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It’s dark by the time I pull into Marisa’s driveway. Raining, too. I’m not sure how I ended up here, to be honest. All I know is that she’s the only person I want to see.

The truck door creaks as I push it open. My practice cleats, which never got used today, splash in a puddle when I step out onto the driveway. Their porch light is on, which means they’re still awake. That’s a good thing. Waking up your girlfriend’s parents in the middle of the night is kind of a deal-breaker for said parents.

I push the doorbell, prepared for my usual wait, but the door swings open almost immediately. Marisa steps outside, her face all scrunched-up and confused as she says, “Oh, my God. Austin, you’re soaked.”

Am I? I look down. Yep. I am, in fact, soaked. Not entirely sure when that happened.

I gesture to the door. “How’re your parents?”

She crosses her arms. “They’re fine,” she drawls. “Why? What’s going on?”

I nod. “Good. That’s good.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “I just got back from seeing my dad.”

Her expression softens. She wraps her arms around my waist, pulling me against her. “Are you okay?”

I nod again. “Yeah. I think I am.” And finally, I look at her, really look at her, and realize why I came here. Why she was the only person I wanted to see tonight. What I wanted to make sure she heard.

“I love you,” I tell her.

Her eyes widen, but all I want to do is say it again, and again, and again. So, as I wrap my own arms around her, I do. “I love that your eyes crinkle when you smile.
I love that you laugh at anything and everything. I love that you love baseball and flowers, and now you love barbeque and fries. I just love you.”

Her lips quirk. “I’m a mess sometimes.”

Doesn’t matter
. “You’re a beautiful mess.”

“I can be hard to handle.”

Doesn’t matter
. “So can I.”

“I’m not perfect.”

Really doesn’t matte
r. “You’re perfect for me.”

And now she’s crying, full-blown teardrops trailing down her cheeks, but she’s also smiling, so I think it’s a good cry. She inhales deeply and loops her arms around my neck, pulling me down and kissing me like her life depends on it. And when she murmurs, “I love you, too,” against my lips, I’m falling. I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. This is why I came here: to tell this girl that she’s worth every tear, every meltdown, every smile, every laugh. That she’s worth everything. I back away just enough to look into those gorgeous eyes, and I’m an absolute goner.

“What kind of look is that?” she asks, searching my face.

My lips are chapped, my eyes hurt like the devil, and my muscles suddenly feel like Jell-O. “It’s a look that says you’re the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last before I fall asleep. That every word out of your mouth is coated in gold, even if it’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard. Even if I’m kind of the master of cheese in this relationship.”

Tears spring to the corners of her eyes again. For a split second, I’m terrified. I’m scared as hell that I just crossed some invisible line into stalker territory, even if I am her boyfriend. But her lip stops trembling, and she smiles.

“How’d we get lucky enough to find each other?” she asks.

“Because the universe can be a jerk, but I think it knows when people need something amazing.”

Her smile widens. “Now I really want to kiss you again.”

“Then stop talking. Start doing.” And once she reaches for me, there’s no turning back. Not that I would want to.

She’s not perfect. I’m not perfect. But together, we’re imperfectly perfect for each other.

Talk about making an ol’ boy fall hard.

chapter twenty-eight

I’ve nearly chomped off my entire thumbnail while sitting at my table, watching Mr. Matthews grade my Chem exam. Every test for the past few weeks has ended the same way, with me staying behind while he grades my answers with that red marker. The difference between the beginning of the semester and now is that his marker doesn’t run out of ink by the time he’s finished. My eligibility isn’t even an issue anymore. My 3.0 is solid. I’ve got to hand it to the guy. He’s actually interested in getting me even higher than what’s required.

He’s also a huge USC fan. I think it’s safe to say that’s more incentive on his part. But I’ll take whatever the heck I can get.

He re-caps the Sharpie, flips the test over, and holds it out for me. I take a deep breath and make my way to the front of the room. This is the last exam before the final. I’ve always thought baseball season was do-or-die, but this class has made ball feel like child’s play.

Taking the paper from his hands is like being the lucky bastard who snatches the Holy Grail. This can’t be right. “A ninety-eight?” I ask.

He grins. “Just one wrong answer. You nailed that sucker.”

I gape at him. No way. No freakin’ way. “So what’s my average look like now?”

