Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
“You okay, Lyons?”
August panted the words, rushing to my side after a nasty throw.
My shoulder roared as I tried to roll it out, the tendons raw from overextension.
Didn’t matter. We were down three runs to Philly, and the minutes were trickling down too quickly.
As much as I wanted to rush off this field and head back home, my pride wouldn’t let me.
We needed this win—fuck, I needed this win.
After over two months back on the team, I was finally finding my rhythm in the outfield. The pressure was different from the infield, and it made me work that much harder. A new position, a new challenge, a chance to prove myself all over again.
I tilted my chin up at August. “All good. Just stop letting those fuckers get past you.”
He laughed off my comment, “Yeah, fuck you too, Lyons. Last time I check in on you.”
It wouldn’t be. Since he’d taken over my position, August and I had struck up an easy partnership, working together more seamlessly than I had with anyone in the past.
The next two batters struck out, leaving me a moment of rest in center field.
Freshly cut grass stung my nose as I bent down, brushing some of the dirt off my knees from earlier play.
As the crowd cheered player’s names, my mind drifted out of the park, too focused on a little girl waiting for me hours away.
It had only been two weeks since I met Anna, two weeks since she crashed into my life and turned everything upside down.
But in that brief span of time, she’d become everything to me.
Love at first sight was a myth—something saved for movies and those romance novels August tucked into his bag.
At least, that was what I believed before Anna.
But from the moment I held my daughter in my arms, I loved her unconditionally.
Would put my life on the line if it kept her from harm’s way.
Being apart from her made my chest ache, and I’d counted down the days until I saw her again.
Before, I’d loved the long season, always wishing for more than our 162 regular games.
Baseball had been my only constant since seventh grade.
From the moment I put that bat in my hands, I never wanted to put it down.
Time and pressure might have clouded it for a long time, but now that my head was clear, being back here, back with my team, reminded me why I’d fallen in love with the game in the first place.
But that longing—that need to be on the field—it was different now.
Instead of craving my mitt on my hand, I craved being home with Anna, watching her toothy smile as she held up different toys to play with.
Even with our daily FaceTime calls, it wasn’t enough, and the season had barely begun.
Could I keep doing this? Keep being absent from her life?
Growing up, my dad had been gone for a lot of the year.
Even during home games, his mind was always somewhere else, counting down the minutes until he could crush another team.
Did I want that for Anna? For her to wait constantly for a moment of my attention, to ignore that bitter burn when it never came?
The next batter stepping up to the plate shoved those thoughts away.
My eyes narrowed as I bent my knees, staring down our competition.
I drew a blank on the guy’s name, but it didn’t matter.
If this were a couple of years ago, I would have known every one of his stats, been able to recite them all by memory.
My dad had drilled that habit into me, asking me about all the other players on the roster, pointing out their strengths over me.
But that hadn’t done me any good, hadn’t made me a better player. If anything, it pushed me in the opposite direction, focusing on their strengths instead of honing my own.
My body stilled as the pitcher wound his arm, and the batter pointed the bat toward the back wall of the stadium.
Right above my head. My senses droned, blocking out all the noise until it was just me on the field, singularly focused on the other team.
One breath. Two. And the ball released, rushing toward the batter in a blur.
The telltale crack of the bat made me jolt into action, watching as it flew in my direction.
Focus, Jace. You’ve got this. You’ve caught balls like this a million times.
Numbers, the past, everything faded to the background as my legs carried me to the back wall, praying I’d be there when the ball descended.
I could make this catch, end the inning, and give my team something to celebrate later.
And when the ball slowed, arching right toward my glove, that was exactly what I did.
“Please tell me I made it.”
My words came out hurried, not bothering to shut the door behind me as I pulled up Kinsley’s number.
The game had gone into extra innings, and we’d pulled out a win, despite Philly’s impressive defense.
The highlight of the night had been that catch in the fourth inning, when I ended Philly’s run and helped us close the gap.
But all of that faded away when Kinsley answered the call.
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “She just passed out. I’m sorry, I tried to keep her up.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” I said as I collapsed onto the bed. “Knew it was a long shot, but I had to try.”
Kinsley hummed in agreement, shifting the phone so it sat on the counter while she steeped her tea.
Chamomile, the same purple label that she toyed with most nights on our phone calls.
As soon as I got home, I’d buy that brand in bulk.
Watching her—cataloging all those preferences and details—had become my new obsession, starting with her tea collection, a different flavor for every time of day.
Nights always meant chamomile, something soothing to help her drift off.
“How are you feeling after the game?” she asked. “That was a hell of a catch, by the way.”
I sat up, my brow furrowing as I took her in. “You watched?”
“Yeah,” she said, her cheeks darkening in a cherry blush. “Haven’t in a while, so I thought it’d be fun to see you in action.”
Fuck. My dick shifted at her words. Not sure why, but the idea of Kinsley watching me turned me on.
I didn’t care if anyone else watched, especially my dad, but it meant something, knowing that she was with me, even with hundreds of miles separating us.
“You should come out to a game sometime. I can grab you some seats.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” Just the idea of having her in the stands sent my thoughts into overdrive. Having her there, in my jersey, fuck—it almost made my brain short-circuit. “I’d like Anna to know more about me, see my world for herself.”
Kinsley chewed on her lower lip. “Don’t you think she’s a little young for that? And with the press—” She slammed her lips closed, her eyes searching above the phone like it held all the words.
