Stealing Home(65)

We were the visiting team, so we were last at bat in the ninth, and we needed a run to tie. Two to win. Archer was next up with one on base.

After those two games where Archer had not been the number eleven fans had come to know, he’d come back with a vengeance. There wasn’t a ball a pitcher could throw that he couldn’t hit. He was back, but that wasn’t all. He’d come back even better.

He’d already sent two balls over the fence this game—and we could really use a third.

“Why don’t you run out there and give him one of those big kisses with that look in you women’s eyes that says there’ll be more of that to come if you hit a homer?” Reynolds sat down beside me in the dugout, taking a break from his pacing.

“I’m working, Reynolds.”

“I know, I know. You’re the team’s athletic trainer first on game day, Archer’s girlfriend second, but come on, Doc.” Reynolds waved at the giant scoreboard that seemed to loom above the outfield. “This is the last inning of the last game of the biggest series in our lives. A little motivation couldn’t hurt. Compliments of your lips and feminine guile.”

“Feminine guile?” I blinked at him. “Who’s spending their nights reading romance novels?”

Reynolds snorted. “The most action I see during the season is on those pages. I’ll take what I can get.”

I gave him a look that suggested conversation time was over, and I got back to focusing on number eleven’s bat as he took a few practice swings before stepping into the box. After both of us had sat down with Coach to divulge our relationship—he’d basically responded that as long as it didn’t affect our jobs, he could give a shit who we played footsie with—Luke and I went public. We knew it would get out sometime, and we both felt more comfortable having it come out the way we wanted instead of the way the press would spin it.

Luke had given a small press conference and started with mentioning that I was the best damn athletic trainer he’d had the privilege of working with. He followed that up with admitting I was the best damn woman he’d had the privilege of falling in love with. It was short and simple, and after the country had buzzed about Luke Archer’s swoony confession, the story died down and life had gotten back to normal. Except now Luke and I shared a hotel room when we traveled, and we didn’t have to worry about sitting next to each other at some team meal.

I loved not having to hide our relationship anymore. I loved how certain he’d been about wanting to announce it. I loved him.

I’d known this season would be life-changing. I just hadn’t known it would be because I’d fall in love with a great man who would manage to help guide me through the minefield of my fears until we’d reached the other side.

Something else had changed after that night under the stadium lights—Shepherd had gotten his marching orders. Which was kind of ironic since he was the one who’d told me that’s what I had to look forward to. Coach had been madder than a badger when he found out what had happened, and when Luke straight up told Coach he would not play on the same team as that kind of man, Shepherd was gone so fast most of the players didn’t realize it for a few games.

The viper was gone, and even though I’d never let anything anyone said to me affect my trust in Luke again, it was a relief to not have to share space with Shepherd twelve hours a day.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any cute, single, athletic training friends, would you?” Reynolds nudged me as he leaned forward. “I need an Allie Eden of my own.”

My legs started bouncing. “None judgment-impaired enough to date you, Reynolds.”

Reynolds’s deep chuckle rocked his body. “If that was a qualifier, I’d never score another date again.”

“Please, Reynolds, you know I love you”—I wiped my palms on my slacks—“but shut the hell up.”

“I talk when I’m nervous.”

My breath stopped when Archer crouched into position, the entire grandstands seeming to follow. “And I throw elbows when I am.”

Reynolds shoved off the bench, getting back to pacing the dugout like he’d been the second half of the game.

The first pitch, Archer had to jump out of the box to keep from getting hit. Leaping from my seat, I had to bite back the string of curses the rest of the team were firing at the pitcher for taking a shot at one of their own.

The second pitch came in the same way. The sons of bitches were trying to walk him by beaning the hell out of him. They’d been trying to walk number eleven all night but hadn’t sunk to this level yet.

When Luke stepped back into the box, he didn’t throw a glare the pitcher’s way like I was. He didn’t give away that he was the slightest bit flustered. He just eased into the box, taking a different position than he normally did when he was at bat, and waited.

“That crazy bastard’s actually going to try to hit one of those widowmakers.”

My legs kept bouncing, silent prayers on my lips.

As the pitcher wound up, Archer made a last second adjustment, then the ball was whizzing toward him. It was high and inside again, but somehow Luke managed to connect with it. Everyone in the dugout rose to their feet, watching the ball sail into the outfield. It clinked off the wall of center field.

The dugout unleashed when Roberts made it to home, tying the game. Archer made it to second and nodded at us all while we continued to cheer like raving lunatics.