This Is Falling(93)

When the second verse hits, the video screen switches from a slideshow of fireworks to her—it’s her! She’s holding one arm around her waist and the other hand is clutching the mic, her eyes closed, just trying to survive this. I can’t believe she’s doing this, and I know how hard it is for her. This is light years ahead of what she thought she was capable of, and she’s doing it for me. I feel Cash lean into me at my side, and when I look to him, his eyebrows raise.

“That’s your girl, right?” he whispers.

“Yeah…that’s my girl,” I whisper back, rapping my mask against my leg just waiting for the song to finish so I can run to her. Her hair is long and wavy, tucked under a McConnell headband, and she’s wearing jeans and a McConnell sweatshirt…mine! Ty! Ty must be here. He’s the only one who could have given that to her. I turn my head without fully looking, and I can see him by the dugout.

Our national anthem is long. I mean, like, stupid long. I’m sure Rowe is thinking the same damned thing right now as her voice quivers for those last few lines. The crowd can feel her losing her nerve, and everybody starts to join in, even the guys standing next to me. As soon as she’s done, as soon the word brave ends and there are no more syllables for her to sing, I drop my mask and I run.

It takes a while for the crowd to notice what’s happening, but when I get closer to her, a few people start to cheer. Her arms are trembling, and she hands the mic back to a guy wearing a shirt and tie, and she looks like she wants to pass out. She doesn’t see me coming until the last second, and when she turns to me, her eyes grow wide and she bites at her bottom lip. I don’t give her a chance to explain—I don’t waste another second. I cup her face in my hands and pull her to me, kissing her so hard that I have to bend her backward and hold the arch of her back in one hand.

The cheers are unmistakable now, and there’s whistling, too—lots of whistling. But Rowe just grabs my face, clinging to me, her hands making their way into my hair as her kiss grows stronger and deeper. After several long seconds, I finally break—because we both need air, and I’m pretty sure any longer will earn my team a delay of game.

“You’re here,” I say, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“That was some letter,” she says, her lower lip once again finding its way between her teeth.

“I meant every word,” I say, looking her right in the eyes, making sure she understands. “There’s room enough for both of us. And I’m willing to share.”

“I know,” she says, standing up on the tips of her toes, and pressing her lips to mine, her hands soft on either side of my face. “And thank you…for understanding how Josh fits in my life. He’ll always be important to me,” she pauses, her fingers flirting with mine while she thinks. “But…I really think he’d want me to give this,” she says, putting her hand flat on her chest, small tears forming in her eyes, “to you. You have it all—I just needed an angel to tell me I was ready.”

I hug her once more. I hug her because telling her I love her and saying thank you isn’t enough. And I hold her tightly, because it’s been too long, and because I want more, but for the next three hours this will have to be enough.

“I came here with your brother,” she says, stepping back, but leaving her fingers locked with mine. “And my dad. You know, more swing analyzing,” she winks, and I’m done. I love her; I love her so f*cking hard.

“Right, well…maybe when we’re done going over my swing we can play back that recording. You know, look for those parts where you’re a little pitchy,” I wince, playing it off seriously, but she just jabs me in the ribs under the catcher’s guard, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Screw that. I wasn’t pitchy, you ass,” she says, her eyes glaring a challenge. She wins, of course. She always wins. I’d paint my whole damned house pink, and run up the white flag if she asked, she has me so wrapped around her finger.

“No, you weren’t pitchy. You were perfect,” I say, kissing her quickly one more time before I have to rejoin my team.

“I’m not perfect, Nate. I’m a work-in-progress. But this is me…this is me, trying,” she says, our fingers dropping apart as I back away. I smile and turn, just letting her think she’s right. But she’s already perfect. She was perfect the moment I laid eyes on her—perfect for me.





THE END





Don’t miss Ty and Cass’s story in book 2 in the Falling Series!

Here’s a little sneak peek at YOU AND EVERYTHING AFTER, coming late 2014!





Prologue





Ty





Here’s the thing about a really good dream. No matter how hard you try to stay in it—eyes closed, hands gripping the sheets, face pressed deep into the coolness of your pillow—you always wake up.

Always.

My dreams are always the same. I can feel the pull of the bat in my hands, swinging it around my entire body, the pressure on my thighs as I push my weight back on my right leg, my hips twisting, the bat cracking against the ball. Then I’m running. I’m really running.

I can feel it all.