Chapter 39

Mackenzie

I watchthe sun come up over New York City and the ballpark that Brooks called home for so many years from the balcony of his condo. He's still sleeping—poor guy was a mess last night, and yes, I enjoyed every last minute of sloppy, drunk-high Brooks being a complete and total goofball until the minute he looked at his bed, said hi, old bed, are you real too? and collapsed fast asleep without even taking off his clothes.

He's so damn perfect.

And he's been through so much.

The least I can do is to be here for him today.

I confess, I'm not only watching the sun come up.

I'm also texting with his family.

Eloise: Okay, Meatball Thief. You need to spill all the details on knowing ALL OF THE brO CODE GUYS immediately, or I'm calling a guy I know who knows a guy who can slip penis-shrinker into Bazookarooka's Gatorade, and I don't think you can afford for his weewee to shrink any more.

Parker: Cabana pubic hair nightmare.

Jack: Dammit, Parker, you just ruined the beach for all of us.

Eloise: Dude, if you're afraid of pubic hair, you have more problems than I thought. Also, thanks for the Christmas present idea.

Knox: Bro Code. Mackenzie. Please, for the love of I LIKE LICKING PICKLES, tell us about Bro Code.

Knox: I LIKE LICKING PICKLES.

Gavin: Shit. Our Parker translator broke.

Rhett: Bugs are contagious. Especially during phone sex. Wash your hands. Private Montana, if you don't tell my wife what she wants to know, I'll come over there and torture it out of you.

Mackenzie: I'll tell you everything I know about the Bro Code guys if you send me pictures of Brooks as a baby.

Eloise: Lame. What if I send you his sex tape?

Parker: *knife emoji* *Eloise emoji*

Rhett: 1. Don't threaten my wife. 2. Where'd you get that tatted up awesomeness? I NEED THAT EMOJI NOW.

Jack: We need to go back to Brooks's sex tape. I thought he was a virgin.

Gavin: NO SEX TAPE.

Knox: Hot Crazy Pants did it in the back door.

Parker: *gif of woman covering her eyes and ears*

Gavin: *laughing crying emoji*

Jack: I never thought I'd say this, but I think Knox is my new hero.

Rhett: Babe…I think you screwed up in programming Knox's phone. Or you screwed up in downloading porn at the library. Not sure which.

Parker: *picture of a note reading "Eloise downloaded porn at the library and then did a bad paste job of Brooks's face into the video. It's awful. But also really amazing."*

Mackenzie: I legit think I'm in love with all of you.

Brooks:Not the wake-up I expected. Come back to bed?

I dropmy phone and look into the bedroom.

Brooks is sitting up in his bed, shirtless—he pulled it off in the middle of the night before rolling over and cuddling me—with the covers pooled around his waist.

He gives me a hesitant, lopsided smile, and my heart swells at the uncertainty in his eyes.

This poor man.

I made him think he's nothing more than a baseball-hitting machine, when I know he's so much more.

"Morning." I slide onto the bed next to him, practically in his lap, and wrap my arms around him while I kiss his cheek. "Feeling okay?"

"You're here."

"I left Coco Puff with my dads. He wanted to come, but I could get here faster without him."

"You didn't have to come. I was going to be home tonight."

I heave an exaggerated sigh and shift to straddle him, then cup his cheeks. "Brooks Elliott, I am not letting you sit here, alone, when you need me."

He winces.

But I don't let him look away. "The Fireballs won. Two games in a row. They've won. And do you know why?"

"Because everyone else on the team is awesome?"

"Because you're a team. So you didn't get a hit. So what? Are you in the dugout telling people it's hopeless, or are you in there daring them to look better in their footy pajamas than you do? Are you telling Robinson his glove has a hole in it, or are you smacking him on the butt and telling him he'll get the next fly ball?"

"Kenz—"

"I'm a damn good baseball player, and I'm a damn good teammate. Say it."

He mumbles it under his breath.

"Say it louder, or I'm going to take my shirt off and seduce you with my breasts."

His gaze snaps back to mine.

"Okay, yes, I'm also going to seduce you when you say it." I can steal a meatball costume, but I can't lie to him.

"You…you're not mad?"

"I'm only mad at me for everything I've done to make you think that I'd be mad."

"The Fireballs are your team."

"And you're the man I love."

It slips out, but I don't want to take it back, because I love him.

I do.

My eyes go damp as he studies me like he's not so sure he's not still hallucinating, and the memory of him telling "not-real-Mackenzie" that he loves her makes me smile as I say it again. "Brooks Elliott, I am hopelessly, irresistibly in love with you. And it's not because you can hit a baseball. And it's not because you wear my favorite team's uniform. And it's not because you let me take your virginity in the back of your car. It's because this heart—" I brush a hand over his chest "—this heart right here speaks to the gigantic mess of a superstitious dork who lives in my heart and who knows how it feels to want to be loved for the weirdo that she is under all the makeup and Fireballs clothing."

His arms slip around me while he blinks away the shine in his eyes. "Do you have any idea how amazing you are?"

"Maybe a little."

"Good." He laughs, and suddenly I'm pinned beneath him on his mattress in this very comfortable, very modern bedroom that he used to call home.

"I'm going to kiss you," he informs me.

"I'm going to kiss you back."

"I'm not doing it for luck."

"I left all my luck behind in Copper Valley, so I couldn't give you any even if I wanted to."

"Did you bring your belief?"

"Brooks." I comb my fingers through his messy bedhead, smiling because I can't help myself. "I will always bring my belief, and it's not about what happens in a ballpark. It's about what happens in here."

I touch his heart again, and he lowers his lips to mine.

A relieved shudder passes through my whole body as our mouths connect, because honestly?

It was a little terrifying to find him drunk and high and talking about how he broke my favorite team.

I was afraid I broke him.

"I'm never putting baseball ahead of you ever again," I whisper against his lips.

"I love you," he whispers back.

Those words soak into my soul, and all the chaotic parts inside me still.

Thisis what I've wanted.

It's not about winning and losing. It's about being accepted for who I am.

It's what I've offered my favorite team my entire life, and with three little words, this man who doesn't have to love me, who could've—and probably should've—walked away from me and never looked back two months ago, it's what he's offering me in my whole life.

He kisses the tears wetting my cheeks, and then he kisses my jaw.

My neck.

My breasts.

He pauses and looks up at me. "I wasn't born to win baseball games, Kenz. I was born to win you."

"Maybe you can do both?"

His eyes flare wide, and I break into laughter.

"So that's how this is going to be," he says as his own smile comes back. "You giving me trouble for the rest of my life."

I push his shoulder, and he obliges and rolls over so I can straddle him. "Brooks Elliott, I'm going to give you everything for the rest of your life."

A wicked grin lights his features. "Bring it, Montana."

I do.

And then I do again.

And once more, for good luck.