Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance (Beyond the Play Book 3)

WE DIDN’T MAKE the playoffs.

Even if we win our last three games of the season, the one remaining series against Norfolk State University, it won’t be enough. We’re finishing at the bottom of America East. And while I’m sad for my teammates, especially the seniors, I don’t feel anything but relief.

There’s a definitive end date. One last hurrah.

Mia won’t be there, but I’m starting to get used to that.

When she left James’ house, leaving behind a note that made me wish I never wrote her any of mine to begin with, I hoped, at first, that she’d come around, and we’d talk. But that hasn’t happened. She doesn’t want to see me or talk to me, even for a moment. I have to resist the urge to keep asking Penny how she is. I know she feels bad, but she was Mia’s friend before she became mine.

She didn’t come home with us this weekend, but James and Bex are here, like they promised they would be for this announcement. Cooper, too, and Izzy. Even though I’d rather do anything else in the world than tell Richard and Sandra I’m quitting the sport they worked hard to keep me in all these years, it has to be now. I already started my letter to Commissioner Scofield, asking to be released from the draft pool, and I have to tell Zoe about it too. She sent me her draft of the article the other day, but I haven’t read it.

I keep telling myself that I don’t want to see how she wrote about my parents’ passing, and that’s part of it, but really, I’m dreading reading about what I said about Mia. I meant every word and I still do, but that just makes it worse.

Cooper clasps my shoulder as he sits across from me. We’re in the den, the room in the house with the comfiest couches and all the board games. I love this room; whenever I’m in it, I think of Monopoly on Christmas and late-night Mario Kart battles. Birthday cake and karaoke. Arguments and laughter, all jumbled together. This is the private family room, away from the magazine-ready space in the front of the house, and I have a decade of memories here.

When I told James and Cooper my plan, there was a split-second where I wanted to take it back. Not because I doubted myself and this path, but because I didn’t want to sever the bond between us. The Callahan boys, each an athlete, same as Richard. But their reaction bolstered me for this moment. I might be Jacob and Danielle Miller’s son, but I’m a Callahan. Not because of baseball, but because they’re the family who chose me, and I chose them back.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

I know he doesn’t just mean baseball. I shake my head. “Don’t know.”

“She still might come around.”

“I don’t think so.” I fiddle with the medallion, looking down at it instead of into my brother’s eyes. “I had a chance, and I blew it.”

“She’s scared. That might not last forever.”

“I love her.”

“I know,” he says softly.

“I thought… she loved me too. I thought we were forever.” I laugh. It’s a lonely, hollow sound. “I thought she’d be by my side for this.”

“We are,” James says, sitting down next to me on the couch. “We’ve got your back.”

“If Dad gives you a hard time, for even a moment,” Izzy says, plopping down on my other side, “I’ll show him the research. I have a slideshow handy if necessary. I even photoshopped you into a chef’s jacket.”

I’m honestly not sure if she’s joking. I shake my head again, pulling her into a sideways hug and kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.”

“And we’re talking about Mia after this,” she says. “She might be ignoring all my calls, but she’ll come around eventually. I can be very persuasive.”

“She called me the other day,” Bex says. “To apologize for leaving so suddenly.”

I blink. “You didn’t tell me that.”

She shrugs. “I think Penny gave her my number. She seems sweet, Seb. I’m sorry it’s not working out the way you wanted.”

“Yes,” Sandra says, walking into the living room with Richard. “Oh, sweetie, come here.”

Kiwi—who has apparently decided that Richard is his god—trots after them.

She pulls me into a hug, smelling of peppermint, and kisses my cheek for good measure. “What did you need to discuss with us? Is it about Mia?”

“No.” I take a deep breath. “It’s… it’s about baseball.”

“Did some pricks try photographing you again?” Richard demands. Kiwi jumps onto his lap, mouthing at the buttons on his shirt. He scolds him gently, and Kiwi looks at him in outrage for a moment before settling down.

I take another breath. I might need a whole breathing exercise to get through this. “No.”

