19. Ronan

Ronan

I'm not normally an emotional guy, but something feels different this year. Like this opening game is the start of something bigger than just another season. Even the national anthem has me choked up a little as I head over to my position at first base.

The lights in the stadium are on with the roof closed to protect the field from the rain. The bright green of the turf settles me. Feels like home, in a way.

The rest of my teammates take their places, and as much as I should be focused on the game, I can't help but wonder where Willow is watching the game. Will I see her today? Do I even want to? Fuck knows, the woman is a distraction. Then again, maybe she's a motivation. Because the thought of her watching when I'm on the field has my muscles burning with anticipation.

Monty settles into position behind home plate as Kai takes the mound. His first pitch is a fastball, right down the center of the plate, and the other team's first batter doesn't take a swing. Dumbass, that was a perfect pitch. The ump calls strike one. My eyes are glued to Kai's arm. He leans back and throws another fastball, but the player's learned his lesson and swings, the bat connecting with a loud crack. I follow the arc of the ball straight out to left field where Darling's waiting to pluck the fly out of the air.

The next player steps up to bat, and Kai knocks him out with just three pitches. My pulse is pounding with excitement. This is the way I love to start a game, making it clear to our opponents that we're not here to mess around.

The rest of the inning is a lot tighter than the start. Kai's on fire, but so are our opponents. The inning closes with them scoring two runs, meaning the pressure is on.

Before I know it, I'm walking up to the plate. There's one out, and Mav's on second base. Exhaling slowly, I shut out all the noise of the crowd, narrowing my focus on to the man standing sixty feet and six inches in front of me. He lifts his arm, and I load my swing. He lets the ball fly and muscle memory, instinct, and over twenty years of practice kicks in, letting me judge the pitch and make a call. I swing.

CRACK.

The ball flies into left field and I'm off and running. I can only hope I hit it far enough for Mav to score; all my focus is on getting to the bag. When I'm safe at first, I look to home, where Mav's walking off with my first RBI of the season.

Coach comes up to take my batting gloves and shin guard. "Nice hit, Sin. Solid start. Keep your eyes forward, be ready to hit the dirt. See if you can follow that RBI up with a run of your own."

I nod to show I heard him. Taking a small lead off, I'm laser focused on the pitcher. As soon as the ball hits the ground, I'm off to second base.

Minutes later, I'm racing for home after Darling smacks the ball to the outfield. The crowd is a roar, and my grin couldn't be any wider. Nothing to complain about, getting an RBI and a run in my first game with my new team.

There's no better feeling. Glancing up to the seats where Mom and Peyton are watching, I raise my hand in a wave as I head to the dugout. The guys slap my back, I take the sports drink offered to me, and pull off my helmet.

Did Willow see that? God, I sound like a fucking kid, wondering if my crush watched me hit the damn ball. Giving my head a shake, I finish the drink and toss the cup in the garbage.

"Fucking 'eh, what a start!" Monty walks over and sits beside me, half his gear on, ready for the next inning.

"Damn right," I agree as my breathing slows to normal. The crowd is in an uproar again as Darling rounds home, but the outfielder throws a rocket to the catcher, and it's gonna be close. We're all holding our breath, waiting for the call.

"Safe!"

"Fuck, yeah!" We explode. Three runs in one inning is a fantastic start, and we're not out yet.

When the game ends, the board is lit up with a more than respectable 8-5 win for the Tridents. Now, that's how to start a season.

The locker room is loud with boisterous energy. I'm quick through the shower, eager to find Mom and Peyton. Game nights are late ones for my girl, and normally Mom would take her straight home, but with tonight being the opener, I wanted to head home with them so I could be there to tuck her in.

"Heads-up, boys, I'm coming in." Willow's voice rings out above the noise and my hands freeze on the knot of the towel wrapped around my hips. The towel I was about to drop so I could get dressed.

