Chapter 48 Emily
EMILY
Yankee Stadium rose up around us like a concrete cathedral. I was pretty sure I’d stopped breathing somewhere between the entrance and the elevator.
The elevator. Because apparently we weren’t walking to our seats like normal people. No, we were being escorted by a woman with a headset and a clipboard who kept calling Cam “Mr. Rockford” while I trailed behind in my brand new Yankees shirt, clutching my bag like it was a lifeline.
“This way, please.” The woman gestured down a carpeted hallway that definitely didn’t look like any baseball stadium I’d ever been in.
I shot Cam a look. He met it with a face full of innocence that I didn’t buy for a second.
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? Where are we going?”
“To our seats.”
“These are not seats. Seats are down there.” I jabbed a finger in the vague direction of the field. “Seats have peanut shells on the floor and a guy spilling beer on your shoes.”
The woman stopped in front of a door and opened it with a polite smile. “Here you are. Enjoy the game.”
I stepped inside and promptly forgot how words worked.
The suite was all glass and leather, climate controlled and quiet, with a view that made my knees go weak. We were directly behind home plate. Close enough that I could see the chalk lines on the batter’s box, the stitching on the catcher’s mitt.
“Cam.” His name came out strangled.
He stepped up behind me, his hand warm on my lower back. “Good surprise?”
I turned to face him. I wanted to joke, to tell him he was crazy, but the words stuck in my throat. This was too much. It was grand and expensive and thoughtful, and I suddenly felt very small and very unworthy.
“It’s…” I shook my head, fighting the urge to apologize for existing in this space. “It’s amazing. But, um,” I plucked at the hem of my shirt. “I feel like I should be wearing something fancier. There must be a dress code for seats like these.”
He just smiled, that slow, hot smile that made my stomach flip, and let his eyes roam over me. “You look perfect, stop stressing.”
“Oh, well, when you say it like that…”
He leaned in, pressed a hard kiss to my lips, then gestured to the leather chair. “Come on. Let’s watch some baseball.”
I could’ve over thought it. Could’ve let my brain spiral into all the reasons this was too much, too fast, too good to be true. I could’ve tallied up everything waiting for me back home. My mother’s voice. The scholarship I probably wouldn’t get. The scars that never let me forget.
But I didn’t. I forced the dark thoughts into a box and locked it tight. Be happy, Emily. Just be happy.
So I dropped into the seat beside Cam and let myself just... be here. In this ridiculous, impossible moment. With this man who’d flown me to New York because I’d been sad.
The stadium lights blazed bright as the players took their positions, and a ripple of energy moved through the crowd. Forty thousand people holding their breath in unison, waiting.
The pitcher wound up. Released. Strike one.
I let out a loud cheer, then immediately blushed. “Oh fuck, sorry. Forgot where I was for a moment.”
Cam chuckled. “No one out there can hear you.”
“Oh, right. Of course.”
After that, the game unfolded in front of us like a gift. By the third inning, I’d kicked off my shoes and curled my feet up underneath me, completely forgetting that I was supposed to be acting like a civilized adult in a fancy corporate suite.
In the bottom of the fourth, the Yankees loaded the bases with two outs. I was perched on the edge of my seat, practically vibrating.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I muttered under my breath.
Cam leaned over. “You know he’s gonna swing at the first pitch. He always does.”
“He does not always... okay, he does. But maybe this time...”
The pitch came. The batter swung.
The crack of the bat echoed through the stadium and the ball sailed into the gap in left center. Two runs scored before the throw even came in, and I was on my feet, screaming, my hands in the air.
When I finally sat back down, breathless and grinning, Cam was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“What?”
He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Nothing. I just like watching you watch baseball.”
I felt heat creep up my cheeks and shoved at his shoulder. “Be quiet and pay attention. There’s a runner on second.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
By the seventh inning stretch, we’d demolished enough food to feed a small army and I’d sung “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at full volume with absolutely zero shame. The air in the stadium was electric, the kind of buzzing, collective joy that only happened when a home team was winning.
I leaned back in my seat, pleasantly full and a little drowsy from the excitement, watching the grounds crew drag the infield between innings.
Cam draped his arm around my shoulders, and I nestled into his side like I belonged there.
The thought caught me off guard and I stiffened, flicking Cam a look, as though checking that he’d heard the thought. Ridiculous.
He was leaning back, idly skimming his fingertips up and down my arm. He looked so relaxed, in a way I didn’t see often. The stadium lights caught the angles of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. I wanted to trace those lines.
He must have felt my gaze because he turned, one eyebrow raised. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Just... thank you. For today. For all of it.”
His expression softened as he reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering against my cheek.
“There’s no need to thank me, Em.”
“Yeah, there is.” My voice was soft, breathy. “This is the best day I’ve had in... maybe ever.”
He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
His lips met mine, soft and unhurried, and the roar of the stadium faded to nothing. His hand cupped my jaw, tilting my head just slightly, and I melted into him. There were forty thousand people around us, but right then, it was just him. Just us. Just this.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
“Good,” he murmured, his breath warm on my lips. “That was the point.”
Another roar from the crowd dragged our attention back to the game.
The Yankees won in the bottom of the ninth on a walk-off single that sent the stadium into absolute chaos. I screamed myself hoarse, jumping up and down, and when I turned to Cam, he caught me around the waist and lifted me clean off my feet, laughing into my hair.
We stayed until the stadium started to empty, until the players had disappeared into the dugout and the grounds crew emerged to start their post-game routine.
I didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want this night to end.
But as Cam took my hand and led me back through the carpeted hallway toward the elevator, I realized something.
I was happy. Actually, genuinely happy.
And for once, I didn’t try to talk myself out of it.