Page 157 of The Path to Loving Him
When we both take a seat, I turn toward Gabby who has tears streaming down her face, her eyes filled with so much joy.
“He did it,” I say. “RBI single, your boy just got an RBI single.”
She nods, her lips trembling. “He did.”
And then she leans in, places her hand behind my head, and tugs me down to her lips where she places a gentle, sweet kiss. It’s no longer than a second, but it’s enough to ignite a flame within me.
When she pulls away, she whispers, “He did it.”
“He really did,” I say, my heart pounding a mile a minute because I know, at this moment, deep down in my soul, that this is my turning point.
I needed this to push me to what I’ve been trying to avoid.
She’s it.
She’s what I want.
And there is no way in hell I can go another day without her knowing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
GABBY
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” I ask as I sip my water, my eyes fixed on the front of the restaurant where we wait for Bennett.
The Bombers wound up winning the game ten to four. Bennett went two for four, with one strikeout and three RBIs. He made two plays at third, one of them gunning down a runner with his torpedo of an arm. It was the most thrilling game of my life to watch.
Since Bennett doesn’t have all the fancy privileges the other players have, he texted me and told me to meet him at the restaurant down the street, a local taco joint he heard was good.
That’s where we’ve been waiting since we left the stadium.
“I’m positive. You two need your time together,” Ryland says, looking sort of stiff as the server comes by with his food in a bag. He’s taking his dinner to the apartment, where he said he’ll check in with Aubree and wait for me to join him.
I know I won’t have a lot of time with Bennett because he needs to get some sleep, but I’m going to try to soak it up as much as possible.
The door to the restaurant opens, and I hold my breath as I see Bennett walk in, wearing a pair of jeans, a plain T-shirt, and his Bombers minor league hat. No one recognizes him—why would they at this point—as he spots our table.
I hop out of my chair and run up to him, where he catches me in a hug, and I squeeze him tight.
“Oh my God, Bennett, I’m so proud of you.”
His arms wrap around me, and he holds me close to his chest. “That game was for you, Gabby.”
And here I go, crying all over again. I’ve been a mess all day. When I pull away, he holds a ball in front of me, and I stare down at it and then back up at him.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“The ball of my first ever hit.” He turns it over, showing me his signature and the wordsTo my sister, who made this all happen.“It’s yours, Gabby. I want you to have it.”
I take the ball from him, my fingers tingling as I run them over the red stitches, floating over his signature, a signature I remember him practicing one night when he was a senior in high school. It was one of those things we talked about, one of the techniques of putting our goals out in the universe. He needed to practice his signature so people knew who signed the ball but so no one could replicate it.
Looking at that signature now, it’s perfect.
Through watery eyes, I say, “Thank you. This means everything to me.”
“You mean everything to me,” he says and pulls me into another hug. “Thank you for everything, Gabby. I fucking mean it. This is just the beginning. It’s my turn to take care of you.”
I pull away and press my hand to his chest. “You focus on securing a spot on the team next year. That’s what you need to do first.”
