EPILOGUE
JACKSON
I shake out my hair, droplets spraying everywhere.
My body twitches as the ice-cold liquid streams down my skin.
I try to glare through my grin at Schultz and Sanchez, who are holding the orange cooler over their heads like a trophy.
I don’t even care that it’s fifty degrees, and I just took a Gatorade bath.
Nothing can stifle the euphoria that’s bursting from me like radioactive waves.
The blond woman next to me laughs and steps up to me now that the coast is clear. She points her microphone toward me. Confetti covers us both, now sticking to my wet clothing.
But then La Cruz comes tearing my way and full-on koala tackles me. I nearly lose my feet but stumble around and manage to stay standing. La Cruz fist-pumps the air and lets out a battle cry. I can’t stop grinning. I can’t stop laughing. I can’t believe this right now.
“We fucking did it!” he roars.
“BDE!”
“BDE! BDE! BDE!”
The low rumbling chant breaks out, players, coaches, reporters, family members all joining in where we’re celebrating on the field. And then it’s like surround sound, the ground vibrating with each letter. The fans join in, louder. Louder.
The reporter next to me—Meredith—laughs, her smile matching mine, huge, bright, and all teeth. This is a dream come true for Berkeley. A new team. First playoff appearance. And we take it home.
At home.
“BDE. BDE. BDE.”
Another confetti cannon goes off.
“So, Olander, walk me through that at bat. It was a two-pitch at bat. Did something just click? It was like you knew you were going to take the pitch out of the ballpark.”
I glance around, at my teammates jumping on each other, enveloping each other in hugs, celebrating with family who’ve made their way down to the field.
I finally turn back to Meredith. “I think sometimes the stars just align. We’d been fighting tooth and nail all night.
Houston is a great team with a dangerous bullpen.
I don’t think there was any point tonight that my stomach wasn’t in knots.
But we kept fighting. No one fights harder than a Berkeley ballplayer, and no one cheers harder than a Berkeley fan. ”
Liam and Layla are going to love me for that one. PR training for the win.
The stadium erupts, and I sweep my gaze over the crowd, my grin threatening to break my face.
“Maybe the stars aligned, but I think there might have been a little talent in there too,” Meredith says with a teasing smile. “How did you feel stepping up to the plate?”
I lean in so my mouth hovers just above the mic. “Hungry.”
She tips her head back with a laugh. Her eyes glimmer. “And would you say you’re satisfied now?”
I nod. “Yeah, you could say that.”
She shakes her head at me. “Last question, and then I’ll leave you to your celebrating. After the ball hit the stands, you turned around and pointed to the crowd. It looked like you were pointing to someone in particular. Who was it?”
A lightness fills my chest. Even amidst the joy and jubilation swirling around me, there’s only one thing in this world that makes me feel like I’m floating on air.
“My boyfriend.”
Meredith’s smile freezes, and I can see it in her eyes. Confusion. Shock.
“I-I’m sorry. Can you repeat that, please?”
My smile widens. Holy fuck, that felt good. My chest feels like it’s about to split at the seams.
I lean forward and grip the mic. There will be no confusion about what I just said.
“I was pointing to my boyfriend.” I look up, and my gaze clashes with brown and gold. My heart takes off. Speeds right out of my chest, a home run straight to Frankie. He’s rocking a Berkeley World Series shirt, my brother standing by his side wearing one as well.
I straighten. Meredith is saying something, but I have ears and eyes for no one but the man beaming at me.
I stride up to him, a rainbow of blue confetti raining down between us. Those deep pink lips move. Something about congratulations. Or amazing. I don’t know. All I know is they’re mine.
I don’t stop when I get to him. I haul him to me and claim those lips. His mouth is still stretched in a smile beneath mine, and his laughter breathes into my lungs. It’s like kissing pure happiness. I tighten my arm around his back and pull back just enough that I can meet his gaze.
Someone slaps the back of my head, and I turn my grin on Schultz. He has Amy in his arms, one of his boys on his shoulders, the other on Amy’s hip. Everyone is all smiles. There is nothing but flashing white teeth on this field right now.
“Congrats, Jackson,” Amy says. She leans forward and busses Frankie’s cheek. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we couldn’t be happier to have you two join our Berkeley family.”
“Even if you are a showoff,” Schultz says with a goofy grin.
His son, Lucas, holds out his fist. “Killer hit, Olander.”
I dab him. “Thanks, big man.”
