Epilogue
Renleigh couldn’t get that gold graduation cap off her head fast enough.
For a girl who’s not much into hair and makeup, she’s pretty picky about the hats that go on her head.
If it’s not Texas, it’s not touching her follicles.
Unless they trade me, of course. Then, I think she might burn her Texas hat and curse the owners for life.
So far, though, the Texas management is safe.
“You didn’t have to come to my graduation.
You’re going to be late,” she says, fidgeting in the passenger seat as I race from her university graduation ceremony to the ballpark, where she thinks I’m starting today.
When she realizes I’m not, I fear this entire plan will fall to pieces, but I have to try.
Surprising this girl is impossible. I guess a year and a half of grad school makes for one astute mind, and Renleigh has become about as observant as a renowned detective.
She’s going to make a great child therapist. I’ve seen the heart she brings to every case.
Her clinical studies are where she shined.
Probably because she relates so deeply to the young girls she’s trying to help.
The nonprofit she’s joining is lucky to have her.
And I love that she is stepping in to serve families who can’t afford the kind of mental health help their kids desperately need.
It’s one of the reasons I’m asking her to marry me, among about a billion other.
Of course, if I blow this surprise and she sees it coming, she might run.
It’s still a bit of a thing, and it’s part of what makes her .
. . her. She’s cautious with her heart. She gave hers to me, and I’ll never misuse that trust. Now, though, I’m asking for a big, public promise.
That’s going to scare her deep down, so if it’s a no today, I’m good with it.
I’m good with what we have. It doesn’t mean I won’t ask again, when or if she tells me the time is right.
It’s about comfort for her, and sometimes comfort takes time.
“Your parents are going to love their seats,” I say, glancing at her as she wriggles her hips and pulls her jeans up her bare legs. She insisted on changing in the truck. I think she just likes to torture me by making me watch her strip when my hands are tied up.
“You really got my dad front row behind the plate?”
She snaps the button on her jeans, then sinks back into her seat, adjusting the seat belt I never let her take off. She thinks she’s invincible sometimes. I won’t take that chance.
“I sure did. You think he’ll forgive me for stealing his daughter from Sweetwater because of it?” Her dad doesn’t really think that, but the man can tease pretty good.
Renleigh’s lips bunch.
“Uh, maybe. It might take more than one game.”
I roll my eyes and return my attention to the road.
Renleigh just wants to sit there with him.
I know how her mind works. She hates that the family section is on the third baseline, far from a good view of the ump’s bad calls.
She wants to give our umps shit when they screw me over, but if I get her within earshot, she’ll say something that will get me ejected.
This is also another reason why I want to marry her, of course.
“Your parents should beat us there by a bit. They got out of the university lot fast.”
It was by design, of course, but Renleigh doesn’t seem to realize that. I purposely parked in the worst spot to buy her parents time to get to the stadium. They’ll be in their seats with phone cameras at the ready when I pop the question.
“You know, the last game my dad came to was the first time he took the stadium steps without his cane. He’s doing so well.” She beams.
I reach over and squeeze her hand.
“They both are.”
She nods, and for once, doesn’t temper the acknowledgement with a for now.
Renleigh’s mom kept her word. And it seems the story she shared about why she left in the first place was rooted in truth.
I’m sure there were ugly parts of their marriage.
But fate found time for them now, it seems. And they appear happy.
Dale is even traveling with Sarah to places that don’t revolve around baseball.
They have a trip planned to Washington next month, to see the buildings Sarah worked in.
Part of me thinks she might not quite be done with that place.
But I also think Dale is willing to leave Sweetwater this time and head east with her.
Lindsey couldn’t make the trip. Too many logistics with the twins and taking care of Holly, plus there’s the scrutiny she’d face by possibly showing up with Brooks.
As observant as Renleigh is, I’m surprised she hasn’t questioned her sister’s relationship with her employer.
I could be wrong. Maybe it’s nothing. It sure feels like something, though.
My parents have our sisters covered, though. My mom loves a good livestream, which is what she thinks FaceTime is. If she ever veers into actual livestreaming, we’re all in trouble. She does not self-edit her words. Ever.