“I get it,” I answered. I didn’t like it, but I got it. “If you’re not ready, it’s okay, Kins. When she gets a little older, we can talk about it.”
“It’s not that.” She released a long breath and wrapped her arms around her middle. “If we go, there’s going to be questions, Jace. Questions you might not want to answer.”
“What do you mean?”
“If people see Anna, they’re going to know you have a kid.”
“So?”
She ran her hand over her face. “Are you really going to make me spell it out for you?” Yes, yes, I was.
Kinsley groaned and leaned over the phone.
“You’ve been single for a long time, Jace.
And having a baby, it changes things. People are going to ask about Anna, about us.
It might make dating more complicated for you. ”
I let out a loud laugh, shaking my head as I looked back at the phone. “Do you really think I have any interest in dating anyone else, Kinsley?”
She snapped her lips closed again, the same fear reflected in her eyes.
I’d seen it too many times already, especially after our kiss in the kitchen, and that had been one hell of a kiss.
But as soon as I backed away, Kinsley panicked, shoving me behind the safety of her walls.
Ever since, our conversations had all revolved around Anna, nothing more.
That was fine. After missing out on so much, Anna was my priority. If Kinsley needed space to process our new normal, I’d give her as much as she needed, but she was out of her mind if she thought I wanted anyone other than her.
With a long breath, Kinsley shook her head. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that, Jace.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she groaned. “We barely know each other. And no matter what happens next, we’re in each other’s lives. Forever. If we start something, and it doesn’t work out…”
Her unspoken words played out in front of me.
Then Anna would be the one who got hurt.
From the moments I’d spent with Kinsley, she was an incredible mom.
She put Anna above everything and had sacrificed a lot to give her the best life.
She was right; we didn’t know each other. At least, not as well as I wanted.
“Tell me a story, Kinsley.”
Her dark umber eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Tell me something, anything, as long as it’s true.” I pushed up, resting my head on the pillow. I smirked at her frown, her eyes searching for the reason behind my request. “Please.”
That word made her melt; her smile was softer than it had been minutes earlier.
She kept quiet as she moved through the apartment before settling on the couch.
Humming to herself, she chewed on her lower lip, her eyes soft and distant until a slight curl formed on her lips.
“Have I ever told you about my first baseball game?”
“No, but I’d like you to.”
She smirked into the phone. “I was five years old.”
“Shit, that’s young.”
“Yup.” Kinsley beamed back at me. “But my mom was a diehard Rebels fan. She never missed a game, and opening day was practically a holiday in our house.” Her voice cracked, and I itched to hold her, but all I could do was sit there, waiting for her to continue.
“Sorry,” she croaked. “I don’t talk about her often. ”
“You don’t have to,” I offered. “Not if it’s too hard.”
“No.” She stood a little straighter. “My mom deserves to be remembered, and I want Anna to know what she was like." Some of that heaviness had faded from her gaze. “I named her after her, you know. My mom—her name was Annalise.”
I couldn’t help but smile at her words. I’d never met my daughter’s namesake, but it was easy to see how much Kinsley loved her. My voice lowered. “Tell me about the game, Kins.”
She laughed, the sound so bright and cheerful, it made my lips turn up. “So, like I said, I was five, and my mom won a pair of Rebel tickets in a work competition.” She rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure she rigged the whole thing. She’d do anything to see them play.”
She softly smiled to herself, playing with her favorite pillow on the couch, as if trapped in the memory.
“It was one of the best days of my life. I had no interest in baseball, but watching my mom explain every play? It was like she came alive in that stadium. We ate hot dogs and popcorn until I almost got sick, and then we stayed in this super fancy hotel. Before we left the next day, she let me pick whatever I wanted from the breakfast buffet.”
“She sounds like an amazing mom.” So different from my parents.
My first game, I’d been stuck in a box, forced to smile and play nice for my dad’s prominent friends.
My mother stuck to the corner, only talking to me when no one else was looking.
I don’t think I ever saw the field, much less any of the plays.
She left only a month later, and my dad hardened even more, not bothering to take me to any more games unless he needed a photo for the press.
Kinsley nodded. “She was the best. Sometimes, being here, I still feel her, like she’s going to walk out of her bedroom at any minute and scold me for working too hard.”
We sat in silence for a moment, not needing words to feel the connection between Kinsley and her mother. I cleared my throat. “What happened to her?”
“Ovarian cancer,” Kinsley breathed. “By the time they found it…there wasn’t a lot of time left. She tried to hide it from me, didn’t want me to worry. So when I found out,” she inhaled sharply, “it never would have been enough time. Not for us. But I would have done anything for a little more.”
“I’m sorry you lost her.”
“Me too,” Kinsley answered. “I wish she could have met Anna. She would have been the best grandmother. Driven us crazy, because she would have spoiled our girl, but she would have loved her so fiercely.” She lifted her eyes, finally meeting mine, and they were a little redder than earlier.
“What about you? What are your parents like?”
“Nothing like yours.” But diving into my childhood trauma wasn’t something I wanted to get into tonight.
I cleared my throat, my eyes getting heavy with exhaustion, but I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.
As I leaned back into the pillow, I propped the phone against the spare one. “Tell me another story.”
She chuckled but didn’t question me. Instead, her melodic voice kept going, telling me all about her day and Anna’s latest obsessions. Apparently, bananas were the hit of the week. She spoke about anything and everything, and, as I drifted off to sleep, her voice was the last thing I heard.