“Thank you.”
“Em?”
“Yeah?”
“You know how you know it’s over?”
She tilted her chin up, and her face looked serene in the green-white light. “I do.”
“When you’re spending the night with someone who isn’t your boyfriend? That’s how you know.”
Her mouth curved downwards, but she didn’t pull away. “I figured.”
“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”
She touched his cheek lightly, then slid out of his arms. “No. I will.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Chicago at San Francisco, Record 47-35
She was going to do it.
Emmy crouched near the steps of the dugout and stared at the press box high above home plate. She couldn’t make out any faces, just small-headed men and women in white shirts with laptops. She could see more Apple logos than she could individual people’s features. But somewhere up there was Simon.
Her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.
In the weeks since she’d returned home from Chicago she’d seriously considered what she was getting out of their relationship. In all that time she’d come up with nothing.
Nothing.
She’d been with Simon for almost four years, and there wasn’t a list of pros and cons. There weren’t any nagging feelings holding her to him. Just habit and consistency. He was patient and considerate, but when she imagined her life without him in it, she didn’t feel an ache.
Only more of the relief she’d felt the night he had Cassandra over.
Tucker was right. It was over with Simon and she knew it, but she was staying with him because it was easier. She was using Simon as an excuse to keep herself from going forward with Tucker. Protecting herself from the uncertainty of a new man and everything falling in love would entail.
Love was an ugly, messy thing, and she had no idea if she had what it took to start it with someone like Tucker. He was famous, he was special, and she didn’t know what to do about that.
Emmy folded her arms on the fence and stared out into the field. Tucker was on the mound, his hat pulled low over his eyes as he shuffled from foot to foot, fingering the ball in his hand. He tugged his earlobe.
“Strength in the leading leg,” she whispered, even though he couldn’t hear her. He knew what to do. They’d practiced in the bullpen and the indoor cages underneath the Felons Stadium. Hours and hours spent together perfecting his pitch strategy. During that time he’d begun to phase out his knuckleball and bring in more of the pitches he’d once been famous for.
His fastball was back at ninety, and she knew if he kept his focus, he had what it took to get back to the high nineties. Maybe even over a hundred if he did what she told him and worked on his strengths.
He had the ability, but he was holding himself back, and he needed to take a leap of faith. Like she needed to dump Simon. She and Tucker were both playing it safe, and because of that neither of them was getting where they were meant to be. He was going to be the best damn pitcher in the American League—again—and she was going to stop hiding behind her fake relationship.
Tucker lifted his leg and raised his glove to his chest. He stared down the batter, muttering something to himself, then pivoted his head towards the dugout. For a split second his gaze locked on hers, and her heart hammered.
“You’ve got this,” she said out loud.
He winked at her.
She stumbled. Her damn foot slipped off the riser, and she fell from the fence back into the dugout. The only thing protecting her dignity was Jasper standing behind her, who kept her upright.
The crowd roared wildly, and without looking she knew he’d gotten the strikeout.
“You need to watch out for those invisible slippery spots. They’re a real killer,” Jasper said, setting her back on her feet.