I find her instantly, as if there's a homing beacon attached to her that has a direct line back to me. A sharp black blazer covers her Tridents shirt, her hair is twisted up in a ponytail, and she looks fierce. In charge and so damn proud as she smiles at all of us. It's clear it's not her first time in a locker room, seeing as she doesn't flinch at the various states of undress, and a weird wave of jealousy washes over me at that realization.

"Okay, we've got a handful of local reporters waiting to come in, so hide your bits, no flashing the public." Willow winks as she continues to talk. God, she's beautiful, a vibrant energy flowing from her. Her passion for the team and for her work is evident all over her face and in her words. "Give them a few sound bites and you're free to go."

Willow turns, I assume to leave, and as much as I wish I could speak to her, I get why that's not a good idea.

"Good game, Ronan."

I glance up, boxers in hand, and she's standing right in front of me. Gaze darting everywhere except at me. Look at me Willow, just once.

"Thanks," I say quietly as her eyes finally land on me. And quickly travel down to my bare chest. My lips quirk up in a grin that I immediately wipe off when she glances back to my face.

Her tongue peeks out to moisten her lips and fuck, keeping my hands off her is hard when I'm riding the adrenaline high of a win. And it's not the only thing that's hard. As soon as I feel things happening under my towel, my jaw clenches and I start reciting stats in my head. As if she's got some sort of radar tuned in to my dick, Willow's gaze drops to where my towel is starting to tent. Her eyes bounce back up to meet my smirk, and the pink on her cheeks is really fucking cute.

"S-sorry. I better go," she stutters, and if I were a betting man, I'd wager her panties are damp. That thought has things under the towel threatening to become a hell of a lot more obvious, which isn't what I need in front of the team.

"Sure," I say casually, turning around to face my locker, giving her my back as I speak. "I gotta go find Peyton and my mom anyway."

I wait a beat to see if she'll reply, but she doesn't. When I glance back over my shoulder, she's gone. And I feel her absence like an ache in my goddamn chest.

I dress quickly, and when I leave the locker room, Mom is standing in the hallway, a sleepy Peyton in her arms. I take my little girl and we start to walk toward the door that leads to the section of parking reserved for players and their families.

"Hey, Rocket," I say softly when Peyton lifts her head. "Did you have a good night?"

"Mm-hmm," is her quiet mumble of a reply. "I ate a hotdog."

My chest vibrates with my chuckle. "Did you see me waving?"

"Yup."

A wide yawn overtakes her little face as her arms tighten around my neck. We reach my SUV, Mom opens the back door, and I swiftly buckle Peyton in before grabbing the blanket and stuffed duck that lay beside her car seat, tucking them around her. I kiss her forehead, then gently close her door.

"You were wonderful tonight, honey," Mom says, and I finally pull her in for a grateful hug. She never missed a game when I was a kid, always my loudest cheerleader.

"Thanks," I reply gruffly, suddenly choked with emotion. It's been the two of us for so long, with Dad leaving when I was a teenager. She's the one person I've always been able to count on. Forever on my side, reminding me I can do it, even when it feels impossible. Whether it was playing ball, or raising a daughter on my own, Mom is my inspiration and my motivation. If I'm half the parent she is, I'll be happy.

But her prioritizing me and my demanding sports schedule is what broke up their marriage. By choosing to support me once it became apparent my talent on the field could actually amount to a career, Mom doomed her marriage to fail.

At least, that's what I overheard Dad say the night he left. He didn't understand why my future was more important to her than he was.

I resented him for so long. Filled with anger at the man who should have been there with Mom, who should have been playing catch with me in the backyard and taking me to buy a new glove when I outgrew mine. But time, and life, gave me a different perspective.

Mom made a choice. She chose me. And as I look in the rearview mirror at Peyton slumbering peacefully in the backseat, I know without a doubt that I would make the same damn choice every time.

I will always choose my daughter over a woman who can't understand and accept the pressures of my life, even if it means I'm alone forever.

But knowing that to be true, deep down in my soul, it still doesn't shut up the little voice in the back of my head that keeps whispering one thing.

Willow would understand…