Page 40 of Stealing Home

“I’ll get out of your hair so you can feed her,” Gavin said.

Dom looked up at him with a smile. “I’ll text you.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” Gavin said. He pulled open the front door, then paused and turned. “Hey, Dom?”

“Yeah?”

“Welcome home.”

When Dom looked up at him, his eyes were damp. “Thank you.”

Gavin slipped out the door and tugged it closed behind him. He stood there for a moment, then he made his way to his truck and climbed inside. He gave the house one last look, pulled away from the curb, and tried very hard not to dwell on the fact that for the first time, there was somewhere in San Diego he was looking forward to coming back to.

8

DOM

The first couple of weeks of the season disappeared before Dom had a chance to notice they were gone. The lie detector determined that was a lie. Everyone he knew with kids was a giant lying liar. They’d all said the same thing—you’ll figure it out. As if everything required to balance a professional baseball career and an infant would all magically click into place. The confidence he’d found during spring training vanished as soon as the season started to ramp up.

The truth was, he’d figured out exactly enough to survive each day before the next one arrived with a brand-new problem.

There had been a diaper blowout in the players’ parking lot before a game, and the time he’d made it all the way to the ballpark before realizing Lucia’s diaper bag was still sitting by the front door. The detour home had made him twenty minutes late for pre-game practice, and after Coach Reyes threatened to bench him, Dom gathered everything Lucia could possibly need and turned half of his locker stall into what amounted to a miniature nursery. Then came the three straight nights when Lucia decided sleep was a suggestion instead of a biological requirement. Layer in baseball games, practice, film study, travel, media, and recovery, and his life had settled into a rhythm that somehow felt both incredibly rewarding and absolutely unsustainable.

But he’d never been happier.

Every night he unlocked the front door and stepped into his house. Lucia’s home. Framed photographs hung on the walls and lined the mantel. Most of them were of Lucia, but a couple had Evan and CJ making ridiculous faces at her while she looked spectacularly unimpressed. His parents had mailed one of the three of them from his high school graduation that he’d reluctantly agreed to display after his mother threatened to get it framed in something aggressively ornate if he didn’t.

The kitchen permanently smelled faintly of garlic because he cooked every night he was home. A tiny swing sat in one corner of the living room and a stroller was parked beside the front closet. A basket of laundry sat next to the couch, filled with frilly shirts and impossibly tiny socks, waiting to be folded the next time he had a minute to sit still. Little reminders everywhere that someone very small had become the dictator of his life. He loved every minute of it.

His phone buzzed as he finished feeding Lucia after an afternoon game.

Gavin

How’d Lucky’s appointment go?

Dom smiled before he even unlocked the screen. The pediatrician appointment had been yesterday. He’d mentioned it in passing three days ago during a text exchange about the game schedule, but Gavin remembered.

Dom

Doctor says she’s perfect. Apparently, she’s in the 87th percentile for cheeks.

There was a long pause before Gavin responded.

Gavin

I looked it up. That’s not an official medical measurement.

Dom

Well, it should be.

He snapped a picture of Lucia lying on her play mat, attempting to shove her entire fist into her mouth.

Dom

See?

Tell me those aren’t elite cheeks.