“Is it missing out on the playoffs? It stings, but it happens,” Richard says. “You played well, I know you put your heart into it.”

“Honey,” Sandra says, “why don’t you let him talk?”

I sit up straighter. Cooper catches my eye, nodding.

I can do this.

“I’m quitting baseball,” I say in a rush. “I’m going to withdraw from the draft.”

Sandra’s eyes widen. Richard’s elbow slips on the arm of the chair.

“I’m going to graduate a semester early,” I add, the words pouring out now that I’ve started. I keep looking at Richard, at those deep blue eyes that each of my siblings inherited, and ignore the jackrabbiting of my heart. “After next semester, I’ll have the credits. I’m going to use some of my inheritance to travel, so I can explore different cuisines, and work my way up in the food industry. As a chef.”

“A chef,” Richard repeats.

“I have the passion,” I say, before he gets in another word. “And I have the intensity and instincts. I realized that even though I love baseball—and I do, I’m not saying I don’t—I don’t want it to be my career. Even if it’s what my father wanted for me. Even if I have the talent. Even… even if you were a professional athlete, and so is James, and so will Cooper.”

Richard sits back, contemplating that with his brows drawn together. “Does this have anything to do with Mia?”

“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, she helped me realize it’s what I want. But I’m not doing this for her. I’m not doing it for anyone but myself.”

“And you’ve thought about it,” he says. “Really thought about it. Because it’s a lot to walk away from, son.”

“I know my dad wanted me to play baseball professionally,” I say. “And I’m so grateful that you and Mo—that both of you kept me in baseball. But this is what’s right for me.”

Even if it’s a future that doesn’t include Mia, it’s still the one I want. I’d rather a cramped kitchen than the vast expanse of left field. A chance to make my own name on my own terms, instead of worrying about living up to someone else’s reputation.

Sandra looks at her husband, her eyes shining.

“Danielle would be so excited,” she says. “She loved cooking so much.”

“She did,” he says. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. “Remember the time Jake surprised her with that gigantic turkey for Thanksgiving?”

She laughs. “She was so worried it wouldn’t thaw in time.”

“Best damn turkey I ever had.” He swipes at his eyes. “Oh, Sebastian. There’s so much of them in you.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t bother wiping them away. James rubs my back comfortingly.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice breaking. “So it’s… it’s okay?”

“I don’t recall you asking for permission,” Richard says, just a touch of dryness in his tone. “But of course it’s okay.”

“I just know how much my dad wanted this for me.”

“What he wanted was for you to be happy,” Sandra says. “And that’s what we want for you too.”

“They’d be so proud of you.” I meet him halfway as he pulls me into a hug. His embrace is tight, reassuring, and I allow myself a moment to just breathe, my face squished against his neck. “Jake would be so goddamn proud of you. You’ve become such a wonderful young man.”

In my old game, I’d bargain away every single one of Richard’s hugs for my father’s embrace instead, if only for a moment. But right now, I don’t want that. I want to stay right here, in the present, with this father of mine.

Mia was right. I am lucky to have had not one good family, but two.

“What about you?” I whisper. “I was worried that I wouldn’t be… as much of a Callahan as the rest of you, I guess. I didn’t want to lose this family.”

“You’re my son,” he says. He pulls back, so we can look each other in the eye, his voice as serious as I’ve ever heard it. “You’re my son regardless of what you do with your life.”

“You don’t need baseball to have our love,” Sandra says. A tear slips down her cheek as she smiles. “You’re Jake and Danielle’s, but you’re ours too.”

The words on the tip of my tongue aren’t Richard and Sandra. I’ve wanted to say them, over the years, but I always held back. Always found an excuse to keep that distance.

No longer.

They’re my family. I’m a Callahan.

I’m my father and mother’s son, but I am Richard and Sandra’s as well.

I look at my family—my family—and feel so much love I can almost forget there’s someone missing. Mia slipped through my fingers like a damned daydream, but this is forever. “Thank you, Mom and Dad.”