He turns to his computer and hits a few keys. “This brings you up to a B-plus, Mr. Braxton. Not half-bad at all.”

My lungs deflate like a hot air balloon as I stare at the paper in my hand. A
ninety-eight
. I don’t think I’ve gotten a ninety-eight on anything science-related in my life.

“I know I shouldn’t ask a magician the secret to his tricks,” Mr. Matthews says, “but how’d you manage?”

Backing away toward the door, I smack the paper against my hands. “I have a freakin’ genius of a girlfriend-slash-tutor, that’s how.”

He stands and stuffs his hands into his khakis. “Maybe there’s a little genius in you, too. Don’t let her take all the credit.” He glances at the clock. “You should get out to the field. Can’t have Senior Night without the star senior.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” I toss up a wave and stride through the hallway, unable to tear my eyes away from the test. It’s a miracle. A Christmas-in-April miracle.

I push through the double doors, the spring air washing over me as I head outside to the parking lot with a grin on my face. Today’s game starts early, which means a certain pretty girl got off work even earlier. As soon as I see that girl waiting for me at my truck, my cheeks damn near hurt from smiling even bigger.

You see, crazy-love is pretty much the greatest thing to ever exist in this universe. It’s not always easy, but it’s a freakin’ blast. It’s the “can’t eat, can’t sleep, can barely breathe until I see her” kind of love. It’s the “just one more kiss on her front porch” kind of love. The kind of crazy that no one else understands, except me and her. Love ain’t right until you’ve lost your mind and that girl finds it and holds it for safe-keeping.

“Ninety-eight,” I call out, waving my test for her to see.

She shrieks and jumps up, wrapping her arms around my neck as I hug her back. “That’s amazing!” She scrunches her nose at me. “And three months ago, you were calling yourself an idiot. Idiots don’t get ninety-eights, Austin.”

I toss my backpack into the bed of my truck and grab my gear bag. “Well, someone had to help me get all smart and stuff. Remember?”

She rolls her eyes. “Your mom said she’ll be here as soon as she can. She was about to close up the shop when I left.”

Draping my arm across her shoulder, we start for the field. Tonight’s Senior Night, which means us seniors are going to be on display after the game, along with our parents. That’s all well and good, but part of me is depressed as hell. It’s the last official home game. It’s like one last nail in the high school baseball coffin. We’ve got playoffs and hopefully State, but after that, it’s over. Done. I’ve played ball with most of these guys since Little League. After graduation, we’ll be split across the country.

This day kind of sucks now.

Marisa wraps her arm around my waist. We’ve still got a couple hours before the post-game ceremony starts, but Brett and Eric’s momma is already on the field, talking to Coach. Their dad hasn’t been to any of our games since the wedding. Their momma hasn’t missed a minute. I always knew I liked Mrs. Perry.

I stop once we reach the bleachers. Take a deep breath. Grin. This? This is my home field. It doesn’t matter how ready I’ve been to leave, doesn’t matter how often I’ve counted down the days until August. This may be a nowhere town, but it’s my town. My home. And yeah, I’m gonna miss it.

Marisa heads on to the bleachers to wait for Momma. I hurry to the locker room to change, using its outside entrance. I swing the door open and the A/C hits me full-force, taking my breath away. Lockers stretch along the walls of the room, the open space in the middle empty except for the lone bench. It’s quiet. Still. That’ll change any minute now. The other guys will be here soon enough.

It shouldn’t be this hard. My gut shouldn’t feel like it’s ripping in half. But it is. And it does. My throat tightens as I head for my locker. The number
3
is scribbled on masking tape that stretches along the top, tape that’s worn and ragged and halfway falling off the metal. I claimed that number years ago. My dad claimed it before me. For today, the number’s still mine.

The locker room door slams closed. Jay strolls in, with his bag slung over his shoulder, looking about as doom–and-gloom as I feel. Like his gut’s shredding right along with mine. His jaw’s stiff as he says, “Damn. Thought I’d catch you crying.”

If he’d come in thirty seconds later, he might have.

He drops his bag onto the floor and sinks onto the bench, staring ahead at his locker. He shakes his head. “This sucks, dude. Does it feel like goodbye to you, too?”

