Authors: Amy Noelle
“I love you, too.” He tipped his cap at me. “I’ll see you after the game, at home?”
Tears pricked my eyes. Home. Our home. “Yes.”
“Good. Enjoy the game.” He winked and went to take his swings at batting practice. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as the seats around me filled in, as the stadium got louder and the music pounded out of the speakers. The vendors walked through the stands selling peanuts and beer and cotton candy and Cracker Jack.
I stood with everybody else when the National Anthem was performed, but instead of watching the flag, I watched Brad watch the flag. He shot me another smile when he took his position at third, and then he focused on the game. I loved his fierce concentration as he fielded a hard grounder and flipped it to first to get the first out. The pitcher retired the side, and I waited anxiously for him to reappear.
The first Dodger batter walked, and Brad came on deck. He practiced swinging, keeping his eyes on the pitcher as he fired the ball over the plate. I was so busy focusing on him that I didn’t notice the usher standing next to me until he tapped my shoulder. At least this time I didn’t jump a mile. He nodded at me when I thanked him and took the ball.
An old song for a new beginning.
A few seconds later, when the player struck out and Brad headed to the plate, instead of playing the usual rap or hard rock music that accompanied a player intro, they played the opening strains of “If I Ain’t Got You.” Oh, hell. Now I was going to cry. He tipped his cap at me again before turning and taking his stance in the batter’s box. The music faded away and the ball sailed off his bat, slicing into right field for a double, bringing home the runner who’d taken off as soon as ball and bat made contact.
Normally I would have paid attention to the actual game, but I couldn’t. Brad kept distracting me. He sent me a ball in every inning, and each one messed me up more than the last.
Second chances can be sweeter than the first.
I want to see you in that #3 jersey and nothing else. Soon.
We’d better get started now if we’re going to have all four kids.
Thank you for letting me all the way in.
Sometimes trust is earned the hard way. I’m glad I have yours now.
In the seventh inning stretch, the Dodgers were up big, 8-2. I couldn’t say how they got their runs other than the one Brad knocked in and the one he scored a few innings later. I sang along to “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” and the usher appeared again.
“I hope he gave you a good tip,” I said. He laughed and assured me he had, not that I doubted it. The seventh ball made me tear up again.
Seven years was long enough, don’t you think?
Yes, it was entirely too long. And I was more than willing to get to work on the four children we’d discussed once upon a time. Being an only child had made Brad long for a big family, and I’d had no problem imagining a whole brood of mini-Brads. I wanted it even more now that I knew it was a possibility again.
Brad stepped up and hit a solo shot over the field in left center. I felt his eyes on me as he rounded second and headed toward third, so I held up the ball and gave him a nod. He flashed a grin as he trotted home. I’d never been so anxious for a game to end. I wanted every player after Brad just to strike out so I could be back in his arms where I belonged.
The Brewer half of the eighth inning went quickly, and another ball appeared as the Dodgers came to bat.
Let’s not waste any more time.
Fine by me! Blessedly, the Dodgers did no more damage and it was finally the ninth inning. I was squirming in my seat I was so excited when the first batter went down on a called third strike. He started arguing with the ump, and I wanted to yell a string of profanities but he finally sat down. The second batter swung on the first pitch and popped it out to the pitcher. Thank God. The third batter took his place at the plate, and the usher stepped up next to me.
“Here again? Can I have it?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Not yet, Miss.”
Damn it. “Strike him out!” I shouted at the pitcher. I don’t know if Brad heard me, but he seemed to be looking my way. He shook his head before turning back to the game. The pitcher fired a fastball right down the middle for strike one. Hell yes. The next pitch was low but in close to the strike zone, and the batter fouled it back. Strike two. One more. The third pitch was high and the batter didn’t swing, much to my irritation. I didn’t want to waste any more time. On the fourth pitch, he made contact, sending a weak grounder toward Brad. He fielded it and fired it to first, getting the out and ending the game.
I turned back to the usher and he handed me a box of Cracker Jack.
“Open it.”
It wasn’t the usher’s voice. Brad was at the fence now and, before I could make a move, he pulled himself over it and stood next to me, looking sweaty, dirty, and sexy as sin. I kept my eyes on him as I opened the lightweight box. I shook it and something rattled. Before I could reach inside, Brad took the box from me.
“Hold out your hands.”
I did, and he tilted the box. A ring tumbled into my hand.
I stared at it for a moment before looking at Brad. He held out a baseball.
Will you marry me?
“We’ve wasted enough time, Red. I bought that ring seven years ago, and I’m not waiting another second for it to be where it belongs. I love you, and I forgive you. Will you marry me?”
Maybe it should have mattered that we’d only been together for a few weeks this time out. Maybe we should have been more cautious, instead of going all in. Maybe I didn’t give a damn about all the maybes.
“Yes.”
Brad’s smile was all I saw before I was in his arms with his lips hard and demanding on mine. I wanted nothing more than to be alone with him. He pulled back and held out his hand. I slipped my left into it, and he slid the ring onto my finger. It had a white band and a sweet, small princess diamond.
“Did you really buy this seven years ago?”
“Yeah.” He touched the ring. “I was going to propose to you when we got back for senior year. I know the diamond’s small, and I can replace it if you—” I stopped him right there, and kissed him.
“Absolutely not. This is perfect. I want the one I should have had back then.”
“We can’t go back, but we can go forward.”
I stepped aside so the person behind me could get by, amazed that people were being respectful of our moment, with nobody interrupting us.
“You really came to see me play in Atlanta?” he asked.
I laughed. “You were the only reason I went on that trip.”
He glanced at my hand and then back at me again. “Was your other ring anything like this? Or was it big and gaudy?”
