16. Briggs
brIGGS
Six years ago…
“You eat another one of those, Layla Jean, you’re not going to be able to taste another thing in your life.”
I watch her suck in air through her pursed lips, trying to tame the spicy heat of the chicken sandwich she just had to try, but she musters through because her stubbornness refuses to wave a white flag.
We’re sitting on my bed in my studio apartment, happy that I’m not sharing a two-bedroom with the goons downstairs because I’ve been doing that shit for the last three years now.
I made a bet with one of the veterans on the team to trade places with me if I out-hit him for the year.
When honestly, I was just trying to get this place so Layla would visit me comfortably without two to three teammates up our asses, mismatched furniture, their stupid commentary, and protein powder everywhere.
She’d starve, too. The only three things in the fridge at all times were eggs, sports drinks, and leftover takeout food that had a good chance of being spoiled.
This way, my girl can get her spicy chicken, not be stared at, and I can get her all to myself.
“How else am I going to learn how to get used to the food?” she returns, reaching for her lemonade that’s not going to help her with anything. “It’s a staple here.”
“You say that like you’ve been thinkin’ about movin’ up here.” Her gaze immediately averts, and I sit up straighter while a sliver of excitement slices through my frame. “Short Stop…don’t say that if it’s not true.”
“I didn’t.”
She purposely shoves her spicy chicken sandwich in her mouth so she can’t elaborate or say any more, but my mind is reeling with possibilities of her coming up here to stay.
With her being with me full-time.
“But you’ve thought about it?”
She bobs her head side to side like she’s ping-ponging the idea in her head and chews.
And chews.
And chews.
And fucking chews.
“Layla Jean…” I warn, because the uncertainty of what’s going on in her brain is unsettling.
We’ve spent two and a half years with this long-distance thing, and it’s been hard. Layla comes up to Tennessee when she can get away, and I’ve been working my ass off to be ready when my coach or the director calls me in with the news I’ve been called up to the MLB.
The last few weeks have been especially hard because I’m getting homesick.
I’m getting Layla-sick.
We have phone conversations every night, video calls mostly, but it’s not the same. The relationship we have doesn’t have precise names attached to it because she refuses to tell her Uncle Ben that she’s in love with me until the time is right.
I still don’t know what that means.
She’s about to turn twenty-one, I already am, and I’m ready to move forward with our lives and strengthen what we have.
But with the miles and mountains between us, the every-couple-of-months trips, it’s starting to take a strain on me.
I want it all, and it’s right there, but Layla refuses to upset her uncle, and I won’t force her. I feel like if I do, it’ll always be something she was never ready for in the first place.
And it doesn’t help that he’s been having some health issues, so I do understand her not wanting to bring it up now. He was just rushed to the hospital last month for high blood pressure after he had a dizzy spell and blurred vision.
The words stroke risk were brought up, and Layla has been slightly terrified ever since, even though she won’t say it. She’s been monitoring his sweet and salt intake, making him take walks around town for exercise and to keep his stress down.
And I’m a stress factor of the highest degree.
“What?” Layla finally asks. “I haven’t said anythin’.”
“It’s going to drive me crazy.”
“That’s why I haven’t said anythin’.”
I look heavenward because I need strength and patience for the time when this girl and I can finally be together and find a white ceiling fan.
I should just turn it on and jump.
“Briggs, we talked about this.”
A sigh flees from my chest, and I nod, still looking at the small, chained string that would turn the fan on. “I know.”
“And you know I love you.”
“Know that, too.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I drop my head, falling back into focus with Layla, who has abandoned her second chicken sandwich and is looking at me with all seriousness.
I believe her, I do.
Right now.
However, it terrifies me that, one day, she’ll wake up and get tired of all this.
“I can come—”
“No,” Layla clips out with pinched brows. “There is no way you’re quittin’ now.”
I love baseball.
I love the game, the crowds, the feel of the ball when it cracks across the bat just right, and you know you’ve sent that thing over the stands for a run.
But Layla is all I’ve ever wanted, more than baseball and this career, and I won’t resent giving this shit up for a whole life with her.
However, the reality is that I’m still sending money home to keep my sisters from becoming homeless and with food on the table. I’ve worked out a plan with the bank on the balloon payment and got an extension.
Three years.
A hundred and fifty grand.
And I’m only pulling twenty-five a year.
In the off-season, I work a construction job and at the training facilities to pull extra money in.
