Page 94 of Run Home

“It’s not obvious,” I counter. “You’re just starting your career. You can’t compare your first season to West’s last. I told you, you’re good. But you’re never gonna be great if you sabotage yourself worrying about that. Play your best without worrying about who the fans or commentators or armchair experts are comparing you to. And—”

“Have fun?” Carson interjects. His eye roll has a little less steam this time.

I clap his arm. “Have. Fun. You’ll play better when you’re enjoying yourself and not tense for nine innings.”

He sighs, and I take it as a good sign. His voice is reluctant when he admits, “You are pretty good. Watching you in the World Classic was something else.”

Grinning, I bow, and Carson groans as he turns away. I catch his shoulder and say, “Just so we’re clear, I do have fun while we’re playing. I enjoy every second on that field. But I do not think about dance moves or celebrations when we’re out there. I take it seriously too. I was distracted on Wednesday because my girlfriend was having a rough morning, and I managed to make it worse. That’s why I missed that catch.”

Carson frowns. “West’s sister?”

“Samantha,” I state, since she’s so much more than Griffin’s sister.

“I’m sorry about that,” Carson says. “Sorry for assuming.”

Shrugging, I tell him, “No big deal. Let’s put it behind us. Because we need to win this series if we’re gonna stay on track to skip the wild card round.”

Something about our heart-to-heart seems to land with Carson because he plays possibly the best game I’ve seen out of him this season. I guess something landed with me, too, because I feel the spark of a mental connection between us, anticipating each other’s moves as we crush our opponents 6–0.

This is our year. I feel it.

Chapter thirty-five

Samantha

Bottles of hair products gleam on their new display shelf, and I straighten the rows as Adrian carries over the final box of stuff from my former salon space. The Crowns had an away series this week, and he arrived back in Kansas City a couple of hours ago. Still, he insisted on coming over to help me set up my new solo space. He sets the box on the ground, and I sense him approaching me. Still, he declares, “I’m coming over to wrap my arms around you and kiss your neck.”

Smiling as he does exactly that, I tell him, “You didn’t have to announce that. I was already pretty aware of your presence.”

His hands swivel my hips so I’m facing him. His smile holds that mixture of mischief and desire, a smile just for me. He says, “Only ‘pretty aware,’ huh? I’d better make sure you’re fully aware.”

When he kisses me, it’s slow and deep, his fingertips trailing up my spine, making me shiver and melt against him. He takes his time, kissing me so thoroughly that I’m aware of nothing other than his presence.

When Adrian’s lips leave mine and he starts to stand up straight, I have to clasp my hands on his shirt to keep from swaying. My reaction ignites a new kiss, sparking like dynamite between us. He presses me against the counter, leaning down so my back arches. As I bring a hand up to wrap around his neck, my elbow knocks over a bottle of shampoo, and Adrian releases me just in time to catch it before it falls to the ground.

“Look at those reflexes,” I muse. “You’d think you were a professional athlete or something.”

Adrian makes a big show of flexing as he places the bottle on the counter, and I smack his arm. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asks, eyes all innocence but smile all mischief.

“The muscles.”

Another flex.

“The kissing.”

Another kiss to my neck.

Shoving him away, I laugh even as my cheeks flush. “Stop all that. You’re supposed to be helping me set up so I’m ready to go tomorrow. And then you’re supposed to be going home to sleep before you pick up your dad from the airport early in the morning.”

“If you could stop being so irresistible, Samantha, maybe I could stay on task a little better,” Adrian teasingly chides, even as he begins handing me the styling tools from the box on the ground.

It’s been two weeks of him calling me Samantha—in addition to cielo—and it has mended something I didn’t even realize was damaged. Reclaiming my name, admitting that I actually love my full name, has given me a new power over my memories of Charles. I genuinely don’t mind most people still calling me Sam, but hearing those three syllables pass through Adrian’s lips stirs something in my soul every time.

We had our first session with a counselor who specializes in trauma-informed couples therapy, and Adrian also got a referral from the Crowns’ mental health specialist for a therapist he could see individually. He had an initial telehealth appointment with her one morning last week before an afternoon game. He didn’t tell me specifics about the conversation. But given the fact that we spent that evening dancing at a club downtown for Latin night, I’m assuming he got serious talking about his mom’s death and needed a fun distraction.

I know better than anyone that nothing is going to be magically fixed. Things might feel worse for a while. But seeing Adrian willingly process all this to be with me—truly facing it with me—I would have fallen madly in love with him if I wasn’t completely gone already.