The ball is driven straight to me, whizzing through the air in light-year fashion. It’s at an awkward angle, and I pull my glove up to the middle of my chest, palm out. It lands in my glove, jerking me back with its force, but I hold on for dear life.
Not until I hear the umpire’s roaring call of “OUT” do I drop it, then drop to my knees.
We did it. We’re World Series champions.
In a blur of commotion and light, I’m running to home plate, meeting the players and coaches who are running out of the dugout as players from the outfield rush up behind me. We all clamber into one big group hug, or mosh pit … I can’t tell which. But there are tears and whoops of joy and so much laughter.
“We fucking did it, man!” Clark is shouting in my ear, and we embrace in the biggest bro hug in history.
“Can’t believe we just pulled that off.” Walker is grinning ear to ear as he holds his hand out to me.
I shake it, and then we break and pull each other into a hug. Confetti rains down upon us as someone plunks a World Series Champions hat down onto my head. They’re playing Queen’s “We Are the Champions,” and I’ve never had bigger goose bumps in my life.
If there was ever a way to go out, it’s this. Sure, I said that win or lose I was done, but it would have fucking sucked to walk away without that last ring.
The huddle dissipates a little as the families start to stream onto the field, little kids and wives running for their players. Moms and Dads hug their adult sons, everyone crying in happiness.
I spot Colleen before she even makes it past the dirt of the on-deck circle, and sprint for her. With everyone watching, cameras clicking away, and the whole wide world in view, I pick her up and spin her in a circle.
She’s laughing, her light brown hair blowing around her pink cheeks, and I lower her to the ground by sliding her down my body.
“Way to go, champ.” She winks at me, smirking.
“Couldn’t have done it without my general manager.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“We shouldn’t be …” She tries to shrug away, but I catch her by the lapels of that sexy librarian pea coat she dons.
“It doesn’t matter if the entire world sees me touching you. Because we’re allowed to do that now. You know why?”
Colleen’s amber eyes are still shifty, as if she’s trying to gauge how many people are watching us. “Why?”
“I already decided before tonight, win or lose, this would be my last game. Sent the press release and my thoughts to Charlie. He’s releasing them tomorrow. I’m retiring.”
The woman I love looks like I’ve just told her that UFOs are real, and I’m their alien leader. “Hayes, I … I can’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s a good thing I wasn’t looking for your question, then.” I smirk, bumping my nose against hers. “This is my decision. I choose you, babe. I choose us.”
She breathes something between a relieved sigh and a pained groan. “Hayes, you love baseball. It’s such a big part of your life, you can’t walk away—”
“I’m not walking away from baseball. Hell, my girlfriend owns a team, I’m pretty sure I could find a coaching position if I want one. Or be one of those old guys who cashes in on his fame and does commercials for copper back wraps. I’m not walking away from anything. I’m walking toward you, which is a hell of a lot more exciting and fulfilling than any game I’ve ever played.”
Big brown eyes blink at me, and tears cloud them. “Oh my God! I can’t believe it …”
Then I do something I’ve been waiting to do for what seems like an eternity. I kiss her for the world to see, right there in the middle of the celebration. That action, this expression of love, feels better than any ring I’ve ever won.
I’m not giving up my career, I’m not settling for anything. Hell, I’m going out with a World Series ring on my finger.
No, I’m trading one happiness for another. Being able to show the whole world how much I love this woman, spending each day out in the open with her, that’s what I want for the next step in my life.
I’ll go down swinging with her, come what may. And I may be getting a World Series ring from this, but I have plans to very soon put a ring of my own on her left hand.
I smirk as I kiss her again, knowing full well the kind of celebrations we have to come.
Epilogue
Hayes
Three Years Later
A cool fall breeze ruffles through my hair as the orange and red leaves flutter on their branches above our heads.