I train in the morning, work my shit job during the day, and head to the gym at night.
Then I’m back at it again with baseball season.
Going back to Magnolia Ridge, I’m no better there than I am here. At least there are more opportunities here, and I can still keep progressing forward.
“I’d quit for you, Short Stop,” I tell her for the hundredth time. “I really would.”
She sends me a small, sad smile because I know she wishes shit were different, but it’s not right now.
But it will be, one day.
My cell phone rings on my mattress, and I glance over to see Coach Davidson’s name lighting it up.
I groan. “He’s going to have my ass for today.”
“I told you to stop hittin’ outside pitches.”
She has.
A million times.
“You just like it when I send it barrelin’ to short stop,” I mutter, plucking my phone up. “So you can see my ass sprint to first.”
“And it’s a really good view, Kerrigan.”
Smirking, I answer the call and bring it to my ear. “Hey, Coach.”
“Hey, son,” he returns in his deep, authoritative tone, sounding like his normal no-bullshit self. “Don’t get on the bus tomorrow. You’re flying up to New York. You’re in.”
You’re in.
My face twists in confusion. “What do you mean—”
“You’re in the lineup, kid. You’re in the big leagues now. Congratulations.”
My gaze floats up to Layla, whose face is lifted, awaiting news of the conversation.
I’m going to the big leagues.
I’m going to be playing for the MLB.
“You’ll meet the coaches and team. Call up Mallory so she can meet you up there and get your shit together.”
My head is spiraling because my teammates are downstairs, probably feasting on that Chinese place they’ve been on a kick with, and I’m leaving.
“Flight’s at 10 a.m, Kerrigan. Get some sleep, boy.” He pauses a moment before muttering proudly, “Congratulations, son, you’ll be missed.”
Then he hangs up.
My phone is still to my ear because I haven’t come down from what he just said yet.
I did it.
All my hard work, it finally paid the hell off.
I can pay off the balloon payment on the house and just provide for Adeline and Everly for whatever they need. I still might be helping my dad, but inadvertently, and I don’t think of him.
I can make a life for Layla and me, too.
“Are you okay?”
Nope.
I’m leaving tomorrow, and she was supposed to stay for another one of my games tomorrow night.
I still had time.
Everything is going to change from now on, and it’s not even overnight yet.
“Was it bad news?” she presses. “Do I need to beat someone up?”
Like she would.
She’s too damn sweet and good and everything I’ve ever wanted.
“I got in,” I emit, still in a bit of a fog. “I got into the MLB.”
Her hazel eyes widen before she launches herself on me, crashing my spine into the bed while she straddles me and begins bouncing up and down.
“You did it!” she beams, bouncing her ass on my dick and, geezus fucking Christ, I love her but damn. I’m not immune to her at all. “Briggs, I’m so proud of you! This is everything!”
My hands find her hips, silently begging her to stop because we’re going to get nothing done tonight, because I’m going to take her, and that’s all we’re going to do.
“I leave tomorrow mornin’,” I croak out a bit nervously. “For New York.”
The news doesn’t wipe the joy off her face because she cups mine and leans in, her soft chest pressing into my body, and I try my best to relax, but I’m anxious as all hell, and I didn’t expect it.
I guess you never do, but I wasn’t ready mentally.
“I’m so freakin’ excited for you, Briggs,” she continues to speak happily. “You’re going to be amazing. This is everything you’ve worked so hard for. Even with those outside pitches, you did it.”
Ha.
Yeah, I did.
However, it doesn’t unravel the knot in my chest—the thought of how this is going to change everything between us literally itches at every brain cell in my head.
If I do well, I’m going to have media everywhere, meaning she still can’t be seen with me because of her Uncle Ben.
“What happens to us?”
She immediately frowns, but she doesn’t lose all the excitement in her eyes. “What do you mean? Nothin’—”
“If I’m successful, I’m going to be a spectacle, Layla. That means press and paparazzi. It’s endorsement deals, and they’re going to want more from me. I’m going to need to work harder. My time is going to be loaded with training night and day, team outings, traveling—”
“You travel now.”
Frustration boils in my skull because she’s not getting it.
“What happens to us?” I repeat more tersely. “You can’t be seen with me. I need you in my life, I can’t do this without you.”
I loathe how my issues are rearing their ugly heads in this moment when I should be celebrating and twirling Layla in my arms because not a lot of men can say they’ve done this.
That they’ve made it.
