knew I was running faster than ever before, but inside, I was that seven-year-old kid again, flying around the bases like I was weightless. But, unlike most of my career, this game had been won with heart.

  It was almost perfect.

  The only thing missing was her.

  “All for you, baby,” I whispered, lifting my eyes to the vibrant bursts of color in the night sky.

  The entire team came spilling out of the dugout as Bailey tied it up. I crossed the plate behind him, choking back tears as I remembered the little boy who’d dreamt of this exact moment as he swung a bat in his backyard.

  My teammates mobbed me almost immediately, slapping my back while jumping up and down. Bailey pushed through the crowd and lifted me off the ground, knocking my batting helmet to the dirt.

  “We did it—we fucking did it!” he bellowed, leaving me deaf in my right ear.

  I grinned and punched the air before being tackled to the ground from behind. Network cameras circled around us, capturing the high-fives and handshakes, the water bottles being shaken over my head.

  Since the beginning of my hitting streak, I’d avoided looking up into the crowd, convinced I’d jinx myself by letting them in. There was also pressure to perform, knowing my parents and their friends were watching. They’d been buying up tickets left and right since the playoffs began, probably for the kinds of people who didn’t care about the game but wanted to be able to brag that they’d been in the seats.

  Now that it was over, I couldn’t help but glance up to the club level, scanning the crowd for their familiar faces. I found my dad first, seated on the second level behind home plate. His hand was around his mouth, his shoulders rising and falling on a sob. When our eyes met, he nodded and gave me a thumbs up.

  My mama was a couple seats down, embracing a woman in a Hurricanes ball cap and jersey. I assumed it was either a friend or someone who’d become one over the course of the game. Mama was the type of person who’d never met a stranger. When two other women joined their hug, I froze, feeling my jaw go slack.

  Someone barreled into my side, slapping me wildly between the shoulder blades, but I couldn’t move. My eyes were glued on the woman in my mother’s arms, willing her to look down at me.

  An eternity later, she pulled away, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her thumbs before throwing her head back in a laugh I wished I was close enough to hear. I’d missed her with every fiber of my being, but with one look, the ache in my chest fled, and my mouth curved into a wide grin.

  A moment that had been almost perfect was now flawless

  You’re standing on the field, surrounded by your teammates and reporters, but you’re not looking at them. You’re looking up into the seats. Who are you waiting for?

  Ari.

  After one year, nine months, and twenty-five days, my girl had come home.

  For me.

  * * *

  “Now, talk to me about that last pitch from Antonelli. What was going through your head?”

  I was in the middle of an interview with James Donovan of Fox Sports when I felt her presence. I turned and caught a flash of red hair behind the blue barricade set up around the stage. We’d been herded onto it for the trophy presentation. I’d gone through the motions, slipping the championship t-shirt over my jersey and smiling for the cameras.

  “Uh,” I hedged, loosening the string of my bracelet with shaking hands. “Excuse me for a second. Listen, have you talked to Bailey yet? He’s the real star of the show. His single was a game-changer for us.”

  Bailey looked up at the mention of his name and ambled over, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “You rang?”

  “Yeah, Donovan’s got some questions for you,” I mumbled, closing my fist around a bracelet that suddenly felt heavier before making my way toward the stairs.

  Ari lifted her chin with a frown, biting her bottom lip as she scanned the stage, completely unaware that the man she was searching for was making his way toward her. Just like he’d been under the impression she was in a different country.

  Turnabout was fair play, after all.

  I’d known I wanted her to be my wife since the night I sat by the bed and watched her sleep. The same night I realized that letting her go was the only way to keep her safe. In the time we’d spent apart since want had developed into need.

  Marriage had become a frequent topic of conversation between the two of us for the better part of the last year. I could have proposed any number of times by now, and she’d have said yes. But some part of me had always held back, feeling like the timing wasn’t right.

  What started as a means of escape had developed into something of a spiritual journey along the way.

  Something sacred.

  So, I decided to wait until she was ready to come home. When the ring on her finger wouldn’t feel like a means of control, but a promise of the life we were going to build together.

  I worked my jaw as I took the stairs two at a time, rehearsing the words in my head. I’d always pictured this moment happening in an airport, with me dropping to one knee near the baggage claim.

  But I had to hand it to her, this was much better.

  Ari’s attention was still on the stage when I approached. She tensed, before slowly inclining her head toward me. For a brief second our gazes locked, and then she was shoving people aside to reach me.

  When she reached the barrier, my hands wrapped around her waist, easily lifting her up and over. The air around us was suddenly filled with the scent of her skin, and I buried my face against her neck, breathing her in.

  We’d spent eight months apart, and not being able to hold her like I needed was pure torture. My way didn’t involve clothes. Or the press.

  As if reading my thoughts, Ari shied away with a giggle and cupped my jaw in her palm. She raked her fingernails through my beard, stroking and petting, while her green eyes moved over my face. “Hey, wild man. You looked good out there.”

  Clearly, my mouth and brain were no longer working together, because I didn’t return the greeting or launch into the eloquent speech I’d written in my head on the way down the stairs.

  No. Proving that I was every bit the wild man, I grunted in response.

  Grunted.

  Ari’s hands fell from my face. She took a step back, probably second-guessing her decision to leave Brazil early. “Are you mad at me? I just wanted it to be a surprise—”

  With a low growl, I hooked my finger in the front of her jersey—my jersey—and tugged her to my body, lowering my mouth over hers. She released a startled breath. Then her pink lips were parting i
n invitation.

  The bracelet in my hand brought me back to reality, and after another deep kiss, I reluctantly pulled back to scan the ballpark. There were still people milling about almost everywhere I looked, but this was the right moment. I felt it.

  “Ari—”

  “Congratulations!” she panted with a grin. “Sorry, I meant to say that first, but I got so tongue-tied when I saw you that I just blurted the first random thing that came into my head.”

  God, I’d missed her.

  “Crap. Now that I think about it, I was actually supposed to lead with I love you, and then—wait, what are you doing?”

  I was respecting the hell out of her.

  “Be gentle with me, slugger,” I said as I took her left wrist in my hands and lowered to my knees.

  My girl had never wanted pretty words or a smooth-talking knight. She’d wanted the ability to stand on her own two feet, the freedom to make her own choices. She didn’t need my money and had done just fine living off her music royalties for the past couple of years.

  So, in the end, I ditched the speech and kept it simple. Not because I forgot the words, but because when I looked into her eyes, I realized I didn’t need them.

  There was only one thing I hadn’t offered yet.

  “Ariana, you are the bravest woman I’ve ever met. With each day that passes, I find myself more in love with you. You already have my heart, my love, and my life. I kneel before you now to ask, will you do me the honor of taking my last name?”

  Ari’s mouth opened and closed, her eyes flooding with tears as she nodded shakily. “Yes, Killian Reed. I will take your last name and be your wife.”

  “I know it’s not a ring, but—”

  “Hush, it’s perfect.”

  My fingers were still trembling as I knotted the bracelet around her wrist, before moving back to my feet. Ignoring the cameras flashing all around us, I lifted her into my arms and took her mouth in a fierce and frantic kiss.

  She instinctively wrapped her legs around my waist, her fingers threading through my sweat-dampened hair, fighting to pull me closer.