Colleen and I walk hand in hand through the park, one we often frequent because it’s just around the corner from the four-bedroom colonial we bought. The house is a bit of a fixer-upper, but with all the time on my hands, I promised her I’d fix it up just the way she wants. Plus, we’re not much for the McMansions on the outskirts of town. So far, I’ve tackled the kitchen, master bath, and wrap-around porch by myself, and I have to say my handiwork is pretty damn good. Sports Illustrated even called and asked if they could do a feature on my DIY career after retirement.
Re-gripping her left hand so that I can hold it better, I feel the brush of her diamond against the skin of my fingers. Every time that happens, my heart gives a little tug. I still can’t believe this woman is my wife, that out of the drama and scandal our relationship started with, we made it down the aisle.
As I study her side profile, my stomach drops in the exact same way it did all those years ago, when I saw her for the first time. She’s every bit as gorgeous, as elegant, but there is a confidence in her now that just does it for me. With a couple more years’ experience under her belt as general manager of the Pistons, she’s grown into an even more dominant professional powerhouse. The team is headed for the playoffs for the fourth year in a row, much in part to Colleen.
Right now, however, she looks like she might throw up or run back to the car.
“Remember, this is just a meet and greet. No pressure, we just talk to some of the children. This is as much an interview for us as it is for them. You don’t have to be nervous, babe.”
I try to give Colleen a reassuring smile, but I’m walking on eggshells myself. I’ve been on the other side of this, these picnics in the park that the social workers make seem like they’re supposed to be fun. When really, it’s a buffet for foster and adoptive parents to select the most prized pig. Or at least that’s how I saw it back then.
Before we got married six months ago, the woman I love admitted to me that she wasn’t sure she wanted kids. That the idea of a family felt nice in her head, but she hadn’t had a traditional one. Neither had I, and we both worried that we couldn’t properly love or assimilate to what a nuclear family should be. With that in mind, on both of our ends, we decided to hold off on kids. We could enjoy our marriage, we’re both relatively young. If we decided that one day, having a baby was what we wanted, then we could figure it out together at that point.
But it struck me after we got back from our two-week honeymoon in Bora Bora; the reason I personally wasn’t one hundred percent on board to make a baby was that I’d grown up my whole life seeing kids who desperately needed a home. Colleen attended one of my foster charity events with me, and in the car afterward, I’d expressed how much I thought we should adopt.
Even though I could sense her nerves every time we talked about it, she agreed to start the process. And now, we were at a match day to see if there were any children we could bring into our home and care for. Then, later down the line, possibly adopt.
“I just … this is all so new. It feels like a huge step. I’m excited, but it’s a lot, Hayes,” she says quietly, biting at her lip.
Stopping our progress, I turn her to face me. “No matter what you might believe, you’re going to be an excellent mother. If we find a child who matches well and who we could see loving and caring for. Like I said, there is no pressure. I’m scared, too, of course this is a huge leap for both of us. But we have a lot to offer, and I think we could
really do some good for a child in need.”
She nods emphatically, because that part I know she’s on board for. I also know, because she’s whispered it to me in the dark of the night, that she doesn’t want to become her mother. I’m not sure how else I can tell her that there is no way she’ll ever become that woman, that she never was her, except to let her actions with a foster child speak for themselves. When this next chapter of our life begins, I know she’ll be even better at it than I am.
“I love you. Thanks for always talking me down.” She smiles, and I pull her in for a hug. “I’m glad we’re trying to become parents this way, though. It feels so much … more, if that makes sense.”
To a lot of other people it might not, but it does to me. “I feel the same way.”
We keep walking, the sound of children running and playing getting louder as we near a bunch of picnic tables with balloons and food. Most of the park-goers wear puffed vests or heavy sweaters. Chunky boots abound, and my own Timberlands feel foreign on my feet. Even after living in Packton, Pennsylvania for the majority of four years, I haven’t quite adjusted to the cooler months. But I’m coming around to it, especially when Colleen has a free day and we head to the mountains to ski. As a California boy, I still drag her there whenever I can, and we kept the house in Malibu as a landing spot on the West Coast.