Jake steps up to me, arms spread wide. He cocks a brow.
I launch myself at him.
“So proud of you, little bro,” he whispers tightly.
I squeeze him extra hard, then step back, a lump building in my throat. “Thanks for being here.”
And I don’t just mean here at this game, though I know how difficult it was for him to get out here in the middle of football season. He’s hopping on an early morning flight first thing tomorrow to head home.
We’ve been in constant contact since everything went down with Mom and Dad.
Somehow, we’re the closest we’ve ever been, even though there’s an entire country between us.
And apparently, we have more in common than either of us thought, if the discussion we had last night about a certain QB he coaches is any indication.
He’s a phone call away whenever I need him, or vice versa.
Like when Mom reached out, and I didn’t know what to do.
He gave me the courage I needed to tell her I wasn’t ready to speak with her.
Which ended up for the best, because I found out it was just a ploy for my dad to get World Series tickets.
Maybe one day, but right now, I only have space for people who love me.
Jake and I have both been processing everything together and have finally realized how absent affection was in our lives growing up.
I never once felt loved by them, and talking with Jake, I know he feels the same way.
We’re doing better at showing it with each other.
It’s not always easy; we have decades’ worth of conditioning that showing emotions equates weakness, but I have a lot of really great people around me who make it easier each and every day to tear down those barriers.
My biological parents might not be in my life any longer, but I have true parents now.
Ones that text me almost every day. Frankie’s parents treat me like I’m a son of their own.
They flew out to San Francisco and helped us apartment hunt until we found a place.
They’ve come out to watch my games—they wanted to be here for this one too but couldn’t make the trip.
I can’t wait to see them when we get back to Providence.
Rosa and I have some more of Frankie’s baby albums to go through.
Somehow that hits harder for me. They had no obligation to love me, yet they opened their hearts to me as though I had always belonged there. They want to love me. Those are the people I have room for in my life now.
Jake lifts his fist, his smile a little wobbly. “Love you.”
I knock his fist. “Love you, too.”
Eli Derby, one of my fellow outfielders, comes running over, La Cruz on his back like usual.
“Woahhhh there! Despacio, despacio!” La Cruz calls out, and Derby rears to a stop like the steed he is. La Cruz hops off Derby and gives him a pat. “Was just doing a victory lap.”
We all laugh, and I’m grateful for the break in the heavy moment.
Derby punches my shoulder. “Amazing, Olander. Damn, that was sooo pretty. I keep closing my eyes and reliving it.”
My grin widens. “Thanks, man.”
La Cruz finishes giving both my brother and Frankie handshake-hugs, then turns back to us. “All right, who’s ready to shower in champagne!” He starts dancing, belting out the chorus of Bad Bunny’s “Booker T.”
Hell yeah, we’re the fucking kings. We’ve done it. The fucking champions.
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Frankie says and shoots me a wink.
La Cruz jumps up and down, cackling. God, the man’s joy is infectious. He reminds me so much of Shane.
I wrap my arm around Frankie’s shoulders, and we start walking toward the dugout, where the entrance to the clubhouse is.
Our gazes snag.
“I love you,” he murmurs. Those brown eyes shine up at me. With pride. With joy. Because he feels it too. We’re connected in every way. We ride the highs and battle the lows. Together.
“I love you, too.”
It’s just past eleven when we walk through the front door of our condo. The place erupts. Despite being the most exhausted I’ve ever been in my entire life, that jittery, overexcited feeling spreads through my body.
We had our clubhouse celebration—and I was the main person being attacked with spraying champagne.
Then we had a hot minute to shower and change into our suits before it was time for a private celebration of players, staff, and family with the Berkeley owner.
But this right here—this is what I’ve been waiting for all night.
Paulie’s the first one to me. He wraps me in a bear hug. “Congrats, man.”
Someone jumps on my back, and I stumble forward, Paulie bracing me. Then I’m hit from the side. Then the other side. I get a peek of Easton and Maddox, and I’m not surprised in the least to figure out that leaves Shane on my back—who is currently pressing kisses to the top of my head.
“Our own little Olliebear brings home the win!” Shane shouts. “I, for one, am taking this as a Clippers win through, like osmosis or something.”
“Does that mean if I rub up against him, I get to be a World Series champion?” Easton asks.
Shane gasps. “Cowboy! That was totally a me line. I’m so proud of you.”
Easton grins and falls into Maddox’s side, wrapping an arm around Maddy’s back.