Page 63 of The Score We Never Settled

Right now.

However, it terrifies me that, one day, she’ll wake up and get tired of all this.

“I can come?—”

“No,” Layla clips out with pinched brows. “There isnoway you’re quittin’ now.”

I love baseball.

I love the game, the crowds, the feel of the ball when it cracks across the bat just right, and you know you’ve sent that thing over the stands for a run.

But Layla is all I’ve ever wanted, more than baseball and this career, and I won’t resent giving this shit up for a whole life with her.

However, the reality is that I’m still sending money home to keep my sisters from becoming homeless and with food on the table. I’ve worked out a plan with the bank on the balloon payment and got an extension.

Three years.

A hundred and fifty grand.

And I’m only pulling twenty-five a year.

In the off-season, I work a construction job and at the training facilities to pull extra money in.

I train in the morning, work my shit job during the day, and head to the gym at night.

Then I’m back at it again with baseball season.

Going back to Magnolia Ridge, I’m no better there than I am here. At least there are more opportunities here, and I can still keep progressing forward.

“I’d quit for you, Short Stop,” I tell her for the hundredth time. “I really would.”

She sends me a small, sad smile because I know she wishes shit were different, but it’s not right now.

But it will be, one day.

My cell phone rings on my mattress, and I glance over to see Coach Davidson’s name lighting it up.

I groan. “He’s going to have my ass for today.”

“I told you to stop hittin’ outside pitches.”

She has.

A million times.

“You just like it when I send it barrelin’ to short stop,” I mutter, plucking my phone up. “So you can see my ass sprint to first.”

“And it’s a really good view, Kerrigan.”

Smirking, I answer the call and bring it to my ear. “Hey, Coach.”

“Hey, son,” he returns in his deep, authoritative tone, sounding like his normal no-bullshit self. “Don’t get on the bus tomorrow. You’re flying up to New York. You’re in.”

You’re in.

My face twists in confusion. “What do you mean?—”

“You’re in the lineup, kid. You’re in the big leagues now. Congratulations.”