Chapter Forty-Six
Taylor
“Is there room for one more?”
I’m stretching near third base, fingers reaching for my toes while the Texas sun beats down on my neck, when the voice calls out from behind the chain-link fence.
“Justin?” I straighten up, squinting against the glare—and there he is, Chase’s roommate from New Orleans, grinning at me like we just saw each other yesterday instead of five months ago at a Super Bowl party. “What are you doing here?”
He lifts a bat bag over his shoulder. “I could ask you the same thing. Last I heard, you were terrorizing college pitchers in Ohio, not hanging out at community fields in Arlington.”
“Just moved here last week.” I walk toward him, wiping my sweaty palms on my practice shorts. “Got a job in the Rangers’ player development program.”
“No way! I’m back home for the summer before my final year of law school.” He unlatches the gate and steps onto the field. “Playing city league to stay in shape. This is wild—what are the odds?”
I shrug, but there’s something comforting about seeing a familiar face when everything else in my life feels like it’s been tossed in a blender.
“How’s Todd?” Justin asks, dropping his bag and starting his own stretches. “Still owning the paint at MSU?”
“Yeah, he’s good. Just got drafted to the Timberwolves.” I toss him a ball, which he catches one-handed. “They’re expecting big things from him in his rookie season.”
Justin nods. “And you’re here developing the next generation of MLB stars. I always knew you’d do something amazing with baseball.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Let’s see if I survive my first month, before we start calling anything amazing.”
We spend the next hour taking turns pitching and batting. Justin’s not bad—his swing is cleaner than I remember, and he’s got decent power to right field. When the sun starts to dip and the field lights flicker on, we’re both drenched in sweat but grinning like idiots.
“There’s a great taco place down the street,” he says as we pack up. “Want to grab dinner? You can tell me all about how you’re settling in.”
I hesitate for half a second, Todd’s face flashing through my mind before I push it away. “Sure. I’ve got a pregnant sister at home, so fair warning—I might need to get takeout for her too.”
He laughs. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my sisters-in-law, it’s not to deny pregnant women food.”
Over tacos and guacamole, I learn that he’s the youngest of six boys and that his family’s lived in Arlington all his life.
“So your new place—how’s it working out?” Justin asks, folding his empty taco wrapper into a neat square.
“It’s small but decent. Two bedrooms, close enough to the training complex that I don’t spend my life in traffic.” I sip my drink. “Emma’s turning half of her bedroom into a nursery, which is surreal.”
“I can imagine.” He shakes his head. “Listen, if you need help with anything—putting together baby furniture, showing you around town, whatever—I’m around all summer.”
His offer feels genuine, and over the next few weeks, I find myself taking him up on it more often than I expected.
We meet for morning runs before the heat gets unbearable.
He shows me shortcuts through the city and which grocery stores won’t completely demolish my budget.
We watch Rangers games at a bar near my apartment, analyzing plays and arguing over whether bunting is a dying art—it is, but I’ll go to my grave defending it.
“I’d like to see him try to swing at it,” I mumble during one such game where Shin-Soo Choo is batting four- for-four against the Minnesota Twins, prompting them to intentionally walk him.
Justin’s eyebrows furrow. “Why would he want to swing at an intentional ball?”
I take a sip of my drink. “I did it in the bottom of the ninth of the College World Series.”
“No way! I want details.”
I smile. “Bottom of the ninth, tied game, runner on first. They decided to walk me, but the fourth pitch wasn’t quite wide enough, so I swung.”
“Holy shit.” He’s looking at me like I just told him I once pitched on the moon. “That’s the most badass thing I’ve ever heard.”
I laugh, caught off guard by his enthusiasm. “You need to get out more if that impresses you.”
“You’re just full of surprises.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “What else don’t I know about you?”
There’s a shift in his voice, a warmth that makes me glance at him sideways. In the dim light, his expression is open and curious, nothing hidden.
“So I know you can probably get tickets yourself, but my dad’s company gets Rangers tickets and he never uses them,” he says outside the restaurant, right before we part ways. “Would you want to come with me this weekend?”
My stomach flutters. “I do get tickets, but Emma hates baseball, so I have no one to use them with either.”
“Well, I don’t care whose tickets we use, but mine are pretty good—close to the field.”
“Let’s try them out. If they’re horrible we can always use mine next time.”
He grins. “Sounds like a plan.”
We part ways, and somewhere on the drive home my face starts to ache—I’ve been smiling since he brought up the tickets. Could this be my first-ever date?
Friday night lives up to my expectations, the game unfolding like something from a movie I never thought I’d star in—overpriced beer in plastic cups, funnel cake dusting our fingers with powdered sugar, the satisfying crack of bat meeting ball.
By the seventh-inning stretch, I’m tipsy on both beer and the novelty of watching baseball without analyzing every pitch sequence like it’s going to be on my next performance review.
“Having fun?” Justin asks as fireworks burst overhead after a Rangers home run.
“Yeah,” I admit, surprising myself with how much I mean it. “I am.”
When the game ends, there’s a bigger fireworks show—explosions of red and gold that light up the entire stadium.
As we lean back in our seats, Justin’s hand brushes against mine on the armrest. I freeze, not pulling away but not exactly leaning in either.
The contact sends a small jolt through me—not electricity exactly, but a reminder that I have nerve endings, that I’m capable of feeling something outside the Todd-shaped void I’ve been carrying around.
The drive home is quiet, comfortable. Justin taps his fingers on the steering wheel to whatever’s playing on the radio, and I watch the city lights blur past my window, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions in my chest.
“So,” he says as he pulls up in front of my apartment building. “I had a really good time tonight.”
“Me too,” I say, meaning it.
He shifts in his seat to face me. “Would you like to do it again sometime? It doesn’t have to be a baseball game—like if you wanted to go to dinner and a movie . . .”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Actually, I’m asking you on a second.”
The statement hangs between us, simple and complicated all at once. I think about Todd, about how different this feels—easier, lighter, but maybe not as deep.
“Yes,” I say, the word coming out before I can overthink it. “I’d like that.”