Epilogue
. . .
Ceci
I was supposed to go to spring training. Spend a few weeks in the humid Florida sun, taking in baseball game after baseball game, cheering on my team.
But when I started dating Aidan, all those plans went out the window. I didn’t want to spend a month in Florida—not if it meant I couldn’t be at home with him. Instead, we watched the games together from his couch. It was ten times better than being there in person ever could have been.
And now it’s Opening Day. The Bulldogs have already started their season with a road trip, but tonight is their first game at home. The stadium buzzes with energy as fans stream through the gates, decked out in navy and orange.
Aidan knows I’ve rented out a suite for all our friends and family.
He knows I somehow scored field passes so we can watch batting practice from down by the dugout.
What he doesn’t know?
He’s throwing out the ceremonial first pitch.
Yeah, my wannabe baseball player is about to live out one of his childhood dreams.
“You’re smiling like a supervillain,” Aidan says as we wind through the tunnel beneath the stands.
I immediately wipe the grin off my face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Prove it.”
“I can’t prove it, but I’ve known you long enough to recognize that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that says you’ve planned something.”
I loop my arm through his and keep walking. “Maybe I’m just excited for baseball season.”
“Annie.”
“Maybe I’m excited to spend the evening with my handsome boyfriend.”
His eyes narrow. “Definitely hiding something.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
The team representative waiting near the field spots us and walks over. She’s holding a baseball and a hat, a jersey tucked over her arm.
Showtime.
“Mr. MacGregor?” the woman asks.
Aidan glances behind him before pointing at himself. “Me?”
“Yes, sir. If you’ll come with me, we’re ready for you.”
His eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “Ready for me for what?”
I can see the gears turning in his head as he looks between me and the woman.
Then he freezes. Slowly, his gaze swings back to me. “No.”
My grin breaks free.
His mouth falls open. “No.”
“Maybe.”
“Ceci.”
I shrug. “Thought it’d be fun.”
“Fun?” he repeats. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”
The woman hands him a baseball with the Bulldogs logo stamped across the front.
Aidan stares at it.
Then stares at me.
Then looks back at the baseball.
His throat works as he swallows. “You got me the first pitch?”
The wonder in his voice makes every phone call, every favor, every secret worth it.
“Happy Opening Day.”
For a second, he just stands there, holding the ball like it might disappear if he squeezes too hard.
Then he laughs. Not the controlled, captain-of-the-team laugh everyone else gets. A full, disbelieving laugh that lights up his entire face.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“Holy shit.” His eyes dart toward the field, where the players are finishing warm-ups. “I get to throw a pitch?”
“One pitch.”
“On an actual baseball field?”
I laugh.
“That’s generally how first pitches work.”
He drags a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “I practiced this in my backyard for years.”
My chest squeezes. Because that’s exactly why I wanted to give this to him.
Not because he’s a professional athlete.
Not because it’s possible he can throw a baseball harder than half the people who get invited to do this.
But because somewhere underneath the hockey captain, underneath the responsibility and pressure and expectations, there’s still a little boy who dreamed about baseball.
And tonight, for one perfect moment, he gets to be him.
The team rep hands over the custom jersey with his name on the back, and he’s quick to throw it on over his Bulldogs T-shirt, then fits the cap over his head. He runs his fingers over the brim, marvel on his face.
The emcee’s voice booms through the stadium.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome today’s ceremonial first-pitch guest, captain of the Boston Grizzlies, Aidan MacGregor!”
He looks at me one last time. “I am absolutely going to bounce this.”
I laugh. “No you’re not.”
“I’m serious. My arm just forgot how to work.”
“You play professional hockey.”
“Different throwing motion.”
The panic in his eyes is so genuine I almost feel bad.
Almost.
The crowd begins to clap as his name is announced.
Aidan blows out a breath, squares his shoulders, and starts toward the mound.
Then he stops.
Turns around.
Walks straight back to me.
Before I can ask what he’s doing, he cups my face and kisses me hard enough to make the crowd around us whistle.
When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against mine.
“Thank you.”
The words are quiet. Raw. And somehow far more emotional than I expected.
I smile. “Go throw your pitch, baseball boy.”
His grin flashes.
Then he heads for the mound. The stadium seems impossibly large from here. Thousands of people. Bright lights. The catcher crouched behind home plate.
Aidan reaches the rubber and rolls his shoulders once. Twice. The giant video board catches him, and the crowd cheers louder. I can see the exact moment he remembers he’s an elite athlete.
His posture settles.
His nerves fade.
He raises the ball.
Takes aim.
And fires.
The ball cuts through the air in a perfect arc. The catcher barely has to move his glove. Pop.
Strike.
The crowd erupts. Aidan’s face lights up like all of his dreams have just come true.
And for a second, standing on that mound, with his arms spread wide and the stadium cheering around him, he looks happier than I’ve ever seen him.
Like every backyard game.
Every childhood dream.
Every what-if.
All came true at once.
He jogs off the field to another round of applause, grinning so hard his cheeks have to hurt. The second he reaches me, he scoops me off my feet.
“You got me a strike.”
I laugh as he spins me in a circle. “You threw the strike.”
“Details.”
When he finally sets me down, his eyes are shining. Actually shining.
The same man who spent years carrying the weight of everyone around him. The same man who believed being strong meant handling everything alone. The same man who once looked at me and thought he wasn’t allowed to want more.
Now he’s standing in the middle of a baseball stadium, surrounded by our friends and family, looking like he has everything he’s ever wanted.
And maybe he does.
The game starts a few minutes later. Our suite is loud and chaotic. Seb starts an argument about batting orders before the second inning. Bex and Vanessa disappear for suspiciously long stretches to raid the concession stands. Someone spills a beer. Someone else steals my fries.
It’s perfect.
Not because everything is flawless.
But because it’s ours.
At some point during the fifth inning, Aidan slides into the seat beside me. The stadium lights reflect in his eyes as he watches the game.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
I know that look.
“What?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “I’m just happy.”
The words hit me harder than they should.
Maybe because there was a time when happiness felt complicated for both of us.
Like something we had to earn. Like there was always another obstacle waiting around the corner.
But life isn’t perfect. It never will be. There will be hard seasons and impossible decisions and moments when everything feels uncertain. The difference is that neither of us has to face those moments alone anymore.
Aidan reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just certainty.
I lean my head against his shoulder as the crowd roars around us.
The baseball game unfolds below. The people we love fill the seats around us. And the future stretches out in front of us, wide open and full of possibility.
For years, I thought happiness was something you chased. A destination you eventually reached if you worked hard enough. But sitting here beside the man I love, I finally understand the truth.
Happiness isn’t a finish line.
It’s this.
The quiet squeeze of his hand. The sound of his laughter. The way he still looks at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
It’s choosing each other, over and over again. Today. Tomorrow. Every day after that.
Aidan lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss against my knuckles.
I smile and squeeze his fingers.
Then I settle a little closer against him and watch the game.
Exactly where I’m meant to be.
This isn’t the end of the road for Aidan and Ceci.