Yep
. I sit beside him and follow his gaze. Our lockers have always been side by side. In a few months, our lockers won’t even be in the same state. The guy’s been my right-hand man since we were zit-covered kids. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.

“How you feelin’ about next year?” I ask. “New team. New coach. New pitcher.”

He blows out a breath. “Scared as hell. You?”

“Scared as hell.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “At least you’ll have Marisa. I’m losing my best friend and my boyfriend at the same time.”

“Does it suck as bad as I think it does?”

“Worse.” He straightens, stretching his arms above his head. “Here I thought I’d find you crying, and you’ve got me about to break.”

I slap his shoulder and stand, mostly so he won’t see my face fall. My locker door squeaks as I swing it open. “There’s no cryin’ in baseball, Torres.”

He steps to his own locker. Looks me straight in the eye. “I’m gonna miss your sorry ass, you know that?”

And I’m going to miss him more than my right arm. I hold up my hand. He high-fives me, holding on for a beat before letting go. “All-Star Duo forever, bro.” Exhaling heavily, I pull my undershirt out of the locker. “Your parents comin’ tonight?”

He snorts. “Dude, you’d think I was graduating already. My mom’s got her camera charged and ready. Dad nearly cried when I asked where my cleats were this morning.”

I laugh along with him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Y’all might as well get the umbrellas ready for graduation ‘cause that man’s going to flood the stadium.”

My chest tightens. I look at the practice glove in my locker, the one Dad gave me so long ago. He won’t be here tonight. He won’t be at graduation. I may have screwed up a lot in the past couple of years, but I’ve done the best I could. If anything, I hope I’ve done him proud.

The locker room door slams closed. Jay and I both glance over as Brett walks in, his eyes downcast. But when he looks up and his gaze falls on Jay, his lips curve into a half-smile. He lifts his chin to me and heads to his locker, which is a few down from mine.

“How’s it goin’?” I ask.

He pauses with his hand on his locker. “Momma just told me that Dad’s comin’ tonight.” He says it casually, but relief floods his face as he pulls out his clothes. I silently thank sweet baby Jesus for progress. Ever since the wedding, Brett’s been wrapped up in his own head. I think part of him honestly believed his dad wouldn’t talk to him again.

Jay moves to my side, his arms crossed. “You all right?” he asks carefully.

Brett nods and tugs his shirt over his head. “I think so.”

The door opens again, and the other guys file in, one by one. The volume in the room grows from silence to a low rumble, with lockers slamming and bags rustling.

After changing, I grab my game glove from my locker. That stupid lump returns to my throat. I’ve pitched every varsity game with this glove. I’ll probably need a new one next season, but this old thing—it’s done me a lot of good.

“Fellas,” Eric says.

I turn. The other guys are grouped in the center of the room, geared up and ready to go. Eric stands at the front, arms crossed.

“Y’all are gonna be strolling memory lane during your ceremony,” he continues, “but we want to hear your real favorites. The memories you don’t want your mommas to hear.”

Jay chuckles and leans back against the lockers. “Oh, boy,” he says on an exhale. “Too many damn memories to pick a favorite, Junior.” He slaps my arm. “Probably watching Braxton get chased out of Matthews’s pond last summer.”

Nice to know someone got a kick out of that. I shove him. “After you dared me to do it, asshole.”

He snorts. “Then what’s yours?”

I toss my glove. Catch it. Jay’s right; there are too many memories to pick a favorite. “I’ll go with sophomore year. Bus ride home from the Beaufort game. Pulling up alongside that group of girls and mooning them while Coach was asleep. The bus lurched and Jay fell onto Coach, with his pants down.”

Jay bursts out laughing along with the others, the sound echoing through the room. “That got us a night full of laps from Coach. After getting our asses whooped by Beaufort.”

Our laughter dies down as we all turn to Brett, who’s leaning against the lockers, watching us instead of laughing. His mouth twists into a smirk as he stares down at his glove. “I’m gonna be the lame-ass who says you guys.” He straightens, eyes me, Jay, and then the rest of the guys. The room falls silent, so quiet you could hear a fly buzz. “My dad’s barely looked at me since the wedding. He’s comin’ tonight, and that’s all well and good, but y’all, you’re here. You’ve been here the whole time.” He swallows audibly. “And you don’t hate me.”