Chapter 34
Alex
Every eye in the press box zeros in on me as Trevor’s audio sails through the speakers. The network has been micing up different players with lavaliers to give live reactions to different plays. Last week, the audience loved having Colton miced up in the outfield, so today was Trevor’s turn.
But I’m certain no one expected a brawl to break out between Tenny and the Rattlers’ first baseman—or for Trevor’s hot mic to catch the aftermath. My skin tingles at Tenny’s earnest words, how he passionately defends my character, but my mind keeps tripping on one word in particular.
Love.
“He was trash-talking the woman I love.”
I expect a reeling freefall, like when I take a header off the crest of a wave. Dizziness and disorientation should rattle my brain. Nausea and uncertainty should make my muscles twitch in anticipation of the worst.
Undeniable shock runs through my bloodstream, but I don’t feel unsettled. If anything, there’s a humming resonance similar to the vibration I feel through my feet when my board is fully supported by rushing water.
Love.
Tenny loves me.
There’s something undeniably dangerous about that word, yet the thrill of it sparks firecrackers in my chest.
“I’ve got to go,” I mutter, backing out of the doorway and racing down the stairs as quickly as my Vans will carry me.
My phone rings in my hand as I dodge a few fans on the concourse before descending the final stairwell toward the back entrance of the clubhouse.
Glancing at the caller ID, I nearly stumble.
I’d been so distracted by Tenny’s confession, about what that would mean for the two of us, that I hadn’t even considered the potential ramifications of what he said.
In addition to professing his love, Tenny also mentioned me by name.
He hadn’t said my last name, but after months of flirty interviews, it makes sense why my producer is trying to get a hold of me.
Two other calls light up the screen—Mags and my sister—before an unknown number with a New Jersey area code flashes over everything.
My stomach drops to my toes as I swallow over the forklift jammed in my throat.
Diamond Breakdown headquarters are in New Jersey.
There’s a very real chance I’ll lose my job over this.
Before panic can capsize me, I set my free hand on my belly and pull in a deep breath. While Tenny has been seeing a sports psychologist to help with his superstitions, I’ve also been seeing my own therapist. Sessions with Sharon have been not only enlightening but have left me feeling empowered.
After a few more rounds of diaphragmatic breathing, I’m settled enough to head downstairs. When Cecil calls me two times in a row, I power my phone off. Once I know Tenny is okay, I’ll get back to everyone else.
Brianna, the clubhouse manager, doesn’t even look surprised when I approach the security members keeping the clubhouse ‘staff only’ during the game. In fact, it’s almost as if she’s been waiting for me.
“You get five minutes.”
I nod as the two behemoths slide sideways to allow me in.
Tenny’s on the bench in front of his locker, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.
“Hey,” I say softly, sitting beside him.
“Alex.” He glances from me to the clubhouse doors, that deep groove forming between his brows. “How did you get in here?”
“Brianna said I had five minutes,” I tell him, pressing my thumb to that divot before sliding my fingers through his hair. “Are you okay?”
His arms wrap around me so tightly a startled puff leaves my lips.
“I’m fine,” he says, nuzzling into my neck before taking a deep breath. “Patrick tore into me, but it was deserved. He’s never yelled at a player in his tenure, but he’s also never had a Wave ejected before.”
Tenny leans back, loosening his grip to meet my gaze. “Thanks for checking on me.”
A part of me wants to joke. That would be part of our usual repartee—to poke and tease—but this is too important. I lean back until his hand falls from my shoulder to my knee.
“I heard what you said to Trevor.”
His forehead wrinkles.
“He was wearing a hot mic.”
Tenny’s mouth drops open as his eyes widen. “I had no idea. Oh no, I said your name. Are you in trouble? You are, aren’t you? That’s why you’re here. I’ll fix it, Alex. I promise. Whatever I have to do. I’ll talk to the network or the—”
He doesn’t get to finish his thought because I frame his face with my hands and crush my mouth to his. Tenny lets me kiss him for six sweeping seconds before he palms the back of my head, resting his forehead against mine.
“I’ll fix this. You have to let me—”
“I love you too.”
A noisy inhale fills his parted lips. “You…what?”
My pulse ticks rapidly against my temple, but I don’t pull the words back. I wouldn’t rush downstairs, worried about how Tenny was feeling, completely disregarding my hard-earned professional future, if I didn’t.
“I love you.”
Tenny’s eyes ping-pong all over my face as a trembling hand slides beneath my hair. “You do?”
My mouth pulls into a soft smile as I nod.
His fingers twitch at the back of my neck as he closes his eyes with a shaky exhale. Then, Tenny’s ice-blue eyes are on mine, more focused than I’ve ever seen them.
“I love you so much I can’t think straight half the time.
I want everything for you Alex, everything with you.
Whole days off, months in the offseason, every day for the rest of my life.
I want to take you on trips, and buy you a new car, and just be with you, even if we’re just going for a walk.
And more than anything, I want to help you surf again.
After knowing how much it means to you, I’m selfishly impatient to see you on a board.
It’s just—” He releases a hissing breath. “I want a lot of a lot.”
My grin deepens as I lean forward until my lips nearly brush his. “Good. Because that’s what I want too.”
