Chapter 19 - Brooks
Brooks
Ihad been dreading this day for weeks—more than any high-pressure, bases-loaded situation or postgame interview after a shutout. Six-year-olds had that kind of insurmountable power.
Allie sat cross-legged on the couch, her dark curls pulled back into a sleek puff, the kind of no-nonsense style that meant she’d been chasing deadlines all morning.
She looked calm—calmer than I was, at least—like she had already rehearsed every possible outcome. Which, knowing her, she probably had.
Carolina was in her room, humming loudly enough to carry down the hall, probably elbow-deep in a bucket of markers and pipe cleaners. She had no idea her world was about to tilt on its axis.
“You ready?” Allie asked, raising one perfectly skeptical brow.
“Define ready,” I muttered.
Her smile was small, almost gentle. “She’s going to be fine, B. You know how much she’s always wanted a little sister, and she already adores Dani. She still hasn’t shut up about that apron Dani got her.”
My lips turned up. Dani and I had taken a cooking class with Nessa and Pink last week, a double date that had had disaster written all over it, given how many sharp knives and open flames had been involved.
Somehow, we’d made it through the evening with everyone’s limbs intact—a personal victory, in my opinion—and a small souvenir for Carolina: a gingham apron that reminded me of something out of The Wizard of Oz.
Carolina had been practically glued to the apron ever since, parading around the kitchen like a tiny sous-chef, bossing us around with the authority of Gordon Ramsay.
“She lectured me about gluten-free flour substitutes on the way to school last week,” I marveled while pacing the rug. “Are we sure she’s our kid?”
Allie held her hands up in front of her. “Don’t look at me. You’re the vegan.”
The sudden thud of little feet padding down the stairs had me adjusting my hat, low enough so the brim bumped my glasses. Carolina’s soft hum turned into an off-key Disney ballad and my throat closed up.
Showtime.
“Here we go,” Allie murmured, like we were about to pull off a heist instead of talk to our six-year-old about her future sibling. “Caro, can you come here for a minute?”
The humming stopped. A few seconds later, Carolina padded in, curls slightly frizzy from whatever craft project she’d been buried in. She climbed onto the couch between us, suspicious as a cat.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, cutie,” I said quickly. “Not even a little.”
She studied us with curiosity, then plopped back dramatically against the cushions, clearly bracing for whatever bombshell we were about to drop.
I took a breath and squatted in front of the couch. My knees cracked in protest, a sharp reminder that I’d spent two decades crouched behind the plate, calling pitches and eating foul tips for breakfast. Some habits—and the aches that came with them—never went away.
Allie gave me a sharp nod, one that said you’ve got this.
“You know how you’ve always wanted a little sister?”
“Uh-huh.” Her eyes widened instantly. “Wait, are you getting me one for my birthday? Like, for real?”
“That’s what we wanted to tell you,” Allie said gently. “Daddy and Dani are having a baby. You’re going to be a big sister.”
Carolina gasped so hard I thought she might pass out. Then she flung herself upright, knees digging into the couch cushions. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” She turned to me, eyes round as saucers. “Do I get to name her?”
I laughed, relief loosening the knot in my chest. “You can definitely give us ideas.”
My heart lurched when her excitement faltered suddenly, her little mouth twisting into a frown.
I knew this was going too well.
“Wait a second,” she said. “If you and Dani are having a baby, does that mean that you and Mommy aren’t my mom and dad anymore?”
Allie pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to hold back a laugh. I scooped up Carolina and sat back down on the couch with her in my lap.
“Cutie, we will always be your mommy and daddy. That’s never going to change. You’re just going to have a little sister who looks up to you, too.”
“It just means even more people to love you,” Allie added, smoothing a hand down her curls. “You’re not losing anything, honey. You’re gaining.”
We all are.
Carolina considered our words, gnawing her lip the same way her daddy did—my team knew that look well. It was the universal signal that I was grinding through a decision, weighing the odds pitch by pitch.
Eventually, she puffed out her chest and said, “Okay, but only if I get to teach her how to bake. And she has to share my markers. And she can’t touch Mr. Chomp.”
If that’s all it takes, I’ll buy a dozen Mr. Chomps.
“Deal,” I said, kissing the top of her head, sending her into another fit of giggles.
I’d braced for confusion, tears, attitude, but no, my kid squealed—actually fucking squealed—bouncing so hard the cushions groaned beneath her. Her arms shot around my neck, squeezing so tight my eyes burned. “I can’t believe it. This is the best birthday present ever.”