I cupped his cheek. “Big and gaudy. This is so much better. It fits perfectly.”
“You fit perfectly.”
“I’ll never doubt you again.”
“I’ll never give you reason to.”
I clutched his jersey. “You never did before, and I know that now. I promise I won’t forget how much you love me ever again. And I’ll never run away if I misconstrue a situation either.”
He smiled. “You’ll kick my ass instead?”
I grinned back at him. “I promise I will.”
“Good. Bring it. Do your worst. I can take it.”
I shook my head. “I just want you to take me.”
Brad cocked an eyebrow. “Here?”
“Home. Not all the way to Malibu, but . . .”
“Home is wherever you are, Red. The place in LA feels like a home because you’re there. Our house in Malibu is there anytime we can get away.” He laughed at the look on my face. “Oh, I get it—you’re marrying me for your dream house.”
“No, but it helps.” I giggled as he grabbed me and pinned me in his arms. “Okay, I’m lying. I’d marry you even if you made me live in a tent.”
He tilted his head to study me. “Yeah? That’s true love right there.” Before I knew it, he scooped me up and headed toward the stairs.
“What are you doing?” I asked, holding on to him for dear life.
“Getting started on forever. No more wasted time.”
Epilogue
Even though it wasn’t the easiest to do these days, I ran to the front door as fast as my feet would carry me.
“It’s here!”
I almost ripped the door off its hinges in my excitement. The brown-clad deliveryman jerked in surprise, holding the box between us in self defense.
“Sorry,” I said. I really wasn’t. “Is that for me?”
“Are you Dani Reynolds?”
Hearing the name still thrilled me seven months later. “Yes, I am.”
“Then it is. Sign here.” He held out an electronic pad and I scrawled my name. It took everything I had not to snatch my package from his hands. He finally forked it over, and I shut the door to find my husband standing behind me, grinning.
“Anxious much? Couldn’t you have waited until I got to the door?” He took the box from me and shook his head as he carried it into the living room.
“No.”
“You’re killing me, woman.” He set down the box and crouched in front of my belly. “Your mom just won’t listen to us and take it easy, will she, Princess?”
“I am taking it easy!” I shouted. “I just wanted to see.” But of course, the sight of Brad touching my rather large baby bump made me melt. “I only held the box for about thirty seconds.”
“Which is thirty seconds too long.” He stood and wrapped me in his arms. “I’m the man of the house—it’s my job to do the heavy lifting.” With that, he swept me off my feet and set me down in the chair in front of the fireplace. It was a cool day for California, and we’d taken advantage of it by lighting a fire.
“You better not be referring to me as heavy lifting,” I said, and he laughed as he headed out of the room.
“Never, Red. You’re still a lightweight, even eight months’ pregnant.”
I sighed and put my hands over my belly. “Your father is a liar, but he’s a good one.”
Brad came back into the room with a knife, which he promptly used to cut the box open. I started to get to my feet, but before I could finish, he was at my side helping me up.
“I want to see.”
“It’s not going anywhere. We have time.”
Ha, like the man had any patience. He hadn’t wanted to wait to marry me, but baseball season didn’t leave a lot of room for weddings and honeymoons, so we’d done it over the All Star Break. We’d gotten married at our Malibu house, and many of Brad’s fellow ball players had come. Then they’d all gone back to play in the game that night, including my new husband. And I’d watched from my usual spot in the stands. It seemed fitting for us to spend our first night as a married couple at a baseball game. And later that night, after we’d returned to Malibu and made love, I’d told him we were going to have our own new All Star in eight months. Brad had been thrilled, and since then he’d been attentive, sweet, and somewhat overbearing, but I mostly didn’t mind. Except for now.
“I want to see!”
Brad laughed and stepped aside to let me at the box, finally. I pushed back the flaps and there was his gorgeous face looking up at me.
Swinging for the Fences: the Bradley Reynolds Story
, by Dani Reynolds.
“It looks perfect,” I whispered, barely able to breathe.
Brad laughed, picked up the book, and flipped it over to where we were posed leaning into one another and holding hands, looking completely happy and in love. “No, that’s perfection.”
“It’s here, Brad! We did it!” The book had been rushed out even faster than planned, after Brad and the Dodgers won the World Series last October. Press hadn’t been hard to come by, with our story and his championship, so the publisher turned it around as soon as possible. It was here and it was real.
“It looks great. Do I finally get to read it?”
I looked at him like he’d grown another head. “What are you talking about? You have read it.”
“Not the foreword.”
Right. I’d kept that from him until now. We’d both agreed that my initial chapter, the one I’d used to share with him everything I felt, was too private to share with the world, so I’d rewritten it in third person, downplaying some of our story and including the more sensational bits the audience would be interested in.
“Yeah, you can read it.” I felt a little nervous.
Brad flipped to the dedication, which we’d both decided would go to his father. He smiled as he traced his name. “That looks right.”
I kissed his stubbled cheek, knowing he was missing his dad and wishing he’d be here to see his granddaughter born. “It is right.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and flipped to the author’s foreword, before pulling me into his side. I didn’t need to read along with him, I remembered what I wrote.
As an author, I always take something away with me when I write a new book. Some new insight into what it’s like to be a professional athlete, a friendship with my subject and his or her family, a sense of accomplishment. I think it’s safe to say I came away with much more this time around.
I came to Los Angeles nervous about facing my past, about finally confronting the man I’d walked away from, the man I thought had wronged me. What kind of man would he be now? What I found exceeded my expectations. The sweet boy who gave his heart to me was still there, hidden behind a confident façade that bordered on arrogant. I had every plan to resist him. He made that impossible.