Page 38 of Crashing Together
“You were in the stands?” I ask.
“Of course, the whole time,” she says, and I pull her mouth back to mine.
“Stop distracting me,” she says, pulling back. “I need to tell you something.”
I might take my lips off her, but I refuse to let her go. I keep my hands banded around her lower back. She tips her head back to look up at me.
“I’ve spent most of my life doing what I thought others expected of me, being who others wanted me to be. Until I didn’t know what I wanted for myself, I thought that made me broken.”
“You could never be broken,” I rush to assure her.
“I know.” She places her hand on my chest. “Because you helped me figure that out this summer. You helped me find my way back to myself.”
“I wouldn’t be here with you either, Soph. You got us out of the house, you got me to the community center. You made me take myself seriously again.”
“I think that’s the whole point.” She inhales and exhales like it’s the first full breath she’s taken in weeks. “I like me better when I’m with you. I don’t want to be broken together. I want to be whole…next to you.”
“Oh, Sophie. I want that more than anything. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that sooner. I’d give it all up if I had to.”
“God, Liam, no, that’s what I mean. We contain multitudes. You’re a baseball player, a mentor, and a guy who’s oddly good at math and a million other things that make you you. I want all of them. I’m a latte-making, counter-scrubbing artist who’s learning to be a teacher so the nextgeneration of artists doesn’t have to feel the way I felt. And I want to be all these things with you.”
“You’re an artist?” I ask, but I can’t hide my smile.
“I am,” she says confidently, but then that confidence dips for a moment. “But there’s one more thing I’d like to add to that list. I’d like to be your girlfriend.”
I want to tell her no, that girlfriend isn’t enough for what I want. But we have time for that, for all that.
“I’d like to be your boyfriend.”
“I think I love you, Liam Blake.”
“Oh, Sophie. I know I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you.”
I take her in my arms and spin her into a low dip, then kiss her deeply and thoroughly. I can still hear the crowd going wild in my head.
I really did knock it out of the park.
Epilogue
Sophie
I’m waiting in the players’ parking lot, sitting on the hood of my old Audi, wearing my Cubs jersey—the official one with Blake embroidered across the back. After Liam finished last season, the Cubs signed him to a one-year contract. And Liam is thrilled.
He’s already in talks with KNBR about joining their commentating team when his current contract expires—or staying on with the team as a batting coach. Or whatever else comes next for him. Whatever opportunity it may be, it will be a move forward.
We spent the off-season setting up our home together—a little understated cottage in Pacifica. Even a year and a half’s baseball salary meant we could have gotten something bigger, something flashier, but this place is perfect for us. It has a small but lovely kitchen, and Cal bought us a fancy espresso machine as a housewarming gift, which Liam still can’t use. Liam started a garden in the back and fixed up the small shed into my artist’s studio.
It’s close to his mom and my parents, as well as the community center where we both still volunteer. Liam works with the teens and Coach Bill whenever he’s in town, and I teach a weekly children’s art class. That is, between working on the steady flow of commission requests.
Senator Langford loved the new concept I pitched to her. She said the skyline reminded her of growing up in the Bay Area, and she wholeheartedly wanted me to continue the commission with my vision. After she mentioned my art during her book tour and emphasized the importance of supporting artists, requests started pouring in. However, I only say yes to the ones that truly inspire me —the ones I genuinely want to do.
“Is that major league baseball phenom, Liam Blake? Fresh off another win?” I say when Liam walks into the parking lot, bag slung over his shoulder.
“I’d hardly call it a phenom, more like a thirty-two-year-old utility player with a bum knee,” he says, but he’s smiling proudly. “Is that artist Sophia Rhodes, whom the San Francisco Chronicle recently named ‘one to watch in the SF art scene’?” he adds, kissing me as he steps between the V of my legs.
“Just Sophie is fine,” I say, kissing him back. “Should I feel guilty for not feeling bad that the Giants lost?”
“Nah, even I feel a little guilty,” he adds, slinging his bag into the back seat. “Let’s get out of here.” He’s off for three days before he has to meet the team in the next city. And we already plan on spending the entire time tangled around each other in our bed.
But I have another idea first.
“I think we should celebrate your win here, Mr. Blake,” I say, tipping my head toward the back seat. Liam had shared a dream he’d had in those early days at Cal’s about me and the backseat after a win, and I planned on making that dream come true tonight. And as many times as I can this season.
“You’re already a fucking dream come true,” he laughs, scooping me into his arms and opening the door.
I always thought love would feel more dramatic. Turns out, it just feels like finally being me.
