Page 112 of High Hopes

I did it.

One of the staff members hands me a jersey—bright orange and navy with my name on the back—and someone else points me toward another round of interviews. The reporters’ questions blur together: “What does this mean to you? How does it feel? What are you most excited about?”

Ben’s at my side, guiding me through the chaos like he’s done it a hundred times before. Cameras flash in every direction, and my face hurts from smiling, but every few seconds, I catch glimpses of Birdie at the edge of the crowd, her presence a steady anchor in all the madness.

Later, when the buzz finally dies down, I find Birdie waiting for me in the lobby. She looks up, sees me, and her smile widens, lighting up her entire face. It’s the kind of smile that makes everything else fall away.

“You did it,” she says, launching herself into my arms.

I laugh, catching her easily. “Wedid it.”

She pulls back, hands resting on my shoulders. “I didn’t kick a single ball, Donovan. This was all you.”

I shake my head, my grin softening. “You were there every step of the way. I couldn’t have done this without you, Birdie. You know that, right?”

Her eyes shimmer. “Okay, maybe I was a little helpful.”

I chuckle, pressing my forehead to hers. “Just a little?”

“Fine, a lot.”

“Then it’s settled,” I say, leaning in to kiss her, soft and slow. “This is ours.”

Her lips twitch, her cheeks flushing pink. “So, Cincinnati, huh?”

“Looks like it.”

“You ready for it?”

My grasp on her hand tightens. “Yeah. Are you?”

She tilts her head, pretending to think. “Am I ready to visit my boyfriend in the middle of Ohio? Sure. I’ll bring snacks.”

I laugh. “We’re gonna make this work, Birdie. No matter what.”

She presses one last perfect kiss to my lips. “I know we will.”