Page 72 of Crossed Up

I wouldn’t change a single damn pitch.

31

AIDAN

Six Months Later

“You look like you’re about to hurl, Preach. Do I need to grab the bucket?” Copeland’s laughter at my expense is nothing new, but this time, he might be right. I feel like I’m about to throw up or pass out, or hell, maybe both.

The look on my face must warrant some pity because he smiles sympathetically at me. He’s doing that more than ever lately, and I know it’s because he’s finally let go of his relationship hangups and is happy.

“Come on, Aid. You and tiny have been together like eight months, and you’ve been wanting to propose to her for at least seven of those. Why are you so nervous?”

I scoff. “You mean aside from the fact that we’re about to play game 7 in the World fucking Series on our home field? What if she hates the ring? What if she hates that I’m asking so publicly? What if I ask her, and then we lose the fucking series?”

Cope’s face splits into a manic sort of grin. “One, we’re going to win. Like those bakery boxes always say, ‘manifest that shit.’ Two, she’s going to love the ring. You literally had it designed based on an old journal you snooped through. Which, by the way, please let me be around when she finds out. I would love to see tiny kick your ass. Three, she won’t. She’s going to love it because it will remind her of your first date.”

He grimaces with a shudder. “Well, the good part, anyway. And finally, so fucking what? If you ask Lyla to marry you and we lose the series, you’ll still be fucking engaged!”

Rhodes startles me when he slaps my shoulder. “I don’t say this often, but he’s right, you know.”

I wave them off and run a hand through my messy hair. I finally got it cut a few months ago, but it’s already getting shaggy again.

The opening notes to Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney play over the field speakers on our side for the third time this season, and the Raptors fans go fucking crazy. “Oh god, I’m going to puke.”

Cope hands me the gaudy fake Raptor blue roses and my mitt, shoving me out of the dugout. “No time for vomit, Preach! Go get your girl!”

Coach and all the other guys cheer me on, and I make my way onto the field to sounds of confusion from the fans, especially the ones who saw me do this exact thing seven short months ago. Just like back then, Lyla is in the WAG section behind home plate, and I hop the fence to get to her.

My heart races faster the closer I get, but the second I see her adorably confused smile, the raging storm inside me calms. Her cheeks are ever so slightly sunburned, and the pink stands out on her beautiful skin, making her eyes look even greener than usual.

Stopping in front of her, she grins up at me. “Hey, Aid. Not that I’m, like, complaining or anything, but haven’t we done this already?”

My smile is shaky with nerves as I drop to one knee in front of my girl. Gasps ring out all around us, and a glossy sheen quickly coats her eyes even as her pretty pink lips part in surprise.

I hand her the roses and keep my mitt firmly on my hand, gathering both of her hands in the worn leather and covering them with my free one.

“Eight short months ago, you showed up on my porch hoping to interview for a job and flipped my entire world on its axis. I knew the moment my eyes locked with your gorgeous green ones, I was in trouble, and it turns out I was spot on. I fell for you hard and fast for too many reasons to list, and I find new reasons every single day. You gave Crew a mom, and you gave me a partner in life, but most importantly, you gave me a home. My very own safe haven where I don’t have to have my shit together all the time. For the first time in my life, I was given a safe space to just be me. And as long as I live, I’ll never take it for granted.”

I stand up and signal to Cope, who throws the box in a perfect curveball that lands in my waiting mitt. Taking the mitt off, I drop back down to one knee and open the box, relishing in the gasp from my angel and the titters from the women around her when they see the 2.5 Carat oval cut pink diamond on a rose gold band.

“Even if we win the World Series today, you will still be the most important catch I’ve ever made. Every day, I think I couldn’t possibly love you more than I did the day before and every day you prove me wrong.” I lean forward to nuzzle her nose with mine, making sure the next words are just for us.

“Lyla, angel, my girl. I look forward to a lifetime of you proving me wrong in all the best ways. Marry me?”

Tears are streaming down her cheeks, but her smile is blinding. “YES! Of course, yes, I’ll marry you!”

Her lips crash to mine in a frantic kiss that ends all too soon when the crowd goes berserk around us. After one final peck to her delicious cherry lips, I turn around and thrust both hands into the air. “SHE SAID YES!”

The same words flash on the Jumbotron and if I thought the crowd was wild before, it’s nothing compared to now. The adrenaline from knowing she said yes buzzes through my veins, and I know now that what Copeland said couldn’t be more right. I don’t give a single fuck if we bring home the Commissioner’s Trophy today because I just got the most important win of all.

Then again, I wouldn’t say no to winning the World Series.

After all, my future wife is watching.

“I can’t believe you guys won the World freaking Series!” Lyla squeals between kisses. I haven’t taken my mouth off of her since we got home ten minutes ago, and this gearshift between us is really starting to cramp my style.

Rhodes’s parents, bless ‘em, took Crew tonight so we could celebrate the win on our own. And I plan on celebrating all night long with my soon-to-be wife.

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