There were more than a fair share of articles that came out after I retired claiming the rumors were correct all along; that I wouldn’t settle down or have a family until my baseball career was done. I guess they were technically right, but they didn’t have the whole story. I chose this woman over a sport, over anything, and that’s why my career came to an end. I would make the same decision a million times over, given the chance again.
Especially since it’s led me to where I am now. Married, in love, looking to start a family, remodeling a house and working with my hands. It feels good to build something and watch that hard work come to life. But it’s not all I’m doing. I also volunteer way more than I used to, something that fills me with immense joy and pride. And Walker and I have started a youth baseball clinic in the area, now that he’s a father. Getting back to the basics of the sport I love, watching the glee fill those kids at catching a ball or hitting it down the line, that’s better than any championship I’ve won.
As I said, Colleen is killing the game, too. She’s been highly touted as one of the most progressive and innovative general managers in a long time. Her team is prospering, the organization itself is making more money than they ever have, and she’s managed to, finally, gain the respect of her uncle and the rest of her family … even if it is grudgingly so.
Her father got out of prison a year after my retirement and has been banned by the league and his family. He’s tried, in vain, to contact Colleen a couple of times. She’s never broken on her vow not to see or communicate with him. It would do her no good, and a man that narcissistic would only bring more pain and doubt to her mental health. Jimmy Callahan had a few interviews and paid spreads after his release, but has since faded off into nothingness. He’s barely even mentioned in baseball circles anymore. I’m sure that fucks with him more than anything, so he’s getting what he deserves.
Colleen begins to giggle just before we can walk up to the organizers and check in.
“What is it?” I say, amused.
She turns to me, her eyes twinkling. “I just thought of what a DILF you’re going to be.”
A snort comes out before I can stop it, and I bend low to whisper in her ear, “Well, it’s a good thing for you that you’re the only one who will be fuc—”
Her hand slaps over my mouth and my lips vibrate with a chuckle below it, before I nip at her palm with my teeth.
Removing it from over my face and lacing my fingers with hers, we walk jointly toward what could be our future child. Out of all the things I’ve done, won, gotten … my life with Colleen is by far the best thing to ever happen to me.
I remember it every day, and twice on game days, when I get to watch with her, knowing that our love bloomed right inside a ballpark.
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Also by Carrie Aarons
All of my books are currently enrolled in Kindle Unlimited.
Standalones:
Love at First Fight
Nerdy Little Secret
That’s the Way I Loved You
Fool Me Twice
Hometown Heartless
The Tenth Girl
You’re the One I Don’t Want
Privileged
Elite
Red Card
Down We’ll Come, Baby
As Long As You Hate Me
All the Frogs in Manhattan
Save the Date
Melt
When Stars Burn Out
Ghost in His Eyes
On Thin Ice
Kissed by Reality
The Rogue Academy Series:
The Second Coming
The Lion Heart
The Mighty Anchor
The Nash Brothers Series:
Fleeting
Forgiven
Flutter
Falter
The Flipped Series:
Blind Landing
Grasping Air
The Captive Heart Duet:
Lost
Found
The Over the Fence Series:
Pitching to Win
Hitting to Win
Catching to Win
About the Author
Author of romance novels such as The Tenth Girl and Privileged, Carrie Aarons writes books that are just as swoon-worthy as they are sarcastic. A former journalist, she prefers the love stories of her imagination, and the athleisure dress code, much better.
When she isn't writing, Carrie is busy binging reality TV, having a love/hate relationship with cardio, and trying not to burn dinner. She’s a Jersey girl living in Texas with her husband, daughter, son and Great Dane/Lab rescue.
Please join her readers group, Carrie’s Charmers, to get the latest on new books, as well as talk about reality TV, wine and home decor.
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Warning Track: The Callahan Family, Book One Page 20
