Page 102 of Room 4 Rent

An inning in which a pitcher faces only three batters, none of whom successfully reach base. Also called a “three up, three down” inning.

CASON

2 MONTHS LATER

Two months into playing in the minors, it’s August, I’m playing for the Salt Lake Bees, and I’m miserable without them. Absolutely fucking miserable. I hate Salt Lake City, and I don’t want to be here any longer. I hate living in a house with five guys, and get this… they ate my fucking jelly beans.

Yeah. I know. Bullshit, right?

Constant motion. It’s what gets me through the days. I make a lot of appearances on the mound and pitch a no-hitter even. Career-wise, it’s amazing. I’m the most talked-about player in the minors.

Emotionally, I’m a wreck. I miss my girls. I facetime Tatum every night. I’ve seen her three times. They came to visit. She’s getting bigger every day and said my name right for the first time. I’m no longer Boy. I’m Case. I nearly cried. I want her to go back to calling me Boy.

After a series win in El Paso, I get called up to play in the majors to relieve a pitcher on the DL. I call Sydney the second I’m out of the clubhouse and heading to the airport.

At first, it’s like any other call after a game. She watches every single one of them. “Ten strikeouts, not bad.”

I sigh into the receiver. “You know what’s even better?”

She laughs. “Talking to me, of course.”

“Well, that, but I have some news for you.”

“That you’re coming home?”

I love that she refers to her house as home, but still, I can’t wipe the fucking smile off my face. “I’m actually heading to the airport.”

“Seriously? Are you coming home? I need to shave my legs if you are.”

“I’m actually heading to Anaheim….” I let my voice trail off.

It takes her a minute before she screams. “You got the call?”

A chuckle leaves my lips. “I got the call, babe.” Yep. I call her babe now. And every time we hang up, she tells me she loves me. How’s that for making it work long-distance? Guess what else? I haven’t looked in another woman’s direction since the day I left Sydney. Or, I suppose, last month when I saw her in Vegas.

“Oh my God. They’re playing a home game this weekend, right?”

“Yeah. They’re on game two of the series.” I pause, my smile never fading. “The team gave me some seats. Can you and Tatum come?”

“We’d love to!” she says without missing a beat.

A sigh of relief washes through me. “Thank you.”

“If I get there and you have a mustache, imma be pissed.”

I snort, closing the door to the car and reaching for my bag. “You see my face every night on FaceTime.”

“I know, but still. Tatum is going to freak out when I tell her.”

I swallow over the lump forming in my throat. “Can I tell her?”

“Oh, yeah, totally. Let me get her.” There’s a pause before she gets on the phone, her soft voice so innocent and sweet.

“Boy!” Okay, so we’re back to “boy.” Great. I like that better.

“Loretta,” I sigh. “I’m missing you, kid.”

She sighs herself. “I miss you more. I see you soon?”

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