Page 143 of Running Home to You
“Shall we?” Mick asked.
Kate furrowed her brow and glanced around. “Where’s Abby?”
“What do you mean? She’s not coming,” Jill said.
“Why?” Kate whipped around to find her, sinking under invisible weight when she didn’t appear.
“She’s headed to Venezuela or the Dominican Republic or somewhere to scout some kid.” T.K. sighed. “Can we go? I’m starving.”
“What? No. I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Her heartbeat filled her ears at Abby slipping away, just like after the national championship. “She can’t just leave like that without saying anything—”
Jill patted her shoulder, assuring her with a nod toward the field. “She’s still here.”
“Oh.”
Her breath returned when she spotted Abby at home plate, peering up at the mountain. And in that brief flash of fear, she ceased to be in the middle. Kate knew exactly what she needed to do. The others seemed to as well, stretching wide grins.
Mick tossed her the keys. “Turn the lights off and lock up when you’re done?”
“Yeah. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
A gentle wind streamed through her hair, cooled the sweat from the game, left her shivering on the first steps back to Abby. Toward exactly what she wanted. She paused at the fence behind her, living in that moment before you knew if it was an out or leaving the park. Before Abby turned with the same gleam in her gaze that had greeted her eight years ago. A reminder to breathe and let go.
“It’s never going to work, you know,” Kate said.
Abby didn’t turn right away, but Kate didn’t mind the wait. She knew this was it, the same way she knew the sound of a ball meeting the bat before a double play. She wasn’t playing the game scared or halfway. They were right where they were supposed to be.
Coming Home Again
She could’ve sworn it was just the wind. Abby closed her eyes when she heard Kate and smiled.
“What’s not going to work?” she asked with her eyes trained on home plate.
“We’re never going to be a memory or long-lost friends.”
Abby slowly turned to face her. Blue eyes and all that light, even as the sun disappeared. She clutched the chain-link fence and leaned in so that her forehead nearly brushed it. So that she might’ve kissed her if it weren’t for the final partition.
“You weren’t really going to let me leave without saying goodbye, were you?” Kate’s mouth twitched with a slight frown.
Her brow folded together. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired of goodbyes.”
“Then don’t go.” Kate’s eyes glistened when Abby found them again. “I know you have work and a new life, but I want to be part of it. I’ve always wanted to be part of it. Part of you.”
Abby smiled. “You always were.”
“Then stay?” Kate asked, her throat bobbing ever so slightly. “Stay this time. Quit going away. I know you’re chasing the game or the next baseball messiah, but—”
“I’m not,” Abby said with a slight laugh, if only to hide her blush. “I was chasing you. Looking for that love you played with on everyfield.” She rubbed a thumb across Kate’s hand on the fence. “I should’ve known I just had to come back here.”
They met each other halfway, with unhurried steps, and when they stood across from each other, Abby knew the timing was finally right. Their foreheads met first. And when they kissed, beneath the stadium lights, it was slower. Kinder. Unlike the sloppy passion of Las Vegas or the timidity of their first. It landed full and strong, but tender, because that’s who they were now.
When the same happy tears that made them laugh rolled into their kisses, when they could have no more of each other on the open field, when the sky fell dark, they sat against the backstop and stared up at the hills. Kate rested her head against her shoulder, and Abby held her hand.
“I can see it,” she whispered.
Bickering, morning coffee, scrambling to work, long runs, surfing new coasts. A future without children. A future with them. Abby could even see that, despite never letting herself before. Blue-eyed and swinging a bat. She saw a band on Kate’s finger, one on her own. She heard vows somewhere. A courthouse, a beach, anywhere with their friends. Their real family. She heard all the right things. No ringing. Just laughter, whispers, tears, and love, over and over again. She saw them at twenty-two and thirty-two. She saw them at fifty, seventy, a hundred.
“I see it too,” Kate said.
She saw the field. Saw them on it forever.
