Curveball(44)

I still can’t believe he proposed to me literally standing on the bar where we had first met. He’d asked Bruno if he could get up on the bar at Club Rave with the girls and make a big deal out of our engagement. I’d quit working there the day Mark had cashed his first check almost two years ago, but I'm still good friends with Donna and the girls. Mark wasn’t joking when he said he would ask me to marry him at the place where we’d met.

At first, I was pissed about his method of proposal, as any woman should have been. But that was par for the course with our relationship. Mark is a fly by the seat of his pants kind of guy. And I wouldn’t have him any other way.

Combined with the springtime sun and the nervous anticipation creeping up from the back of my throat, my sweat-covered palms are shaking and drenching Izzie and Silvia. We haven't spoken a word since the start of the ninth inning.

With almost a ten year age difference between us, I was surprised how well the girls had taken to me, especially since both of them come from boatloads of money. But over the past few years, I have become more to Mark’s friends than just the older woman who had taught him Law and Ethics his final year of college and won his heart in the process. They are also my friends now and people I can rely on.

Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I spot Luca with his elbows propped up on his thighs and his hands covering his nose and mouth. He may be even more nervous than I am, possibly more nervous than Mark. He mumbles to himself as he rocks back and forth in his chair. Hunter and his massive linebacker frame are dwarfing the chair as he hunches forward, repeating a similar motion as Luca. The more I watch either of them the more I feel sick, so I shift my gaze back to the field.

Mark takes the red hat off his head for a second to wipe the sweat from his brow. He looks sexy-as-fuck in his tight white pants and white-and-red striped uniform. It’s the bottom of the ninth inning, and Mark only needs one more strike to close out this game. I feel as though I could puke the two bottles of water I had pounded in the last hour all over the half wall in front of me.

Even though we have a lot of distance between the mound and us, I swear Mark winks at me. Or at least I imagine that with the sun in my eyes and beating down on my face. Pitching from the stretch, Mark raises his knee, moving toward home plate as he releases the ball. I hold my breath and want to close my eyes, but I cannot miss what might be the final pitch of the game. The ball sails off his fingertips and right into the center of the strike zone with the batter taking one final swing…and a miss.

My eyes fill with tears, the sound of the crowd going ballistic around me too much to process all at once. He did it. After everything we had been through together, there were some days where I thought Mark would not pitch again. I watched as his self-worth and hope wavered throughout his recovery. But he waited his turn, and after proving his worth to the organization, his coach had wanted him to pitch the Home Opener, which is a big deal here in Philadelphia.

I’m a sobbing mess, and it doesn’t help that both Izzie and I are pregnant because the two of us are now holding onto each other, our tiny baby bellies touching and tears streaming down our faces.

Izzie screams in my ear. “The big guy did it!Oh my God this is so insane. Woo hoo!” She attempts to jump but with her big belly, it’s more like she just lifts her feet off the ground for a second.

Silvia pats me on the shoulder and flashes a smile in my direction. She mutters something that I can't hear over the crowd.

I just nod and smile, thankful she could be here for this day.

Izzie’s having twin boys and due a few months after me. They run in Luca’s family. I haven’t slept in weeks, probably more like months, and with Mark’s insatiable appetite for me combined with our daughter’s love of kicking me until I wake up, I could pass out on my feet right now.

Luckily, Luca comes up from behind me and grips my shoulder, spinning me around to pull me into a hug. He has either rubbed his sweat on my cheek or his tears. Knowing Luca and his softer side, I am willing to bet he’s fighting back the waterworks. On the surface, he seems like such a tough guy. Factor in the son of a Mafia boss part and you would think he’d be as rough as they come, but like Mark, he’s nothing like what I had originally thought.

“Liv,” he says, holding me at an arm's-length. He smiles so wide it reaches up to his blue eyes. Then he glances down at my baby bump and places his hand over my stomach. “You and Emma are the reason he got his shit back together.”

I know that much is true. There were some shaky times in the two years Mark had played for the Phillies. He didn’t start at first. In fact, he pitched very little his first year with the team because they already had their pitching rotation and only used him for relief.

Then, Mark’s arm started acting up mid-way through his first year, causing some issues that limited his full range of motion. But now he’s back in game-ready shape and just has pitched his first no-hitter since entering the league.

“It was all Mark,” I tell Luca. “I knew he could do it.”

“So did I,” he says, his voice trailing off, “so did I. I never doubted him for a second.”

Hunter high-fives Luca, which makes me laugh because that’s such a jock thing to do. “Bro, Mark killed it. This was worth the trip out here.”

Now that football is over for the season and Silvia finished her master’s degree, Hunter and Olivia were able to fly out from San Francisco to see the game, which makes this so much sweeter for Mark since Hunter missed the draft announcement by one hour.