And the best part about this? My woman and son are sitting in the stands, hysterically cheering for their teams. For me.
After Easton told me that he let it slip at the cookout what I had done, I confessed it to Harloe. I’ve always been taught that men throw away childish things when they grow up. So, when I found out about Maverick, it didn’t take me a second thought to put baseball behind me. I still trained with the team, of course, but I had no intention of picking up another ball.
Until Harloe. The woman is a force to be reckoned with, and when I told her what I’d done, she nearly had a conniption fit. It’s because of her, and how she told me that it would mean a lot to Maverick, that I decided to pick it back up. Thankfully, I’d still been training. Coach, although kind of prickly, knew I’d be an asset and allowed me back onto the team. I trained harder and proved to myself, Harloe, Maverick, and to everyone else that I was through playing childish games—no pun intended.
I have her to thank for all of it.
While some men may say, “I’d never have made it without so and so”—well, I mean it. Harloe gave me a reason to live, to breathe, to actually enjoy life. The reason for living far outweighed the reason for existing.
I stand, proud, watching my two favorite people cheer and shout as they stand sandwiched between my family. My eyes drift from my dad, seeing his beaming—to my mom, watching as she dries her eyes and bounces an exuberant Maverick in her arms, then to Emmerson, and I bark out a laugh when I see him flipping me off with a smile on his face. And it ends with Owen.
It took a lot for us to get to where we are, which isn’t much better than where we were before Thanksgiving. But when it all came out about Cassandra and her scheming ways, he finally got up enough courage to tell everything. He even went to the local cops and told them everything that happened, not wanting to keep the secret anymore.
Even being peeved, I can’t say I wasn’t proud of him. He changed, and while it’ll be tough and I’ll need a lot of coaxing from Harloe, the future for us as brothers is looking pretty all right.
Unfortunately, not for Cassandra, though. Just as soon as everyone got wind of what she’d done, the girl went completely off the deep end. Her friends dropped her, and everyone else started treating her and her family as lepers. If I were a better man, I’d have … No, I wouldn’t have done a damn thing. That bitch deserves everything she gets, and I hope wherever she’s run off to that she gets it.
The only thing I’m glad about is that she’s no longer here to screw shit up for me and make my life a living hell.
Now that my future is pretty much set in stone—if the rock on my girl’s finger has anything to say about it—I’ll not have anyone harming our chance at a future, because I plan on making that girl my wife.
Sooner, rather than later.
Pushing my way through the guys, I make my way toward the dugout. Instead of going inside, I grab the top and hoist myself on top of it. I come face-to-face with my lover, my fighter, the woman who makes me a better man just for sticking by my side.
“Are you ready to go home?” she asks, smiling with a hint of mischievousness in her eyes.
“Home,” I whisper, licking my lips and pulling her toward me for a kiss. “You’re my home, baby. Wherever you are, I’ll be following right behind you.”
She kisses me full on, uncaring if anyone sees. That’s how she is … my woman. She’s unabashed in her desire to always be touching or kissing me. I can’t say that I hate it, because I don’t. I love the feel of her being near. It’s as if all is right in the world.
By the time I get dressed and meet them outside, it’s a short ride to the house where there’s a big cookout set up to celebrate our victory. Harloe, Maverick, and I make our way inside the house. I see my dad there, looking around the interior with a calculated gleam in his eye. Knowing my luck, he’s looking into remodeling this shithole for a place Harloe and Maverick can live, too. I can’t say I’m against the idea. Having them with me all the time would be a dream come true, regardless of if I spend more time at her apartment than I do at home anymore.
Next, we see my mother, and she’s already holding her hands out for Mav. Ever since they met for the first time, they’ve been as thick as thieves. She loves doting on him, and Maverick is already eating it up. I smile when I see Harloe’s dad sidle up to my mom, picking at his little grandson in her arms. Those two have a bond that not even I do with my dad.
Harloe’s dad practically raised him while she was gone, all with the help of Duncan, who couldn’t make it to the shindig. He and Harloe still have a hard time getting along after the whole spat back in October, but to me, I owe Duncan thanks. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have been man enough to fight for my woman and push past all the bullshit and hurt. And it was—every single bit of it.
Giving Harloe a quick kiss, one that burns me to the tip of my toes, I break off and walk to the ice bucket. Grabbing a Coke, I sidle up to Zeke and his normally brooding self.
Except, this time, he’s got his eyes pinned to the new girl who came with one of my baseball buddies. She’s the normal goth type, but in a Barbie kind of way, if that makes sense? Her head is thrown back, throat constricting with laughter. She looks to be having the time of her life, all while my friend looks like he’s eaten a rotten tomato.
Flicking my eyes between them, I finally say, “Go talk to her.”
Zeke shakes his head, grunting something under his breath. He takes a drink of his pop, which is probably spiked with something, just like all his drinks seem to be nowadays.
“You’ve been eyeballing her all year, man. Bite the bullet.” I laugh as he side-eyes me with a what the fuck look?
“Nope,” he deadpans, showing no emotion whatsoever.
There’s something going on there. While Zeke may be kind of off-putting when it comes to meeting new people, he’s not an outward bastard to them. This girl? She flips all his asshole switches without even uttering a word.
She’s a special one.
“Why?”
He looks at her for a moment longer and then looks back to me. This is the first time he’s given me his whole attention when it comes to goth Barbie. Other times, it’s a half-assed comment here, and a middle finger there.
“The hatred for that one runs deep, man,” he retorts, his voice hard as steel and broaching no argument.
I shake my head slowly as I take a slug of my coke. “She’s done nothing to you that I’ve seen.”
For several moments, we’re both quiet, allowing the party to thrive around us. The guys whoop and holler, and the girls line up to dance with their guys. I watch as goth Barbie gets into Timmy, our short-stop’s arms, and slowly smiles up at him. From beside me, anger wafts off Zeke in waves, so thick and tense, I feel like every bone in my body is going to break from the pressure.
Then he turns to me and says, “We all have pasts, Hunt.” He looks so haunted as he says it. “Looks like mine finally caught up with me.”
Before I can ask what he means, he takes one look at goth Barbie and takes another gulp out of his can before tossing it. Then he’s out the back door without a backward glance, an aura of loneliness clinging to him like smoke.