LATER THAT EVENING, I have the letter to the commissioner drafted and ready to go. Richard helped me with some of the wording, and after, we called Zoe and gave her permission to break the news once my season wraps. Izzy promised to post it on my Instagram, too.

I would feel lighter than air, except for the fact that I want nothing more than to talk to Mia.

I pull up her contact in my phone for what has to be the hundredth time in a week. If I called, would she pick up? If I texted, would she reply?

I’m sure she’s still at the lab. The symposium is so close. While I’m playing my last-ever game, she’ll be giving her presentation. Right now, she’s probably poring over data, adjusting slides, and practicing what she’s going to say. For half a second, she feels so close I swear I could reach out and touch her. Her hair is probably in a precarious bun, her glasses perched atop her nose. If she messes something up, she’ll make a face at herself and glance down at her notes before starting again, from the top.

Before everything happened, I promised I’d listen to her practice it as many times as she needed.

Instead, I’m in my family’s backyard, gazing at the stars.

I’m sure there are so many others hiding in the nighttime sky, the same as those billions of exoplanets, but the stars I can see scatter across the black like glitter against velvet. Maybe she’s looking at them too, like that night in Albany when she told me to find the moon.

“Pretty, right?”

Izzy nudges my hip as I turn. Earlier, she was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, but now she’s in leggings and a worn, oversized sweater. Her dark hair, hanging loose around her shoulders, shines from the glow of the patio light. “I brought you a hot chocolate.”

“Oh, thanks.” I take the mug she’s holding out. Hot chocolate is an odd choice on a warm night in late June, but I take a sip anyway. “What are you up to?”

“Well, at first I was going to do work,” she says. “There’s a wedding this weekend in the Hamptons that Katherine is convinced is going to be a disaster, so she’s having me go over all the details again. But then I thought I should be social, so I went to go hang out with Mom and Bex, only they were talking about how painful childbirth is, and I can’t deal with that energy until I’m at least twenty-five, so I thought I would make hot chocolate, and I figured you needed it too. If there was ever a time for hot chocolate, it’s now. You’re literally looking up at the stars like a lovesick puppy.”

I just blink. The best way to make sense of Izzy’s mini speeches is to start at the top and work your way through. “Who is Katherine again?”

“Katherine Abney. My boss.”

“Right. And why hot chocolate?”

“It’s the most comforting drink.” She takes a sip, as if to punctuate her words.

“It’s almost the Fourth of July.”

“So?” She clinks our mugs together. Mine says ‘McKee Royals’ on it, and tiny hearts cover hers. “You drink beer in the winter, and beer is best cold.”

I guess she has a point. Most of the time she does, even if it’s not the one I would have expected. “Do I really look like a lovesick puppy?”

She holds up her hand and puts her thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart. “Just a little. It’s mostly cute, though.”

“As long as I look cute,” I say dryly.

“Penny kind of explained what happened,” she says. She runs her hand, decorated with thin stacks of rings, through her hair. “She hasn’t said anything to you?”

“She doesn’t want to see me.”

She makes a quiet noise. “I guess words wouldn’t help anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mia’s a scientist, Seb.” She tilts her head to the side as she looks at the sky. “Scientists need evidence to believe things. You can’t just say something and expect her to believe it without question, you know? You know how you feel, but unless you give her something concrete that she can’t push away, she’s not going to let it sink in.”

I’m quiet for a moment, considering her words.

I told Mia once that what I deserve is what I want, and I still believe that. Part of her has always felt that she’s not enough for me, and I’d be better off with some hypothetical woman who can give me more than her. More career support, or kids, or whatever she thinks I’m expecting, without question or compromise, from my partner.

That’s bullshit. She’s more than enough for me—she’s everything and more—but Izzy’s right. Kids or no kids, marriage or no marriage, her family be damned, she’s it for me. She needs evidence, otherwise she’ll just keep pretending she doesn’t hear what I’m telling her.

“Izzy,” I say. “Has anyone ever told you how smart you are?”