Chapter 21
Liam
When I hear the keypad beep, I’m on my feet before I even think about it. “Soph,” I say, crossing the room as she walks in. My eyes lock onto hers, and I can only hope she sees the regret all over my face. “I’m so sorry about what I said this morning.”
“I know,” she says quietly, setting down her bag.
I reach for her, then hesitate, my hand hovering before I drag it through my hair instead. I’ve been replaying our fight all afternoon, and I know I owe her the truth.
“I lashed out because I’m scared of being a washed-up nobody,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “But I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. You have this incredible opportunity with your commission, and I believe in you.”
Sophie takes a breath, and I brace for her to tell me off. Instead, she says, “I was wrong to push you. The community center thing is your choice, but don’t pretend you don’t still love baseball.”
I try to interject, but she holds up a hand. “And you weren’t wrong about that blank canvas—I do need to do some serious thinking about how to move forward.”
She closes the space between us, and I want to pull her the rest of the way to me.
“I know this is casual,” she swallows, “but we both care about each other’s futures. Maybe it’s time we admit that.” She reaches up and presses a kiss to my cheek, and something in my chest tightens. “Thank you for being honest with me. You’re a good friend.”
And for the first time in my life, a woman is saying that to me when I want more.
I want to scoop her into my arms and carry her to the bedroom, to the actual bed—no more of this countertop or yoga mat nonsense. I want to wrap my body around hers, and I want to wake up with hers wrapped around mine.
And more than that, I want to talk about my insecurities and hopes for the future. I want to help her work through whatever’s going on with her art. I want to know if she thinks about me when I’m not around, the way I’ve started thinking about her.
Because this doesn’t feel like just friends who happen to care about each other’s futures. At least, not on my end. Not anymore.
“Did you make fajitas?” she asks, breaking my train of thought.
“Yeah,” I reply with a small laugh. “Yeah, I did. I’ll make you a plate.”
We sit side by side on the couch, eating our dinner.
I think she’s going to retreat to Cal’s room when we finish, but she suggests we watch a movie instead.
She grabs a blanket and tucks herself into my side.
I wrap my arm around her and wonder if she can feel my heart beating in my chest. But she lets out a contented sigh and snuggles in.
She barely lasts twenty minutes of the movie before she’s sound asleep at my side.
I stay that way for a long time, just enjoying the warmth of her steady breathing on my chest. Her little shudders of sleep.
I stroke her hair and breathe in the fruity scent of her shampoo.
When the movie ends, I do scoop her into my arms. She stirs slightly but then settles back against my chest.
I tuck her into Cal’s bed. Kiss her lightly on the temple. And go back to the couch.
“I called Coach Bill,” I say when she comes out of the bedroom the next morning. She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners, but waits for me to continue. “He wants me to come to the field today at four.”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
“I was wondering…” I glance out the window, thinking how silly this idea is. “If you would come with me? I mean…” I backtrack, “it’s totally fine if you’re busy. I’m sure you are, and you don’t want to—”
“Liam.” She smiles, and the knot in my chest loosens. “I’d love to.”
Later that afternoon, we pull into the community center parking lot.
I swear her little Audi—the one that used to belong to her dad—wasn’t made for someone my size.
My knees are practically up to my chest, and I can’t stop bouncing one of them, nerves rattling around in my chest. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Sophie’s hand lands on my knee, and it makes me freeze. “You okay?”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I am, and start tapping my finger against the center console instead.
She parks near the back of the lot, turns toward me in her seat, one leg tucked under her. “We can sit here for a few minutes,” she says. “Coach Bill isn’t expecting you until four.”
Sophie leans back in her seat and starts breathing slow and steady. My finger keeps tapping against the leather, the only outlet for the nerves crawling up my spine. Tap. Tap. Tap. She takes another breath, and I’ll be damned if I don’t mirror it. Tap. Tap. Tap. My finger still won’t stop.
She reaches across the console, sliding her fingers through mine. I squeeze her hand without thinking, and for the first time all day, my lungs finally fill.
“What if they think I’m a total joke, Soph? What if they look at me and see some washed-up nobody?” I ask, my voice low, but I tighten my grip on her. I want to pull her closer, tuck her under my arm, keep her close. Keep her.
She gives me this little smirk. “What if teenagers think a thirty-year-old isn’t cool anymore? I mean, we can basically guarantee that.”
“You’re not helping,” I mutter, but a laugh slips out all the same.
“Look, these kids want someone to look up to. They want someone to take them seriously,” Sophie says, her voice steady but soft. “You don’t have to promise they’ll go pro. You’re here to show them that when you pour yourself into something you love, it opens doors.”
Her jaw tenses like she hears how hypocritical that sounds, but I don’t call her on it.
“You love baseball,” she continues. “Baseball gave you purpose. And I believe it still can…it just might not look exactly like it did in high school. Or college. Or even El Paso.”
I make a sound that's half laugh, half groan. "Okay. But if they laugh at me, we're out of here."
“Deal,” she says, squeezing my hand. Her touch sends a flutter through my entire body that somehow settles my nerves and makes my pulse race at the same time. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”