Epilogue.
Harley
I tapped my bat against the ground. It was the opening game of the season, and I was batting behind Shutout and fourth in the line-up.
Coach had decided if all bases were loaded when I came up to bat, there’d be four home runs. Sneaky fucker.
I looked to the stand where Oakley was yelling with Aspen; Archer stood between them, wearing a Cubs hat and my jersey.
Under his hat, Archer wore headphones to drown out the noise, and although I’d offered to get them a box, Archer picked the stands. Either side of Aspen and Oakley stood my parents and some of my siblings. They’d flown out to support my opening game.
Oakley was now four months pregnant and had a cute little belly. She’d just started to show. Archer, on being told he was going to be a big cousin, had swallowed every pregnancy book he could get his hands on. The kid could probably deliver mine if it came to it.
The move to Chicago had been smoother than buying a home in Rapid City.
Shutout had toured several places while we watched over FaceTime. Archer wouldn’t have responded to being dragged about from pillar to post. He’d picked the third house and refused to consider any others.
So, I bought it.
However, in Rapid City, he could see the houses and we easily viewed over thirty before Archer settled. It had been hard not to get frustrated, but I kept reminding myself that Archer needed to feel safe. He did now.
We’d hired a private tutor, but every Monday to Friday afternoon, he went to a social club for three hours.
During the weekends, if I were playing away, the girls would take Archer out and about. If I were at home, then they’d come and watch the game. Life was perfect.
Who’d have thought stopping for a runaway bride would lead to heaven?
The pitcher wound up.
I grinned. His body language gave up his pitch. A fastball.
The bases were loaded, and this was my first outing. I was going to make a fuckin’ statement. Harley Michaelson would be remembered for this. The ball left the pitcher’s hands; I swung and thwack…
Four home runs.