My parents are sitting right next to Renleigh’s.
I called in all my favors for this game.
It helps that we’re no longer in contention this season.
That’s why one of our prospects is getting a start and I’m getting an extra day of rest. The next three weeks are experimental for us as a team, which makes it the perfect time to focus on taking a big swing with Renleigh.
I reach my left hand along my hip, feeling for the ring.
I know it’s there, but I keep checking as a creature comfort.
It’s become my worry stone today, though a lot more jagged on the edges.
I hope Renleigh likes it. She mentioned it once when we were walking downtown.
It was in the Harry Winston window, and it’s the only ring on display that isn’t big and square.
It’s subtle, quietly elegant, and bold in its simplicity—kind of like the woman it’s meant for.
We pull into the player garage, and I rush around my truck to open the door before Renleigh can. It’s a game we play, and I only win half the time. And only because she lets me.
I take her hand, helping guide the heels of her boots to the concrete floor.
She’s wearing the black leather ones that that hug her calves, and I have every intention of begging her to keep them on—and nothing else—when we get home later.
All of this, of course, is contingent on her not punching me in the nose when I propose. I’m prepared for all possibilities.
We walk through security and head right into the waiting elevator.
I’m not smooth enough to have that timing planned, so it’s a gift from the universe that gets us to the club level without interruption.
The restaurant area is buzzing with executives.
Our crowd is thinner now that we’re not in the hunt, but the high-dollar fans and sponsors still love the atmosphere.
The game is more of a party to them, and since their dollars pay my salary, I say drink up, my friends.
We reach the tunnel where I would normally send Renleigh up to her seats by herself while I peel off and duck into the clubhouse, only that’s not how today is going to go.
“Don’t you need to get in there?” She points to the clubhouse door; I can tell her suspicions are already raised.
“I’m just going to say a quick hi to your parents, make sure the seats are good.” I’m fumbling, but I smile through it.
Renleigh’s forehead dents. That’s doubt right there.
“Of course the seats are good, Hunter. They’re behind home plate.
” Her tone is a bit indignant, but I let it roll off me as I march ahead of her, up the stairs and to the front row where her parents are sitting next to mine.
I feel the side of my pocket again, checking to make sure a hole didn’t suddenly appear, but the ring is still there.
“Hunter, why are your parents . . .” She turns to her right, toward the family section, where a ball cap is being passed among the player wives. They’re stuffing it full of twenties, and it takes Renleigh less than five seconds to piece together what’s going on.
“Hunter Reddick. What is the bet?”
She turns to find me on one knee, and her hands fly to cover her mouth, even though she likely saw this coming.
“Renleigh Blackwood, the wives and I have a bet. They don’t think I can get this ring on your finger. So, what do you say? Will you do this life thing with me forever? Will you marry me?”
My throat is so dry, but I don’t dare breathe or utter another word.
I simply wait while the woman who owns me calculates her next move.
When her hands peel away from her mouth one at a time to reveal a hint of her familiar smirk, I exhale the small bit of oxygen left in my lungs.
But I don’t yet celebrate. Or relax. Not yet.
“How much is in that thing?” She tilts her head toward the hat, now held at the end of the row. Kyle’s wife walks it over, riffling through the bills and counting on her way.
“Looks like two hundred and eighty,” she says, holding the hat by the bill as she presents it to Renleigh.
“Well, then,” my girl says, scooping the dollars into her fist and shoving them in the front pocket of her jeans.
She next takes the ring from my hand and slides it on her left-hand finger, admiring it as she stretches her arm out between us.
Her eyes flit to mine and her lips tick into a tight, perfect smile.
“I guess I win,” she says.
I’m on my feet in half a second and spinning her in my arms the next.
“I love you, Renleigh Blackwood,” I say against her lips as I break our kiss.
I set her feet on the ground and press my forehead to hers. She gathers the front of my shirt in her fists, holding me close.
“And I love you, Hunter Reddick, number one draft pick.”
THE END