Now, I could make this into shit and completely blow on a major league level, but that’s not where my mind settles at.
It’s that Layla Jean and I are going to change.
That she’s not going to want to wait around because I have this feeling my life is never going to be the same.
We’re never going to be the same.
“I promise,” she whispers, falling into my green eyes with hers. “I’m never leavin’ you. I can’t. You’re so freaking annoyin’ that you’ll never let me go, right?”
“What about your uncle, Short Stop?”
I feel her body sag a little in defeat, and that’s all I need from her.
She’s never telling him.
I’m her dirty little secret she hides in her life because her life doesn’t like me.
“Briggs, I love you,” she mutters softly. “I’m going to tell him.”
“When?”
“When his health evens out. There shouldn’t be a reason why we’re still havin’ these secret meetings. You haven’t ruined me yet.”
“I haven’t fucked you hard enough, then.”
She rolls her eyes and smirks prettily. “I meant emotionally, dummy.”
“I want to emotionally wreck you, too. In the worst way.”
Her brows rise. “Is that a threat, Briggs Kerrigan? Or a promise?”
“That’s both.”
Her forehead rests upon mine, and I hear her breathe me in before I close my eyes to try and calm down. “What do you need? What can I do so you start getting excited about this?”
“I dunno.”
And I don’t.
In truth, while this will help my family significantly, I can’t bring myself to feel relieved. I love my sisters; I would do absolutely anything and everything for them, but Layla is my core. She’s everything to me.
“You’re going to have fans,” she entices, trying her best to get me to think outside of change.
“I already have fans.”
“More fans. Fans with your name and number on a shirt. Who’ll make posters of you and cheer you on—”
“I just want you, Short Stop. That’s all I need.”
“Women who are going to want to follow you around,” she continues. “And—”
“I only want you,” I reiterate, splaying my finger across the top of her ass. “All the time. You hear me?”
She nods once and mutters, “I hear you. But you’re not hearin’ me. This changes nothing. It’s a happy moment, Briggs, somethin’ you’ve worked so hard for. I want you to be excited. This helps Adeline and Everly…your…future.”
She wanted to say my father, but refrained because that subject matter is never going to change.
“This is just another chapter. And it’s going to be an amazing one. You’ll see.” I’m still not convinced, but I do try to grapple onto her words and hold them. “What do you need from me?”
“Nothing,” I deadpan, fighting with the idea of minutes ticking by where I have to leave. “Stay just like this.”
“And after?”
I mindlessly sigh because she keeps pushing the subject and trying to get me to reveal every nasty little complaint and worry in my head. “Short Stop, what do you want from me? I’m trying here.”
“I need you to tell me what you need in order to be happy about this. I can’t leave you until I know you’re okay.”
“You’re never leavin’,” I counter. “We’re never leavin’ this bed again.”
“Be serious.”
“It’s the only thing I want right now.”
“I know you’re not slow. Despite what the world thinks about country boys, Briggs Kerrigan. Give me your greatest desires, and I will do everything I can to make them come true.”
My greatest desires.
That’s easy.
“I want you to marry me,” I make known without hesitation, because that’s what I want.
It’s what I’ve always wanted.
“Me?” she repeats, sounding so damn surprised that I’m beginning to wonder where she’s been the last five or so years.
“No, the person behind you.”
“You have an imaginary friend?”
“Sure, Short Stop.”
“That’s too bad,” she whispers, brushing her nose against mine. “Because I’d marry you in a heartbeat.” My eyes fly open, and Layla pulls away, staring down at me with that breathtaking excitement again. “When does your flight leave?”
I hesitate before saying, “Ten.”
“Courthouse opens at eight.”
My features twist in suspicion. “And how would you know that?”
“Common knowledge.”
“Common bullshit.”
“It is.”
“And that would be something you’d know because…”
“Maybe I’ve looked it up before.” She shrugs like it’s nothing, but it’s everything. “So…is this you proposin’?”
This is the shittiest engagement in the history of engagements because there is no ring, no romantic setting, no music, or a nice dinner.
Just a shitty studio apartment, news that’s about to change my life and hers.
The only good part about it.
“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling my heart race in equal parts anticipation and certainty. “Make me the happiest motherfucker in the world and marry me, Layla Jean. It’s always been you. It’s always ever goin’ to be you.”
She bends forward and places the softest and sweetest kiss on my lips. “Then yes, Briggs Kerrigan. I’ll marry you. Because it’s always ever gonna be you, too.”