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It’s Callaway, less than two feet from the plate, that turns my heart to mush. With the smallest and lightest of wiffle balls in his hands, Cal tosses the ball in Apollo’s direction as his daddy assists his swing.
My sweet little nugget has wobbly legs and not a clue what’s going on, but the bouncing and drooling he’s sporting is enough to mark this as an extra special moment in time.
“Come on, Apollo. Give us a good one,” Callaway chants.
“Yay! Go Apollo, go!” Kodi chants from the dugout.
“We know you got more skill than your daddy, my dude. Hit it to Jethro at second. It’ll go right past him,” King makes a jab at Jethro, earning him an annoyed scowl.
How sweet is it to see a field full of grown men cheering for a nine-month-old baby as if he’s about to become a World Series Champion? August is right on time with his delivery, using Apollo’s tiny body to put more effort into the swing, projecting the ball not far from the plate.
“Drop Three!” Bodhi shouts. “It’s a drop three! Run, Apollo, run!”
“Man, it ain’t a drop three. We gonna teach him the game rules or just bullshit?”
It’s too bad August is already running, supporting Apollo’s head against his shoulder as he crosses the first baseline. The moment his feet leave the bag, Apollo soars into the air, the heartiest giggle echoing throughout all of Makers Park. “That’s my boy!” August cheers.
Grabbing Apollo’s tiny fingers, he raises threeto Apollo’s lips and kisses them before holding them high. “Three is better than one.”
My heart leaps out of my chest as I sprint toward my guys. The two constants in my life who love me something fierce. A love so passionate, so bold, even the most romantic of them will write stories about us.
“Yay! You did it!” I cheer, bringing them into a hug and peppering kisses across Apollo’s cheeks. “Did you hit the ball?” I squeal, excited for my baby.
“Ball.”
My eyes dart to August at the same time his shoot to mine. “Did he just say ball?” he asks.
“I think he did.” I pause before jumping up and down in a fit of pride. “He just said ball. Apollo, is that a ball?” I point to the worn leather baseball Cal carries over to us.
“Ball,” Apollo repeats, tapping the ball with his hand.
“Hell yeah, he said ball. Like a legend,” King calls out.
“Mouth,” August warns. “Watch it.”
That’s when my man pulls me close and murmurs against the softness of my hair, “I’d say we’re doing something right, little venom.”
I smile at him. “I’ve missed you calling me that. Don’t get me wrong, I love when you call me Mama, but little venom just feels like…us. The us we were before there was anus, if that makes any sense.”
“I get what you mean,” he tells me, the fullest of smiles sent my way. “You’re so much more to me now, Tenley. Back then, you were a chase. The woman better than me at my own game. But now, you’re my safe place. My haven. My home. The other half of my soul that I feel reckless without.”
The warmth and kindness this very misunderstood manshows me daily is a privilege I get to call my normal—a luxury in my perfectly imperfect life.
I’ll never take it for granted.
“Safe haven. I like it. I can’t think of a better way to describe the love I have for you. It seems we never really hated each other after all.”
“Nah. We love hard and fight hard. Nothing wrong with that, baby. Some actually call it foreplay.”
I giggle, squeezing them tighter. “I guess that makes us dedicated.”
“It sure does.”
Deciding to be spontaneous, I pull my phone from my pocket and activate the camera. Tapping my bottom lip and smiling at him, I send August the instruction he never needed to kiss me. “Kiss me, bat boy. Let’s show my side of the world who August Graves belongs to.”
He doubles down for the kill. Securing his neatly trimmed mustache in place and situating Apollo on his hip. “Gimme those lips, Mama.”
They’re all yours.
