But can’t he see I’m the one who’s different?
I’m the one who has been completely unassembled and remade in the last eight weeks.
“Miller,” he whispers, using his thumb to wipe the falling tears from my cheeks. “Don’t cry.”
I stroke the side of his face, holding eye contact. “I can’t help it.”
He continues to move inside of me, this overwhelming amount of love surrounding us both. Kai kisses my cheeks, cleaning up my face as the tears continue to drown me, suffocating my senses. He lifts one of my legs closer to my chest, hand cupping my ass to get himself deeper, closer, and I’ve never felt anything like it.
It’s intimate.
It’s connection.
It’s love and it’s terrifyingly painful because it’s all going to end.
Kai pulls back to look at me and it’s then I see the sheen over his eyes. He feels it all too.
“Miller,” he says, making sure my attention is on him. “If you ever decide to stop running and make a home . . . Make it with me.”
A choked sob escapes me, and all I can do is nod in agreement. If I ever changed my life, switched directions, it wouldn’t be for anyone other than him.
We hold each other as our bodies move in sync, letting them say all the things I can’t.
And that night, when Kai whispers that today was a good day against my skin, I don’t tell him that they can all be good days.
Because for me, this was the very last one.
Chapter 37
Kai
“Ball!” the umpire calls.
Fuck.
I’m about to walk this fucking batter and subsequently walk a run in from the loaded bases . . . for a second time this inning.
Shaking it off, Travis stands from his crouching position, tossing me the ball from behind home plate. Even with his mask covering his face, I can see the concern in his furrowed brow.
“Come on, Ace,” Cody calls from first base.
“Let’s go, Kai,” my brother adds.
Exhaling, I pace the mound but all I see is her.
Miller wearing my jersey and holding my son on this mound.
I’m a fucking mess over the visuals, the memories. And they only grow worse when I take my hat off and see her there too.
It’s been one week.
One excruciating week since Miller drove away.
One week since I’ve started correcting Max every time he saw a picture of her and called her Mama.
One week since I started using the pillow she slept on in my bed instead of my own, praying that her sweet scent will somehow embed itself into the fibers and stay forever.
One week since this world I created, this little family I could finally claim as my own, dissolved, leaving me and my son with only each other once again.
It’s also been a week since I’ve heard her raspy voice, heard her say my name. We haven’t spoken since she left because I promised myself I wouldn’t hold her back. I wouldn’t guilt her into responding to me when she’s got these amazing opportunities keeping her occupied.
Instead, I’ve resorted to using her dad to get information.
Did she arrive safely?
Is she sleeping okay?
Is she happy?
Those last two questions couldn’t be further from my own reality, so for her sake, I hope she’s doing better than I am. I hope she’s finding everything she’s looking for. I hope she’s finding her joy.
Because I sure as fuck lost mine.
“Malakai, focus,” Isaiah calls out from behind me.
The stadium is packed for this September afternoon game that holds our playoff hopes in its hands. We have the opportunity to clinch tonight, and I just walked in a run on the last at-bat.
God, they’re going to ream me on the post-game recaps later, but I don’t give a shit. All those times I told Miller that pressure was a privilege, that it was an honor to live up to expectations, make me feel like a fraud. Because I’m not living up to anything.
With my cleats dug into the dirt, Travis calls my pitch, giving me a four-seam fastball. I nod, straightening to align my fingers over the ball in my glove before looking over my shoulder to check for runners, but when I do, all I see are the bases I ran with her just last week.
When I was happy. When she was happy. When she was mine.
I shake off the image and run through my pitch, using my entire body to throw the ball before letting it leave my fingers. It soars right over the plate, right at the height the batter needs to send it flying into left field.
Which is exactly what he does, hitting a grand slam and changing the score to 5-0 before I’ve even gotten an out in this third inning.