Allie leaned back against the couch, soft smile, eyes glistening with unshed, happy tears. When Carolina finally hopped down and darted off to her room—no doubt to start sketching out some elaborate plans for “big sister training”—Allie turned to me.
“I told you,” she said gently. “You were worried for nothing.”
I dragged a hand over my face, exhaling hard. “I guess so.”
Her gaze softened even more, landing on me with a kind of fondness I hadn’t seen in years. “I’m really happy for you, B.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “You are?”
“Of course.” She shifted closer, her voice low and steady. “You deserve this, to have someone who makes you feel whole. Just because things didn’t work out between us, doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve to be happy. You know that, right?”
I did. I’d known it for a long time, but hearing her say it like that settled something deep inside me. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted Allie’s blessing—or maybe just her acknowledgment—to believe I could really move forward.
For so long, I had carried the weight of failing her, of failing us, like it was proof I wasn’t built for forever. But this—her encouragement and affirmation that I still deserved something good—it chipped away at the guilt I’d stacked up like bricks, weighing me down.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I know.”
Allie squeezed my hand, the kind of touch that came from years of knowing someone better than they knew themselves.
“I know you. Stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. You’ve got a daughter who’s over the moon, another on the way, and a woman who clearly cares for you.
Life’s too short, so you might as well lean into the good stuff. ”
Thirty minutes later, I was still sitting on the couch. Allie had already taken off, Carolina was busy packing her game-day bag with toys and coloring pages, and I was staring at my phone, thumbs hovering over Dani’s name.
We had a home game tonight, so I could’ve very easily waited to tell her in person. But the weight in my chest was too full, too urgent, and I needed her to know right now. Needed her to be the first one I told—like it wouldn’t be real until I shared it with her.
Finally, I typed it out.
Me
Just told Carolina.
Her reply came almost instantly, three little dots blinking before her words appeared:
Dani
And . . . was she excited? Did she cry? Have we ruined her life?
Me
Yes. No. Definitely not.
Dani
Haha, so it went well, then?
Me
You could say that. She’s already coming up with baby names and rules about art supplies and toys.
She shot back an incoherent mix of emojis, ranging from a castle to an avocado to a water droplet, which I assumed meant something about crying.
Me
I’ll tell you more after the game.
I hesitated before adding:
Me
Thanks for making me feel whole.
I hovered over send for half a beat, then hit the button before I could chicken out.
Dani
You make it easy. Kick some ass tonight, coach! I’ll be the one carrying your baby. xx
I exhaled, sinking back into the couch cushions.
And I’ll be the one falling in love.
We pulled off a clean win—5-2 against the Revs—and the buzz of the stadium still crackled in my veins as we funneled down the tunnel toward the locker room. Victory always carried a charge, but tonight it felt lighter, easier, like the whole place was grinning with us.
That, and I was still riding the high from my pregame conversation with Dani, one that had ended with a sloppy kiss behind the stadium’s coffee roastery.
“Can we talk about that double play?” Roman shouted, voice echoing off the concrete walls. He thumped his chest like he’d just saved the world instead of turned two. “Play of the night, right there. You’re welcome.”
Groans and laughter ricocheted around him.
“Please,” Bennett shot back, slinging an arm around Roman’s meaty shoulders. “If you hadn’t bobbled the damn throw in the first place, we wouldn’t have needed a miracle double play.”
“That was strategy,” Roman said, all mock offense. “Gotta keep the fans on their toes.”
“Strategy my ass,” Soren barked. “You tripped over your own fucking shoelaces.”
“I’m just saying,” Roman pressed, grinning ear to ear. “Y’all owe me for locking down the tying run.”
A chorus of overlapping protests rang out, but one by one, their grins gave them away.
“Fine,” Pink said eventually, even more dramatic than usual. “You get MVP.”
Roman puffed up instantly, ready to soak in the glory. That was until Pink clapped him on the back hard enough to make him stumble.
“And since you’re MVP, that means the first round is on you tonight.”
The whole tunnel exploded in laughter.
Roman’s jaw dropped. “No, that’s not—”
“MVP! MVP!” the rest of them chanted, drowning out Roman’s protests. He flipped them off, but they all knew it was good fun, nothing more. He was laughing just as much as the rest of them, doomed to his fate as designated wallet for the night.