Tenny’s mouth grazes mine with a cut-off groan, his fingers firm on my neck. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I smile against his lips. “We can go over the details later, but for now, just kiss me.”
I don’t have to tell him twice. Tenny slides one hand under my hip, picking me up and setting me across on his lap. The rest of my stolen minutes in the clubhouse are very, very well spent.
Once I fix my hair and apply a little powder to cover the beard burn around my swollen lips, I tuck myself into a private office to listen to the multitude of voicemails.
Cecil’s are just clipped requests to call him back.
The number from New Jersey was from the network, an official-sounding administrative assistant asking that I return her call.
Mags’s and Amelia’s messages both had varying levels of excitement.
Mags because she’d known Tenny was in love with me from her time with us in Phoenix, and Amelia because she hadn’t realized that my fake relationship had turned into something real.
After shooting Mags a positive text message and reassuring Amelia that she and I will have a long conversation once I’m able, I call Cecil.
“Finally. Did you tumble down a stairwell or something?” He chuckles at his own joke, adding, “Actually, that would be fantastic! Then, Tenny could tote you around the stadium while flexing his burly arms.”
“What?” I pinch my eyes closed, a throbbing pressure building in my skull.
“I’m just saying it would make great TV, that’s all.”
“Sure,” I say, not really meaning it, but agreeing with the producer that’s seconds from firing me feels like the right move.
He laughs again. “I think it goes without saying that the network is fuming.”
“I understand.” I swallow, tightening my abs for the eventual blow.
“But I think this is marvelous,” Cecil says with giddy delight.
I barely stifle my shocked snort. “You do?”
“Absolutely! This kind of forbidden relationship is what engaging content thrives on. There are so many opportunities to get the audience hooked. Let’s say, in the future, you get a little flirty with another player during an interview.
Then the big jealous boyfriend comes in to defend you just like he did tonight and—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I tell him, tone like steel. “Tenny is not a pawn to be used for ratings. If that’s what you expect from me, then I’m not interested in continuing with Diamond Breakdown.”
I expect to dry heave at the idea of throwing away years of hard work, but if it comes at the cost of making a mockery of the man I love, so be it.
“Ack. You’re no fun.” He clicks his teeth.
“Regardless, I want to see how this pans out, and I’ve convinced the network it would be good for the program.
I’ve bargained for you to stay for the rest of the season.
After that, you’ll probably have to reassign to another MLB team to keep with journalistic standards.
” He says the last two words like they’re boring and unnecessary.
My mouth hangs open in shock before I manage a wobbly, “Thank you for saving my job.”
The second I speak, an odd sense of disappointment nearly knocks me sideways.
I should be completely elated that I get to have the love of my life and the job I’ve worked tirelessly for.
The thing is, I expected to be fired. The whole time I worked up the courage to make this phone call, I’d been mentally preparing myself for the worst.
So why do I feel like I missed out on something?
“I still want that insatiable chemistry between the two of you,” Cecil says, dragging me back to the conversation.
A smile curls my lips. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“And I’ll give you a raise if Tenny can add in a little ‘touch her and die’ energy every once in a while.”
“We’ll see,” I say, tone hardening.
Cecil practically titters at my lackluster enthusiasm.
“Alright, darling, I have a massage in ten. Go out there and get me more incredible footage.”
I’m about to say my goodbyes when Cecil gasps.
“I almost forgot! Him saving you from that wayward ball? Gold, my dear. Absolute gold. That’s the kind of thing I expect from you moving forward. Don’t let me down.” He sing-songs the last sentence before hanging up on me.
I pull my phone away from my ear, blinking at the Call Ended screen.
My forehead crinkles as I exit the office and begin climbing the stairs. Why am I not punching the air with relief? I should be thrilled by this turn of events. Everything I’ve ever wanted is literally in my hands.
Not everything, a small voice within me whispers.
As I break onto the main concourse, my feet take me straight to the railing.
Below, the field is bright green under the stadium lights, the sharp crack of a bat slicing through the warm evening air before dissolving into a swell of cheers.
The smell of popcorn and hot dogs clings to everything, thick and familiar.
My fingertips brush the metal railing as I watch it all—the pitcher winding up, the outfield shifting, the anticipation of what’s to come.
I love being here.
But baseball will always be my second love.
A quiet sense of peace settles into my bones as I let myself consider the best-case scenario.
After an amazing season reporting on the Waves, while kissing Tenny whenever I want to, I imagine taking a temporary hiatus from reporting to return to surfing.
At twenty-six, I’m not too old to return to the circuit, to qualify for the next Olympics.
If I train hard, I could have years of competition ahead of me.
This would always be here for me afterward.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Tenny would wholeheartedly support me.
He wouldn’t grow resentful at my success.
He’d only lift me up. I chuckle as I imagine him cheering me on.
He’d be the loudest one on the beach, wearing a t-shirt with my face on it or something equally over-the-top yet wonderful.
What used to be a terrifying thought fills me with a buzzy excitement. I have a long way to go, and there’s no guaranteeing this wild thought will ever come to fruition, but it’s a possibility.
The Waves might be the right place for me today, but maybe…a different kind of wave is in my future.
Either way, I know one thing—I’m never letting go of Tenny.