38. Monty

Chapter thirty-eight

Monty

I let out a whoop as Yami throws yet another strike. “Three up, three down, baby!”

We jog toward each other, meeting in the middle with a chest bump. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he cheers. “Fuck, man, I think we found it.”

“Hell yeah, we did.”

We walk over to the dugout with the rest of the players that were on our team for this practice game. I jog down the stairs, setting my catcher’s helmet on the bench before sinking beside it and taking a long drink of water.

“Lookin’ good out there, hot stuff.”

My head turns, my grin at the ready at Lark’s voice. “Hey, Birdie. Did you see that? Yami was on fire.”

“You both were.” She bends over and kisses my upturned face. “You’re sweaty.”

“We can’t all spend our day in the air-conditioned facility, baby. Some of us need to be out here doing the work.”

Lark just snorts. “Yeah, and some of us have to deal with your stinky, sweaty bodies every time you get so much as a paper cut.”

I shrug; she’s got a point. When she sits down beside me, I drop a hand to her bare thigh and squeeze gently. Lowering my voice, I ask, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I told you this morning, and yesterday, and the day before, I feel great. The medication the doctor gave me works wonders.”

“I’m still gonna ask.”

“I know you are.” She leans in and kisses me softly. “That’s why I love you.”

“Hey, lovebirds.”

We both turn at Yami’s voice. He points at us, his finger wagging between us both. “This is cute and all, but I need my boy in the bullpen.”

I stand up with an exaggerated groan. “Pitchers. They’re so fucking demanding.”

Yami snorts. “You think I’m demanding? Just wait.”

My brow furrows. It’s not the first cryptic comment he’s made. He walks off and I turn to Lark. “Do you think —”

“I think he —”

We both start to talk at the same time. I gesture for her to continue.

Leaning in, Lark drops her voice to a whisper. “Do you think he knows? About the raspberry?”

“I’m wondering the same thing, but how? I haven’t said anything, I swear.”

Lark chews on her lower lip. “Then how…”

“I’ll talk to him later at taco night.” She nods and I reach out my thumb to free her lip. “It wouldn’t be so bad, though, if he did know. We’re gonna have to tell people eventually.”

“I know. I guess it’s not the end of the world, but I’m still curious about how he knows.”

“I’ll ask.” Dropping one more kiss to her forehead, I step toward the stairs of the dugout. “Better get back to work. See you later, Birdie.”

Practice finishes several hours later, and after we all get back to the hotel, we regroup and head out to the Mexican restaurant we end up at every year for a team dinner. Taco night is a spring training tradition for the Tridents.

I let everyone go inside before me, grabbing Yami’s arm to hold him back. “Hey, hang on a sec, would you?”

He comes to a stop and looks at me with a half smirk. “What’s up?”

I swallow. I told Lark I’d ask him if he knew, but now that the time’s come, I don’t know how to say it.

“So, ah, me and Lark. Um. You know there was that stuff when she was sick. And, um, okay, so —”

“Dude. She’s pregnant, isn’t she?” His smirk grows.

“How the fuck do you know?” I ask, bewildered, but also grateful I didn’t have to say it. Although, I guess I’d better practice. Soon enough, we’ll be telling everyone.

“How did you not know?” He holds up one hand and starts counting off. “She was exhausted and nauseous. I’m guessing she got the news that day you went off the rails and she didn’t tell you, making you worry. Then she shows up, you guys disappear for the evening, and the next day, you’re both smiling nonstop. She can’t stop touching her stomach, and you keep staring at it.”

My mouth falls open. “Damn, Yami. Are you some kind of fucking detective?”

“Nah, man, just got two older sisters that had kids not too long ago and good observation skills.”

My head moves side to side. “Well, shit. Hopefully, no one else is that good. We wanted to keep it a secret for a while longer.”

Yami steps forward and drops a hand to my shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone. But can I say one thing?”

I nod.

“I’m really fucking happy for you, man, you two are gonna be fantastic parents.” He smirks again. “And I’m gonna be the best goddamn uncle out there.”

I pull him in for a back-slapping hug. “Thanks, bro.”

We break apart and he turns to look inside the restaurant. “C’mon, let’s go before they eat all the chips.”

Inside, we join the rest of the team seated around a huge table in the back of the restaurant. For a few minutes, I let the conversation go on around me and just soak it in. This is my life? Seriously? Playing ball on a team with some of the greatest men I know, in love with the best woman in the entire goddamn world, and about to have a baby.

I don’t know what I did to get this fucking lucky, but I’m grateful for it.

After everyone’s done eating, Sin, who happens to be seated next to me, reaches down beside his chair and lifts up a bag before standing up and clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“When I came to my first Tridents’ spring training camp last year and Monty pulled out a giant fucking fishbowl, I have to admit, I was confused. Then they explained the tradition, and I was skeptical. But at the end of last year, we read them out loud, and goddamn if most of them hadn’t come true. We all know ballplayers are nothing if not superstitious, which means the fishbowl is back. Write down your goals and dreams for the season, boys, and let’s make it our best ever.”

He sits down amid the raucous applause and I lean in. “As far as speeches go, that was pretty good. You’ve got the job.”

“What job?” he asks with a laugh.

“The keeper of the bowl,” I say, keeping my face and voice dead serious.

As expected, Sin looks at me like I just grew a second head. “The what?”

I nod slowly. “You’ll collect the bowl tonight and be responsible for it all year. Then at the barbecue in the fall, you have to read the messages out loud.”

“Fuck that, this is your gig. I just got it started.”

After holding his stare for a beat, I laugh. “Fine, fine. You’re not ready yet.”

I take some of the paper that is circulating around and grab a pen from the pile in the middle of the table. Most years, my goals come easily to me. Because most years, they’re the same. Play to win, go to the championships, that kind of stuff.

This year, things are different. But my goal still comes to me easily.

Be the man Lark deserves and the father our baby deserves .

It’s late by the time we get back to the hotel. And when I let myself into my hotel room, where Lark has essentially moved in, having spent zero time in the room the team booked for her to share with another trainer, it takes my eyes a second to adjust in the dim light.

She’s curled up on her side, facing me. Her eyes are closed, her face peaceful. She’s so goddamn beautiful it takes my breath away, and I have to put my hand over my heart to make sure it’s still beating and hasn’t jumped ship to land in her hands instead.

Because that woman has my entire heart, and I would lay my life down for her and our baby.

When I can move again, I silently and quickly strip down to my underwear, then walk as quietly as possible into the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. When I finally lift the covers and slip in behind her, I carefully sneak my arm around her waist, wrapping my body around the curve of hers.

My hand lands on her stomach, my thumb lightly caressing the life growing inside.

It’s funny. I went from a virgin to a father-to-be in a very short time. It might not be what I ever would have planned for myself, but I don’t regret a single thing.

How could I when the first woman I’ve ever loved will also be the last woman I love?

The only woman I’ll ever love.