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

I’M NOT USED to having hair this short.

I mess with it over the sink, making a face. Maybe I should tie it back. It’s at my shoulders now, six inches shorter than before and harder to tuck behind my ears. I don’t want it to fall into my face while I’m onstage.

Right about now, Sebastian is getting ready for his last-ever game.

And I’m across campus, about to enter the symposium’s auditorium.

Hair aside, I look okay. Skinny-fit black slacks, loafers, a light blue silk button-down shirt, and a black blazer. My hoops and gold chain are extra pieces of armor. I’m about to walk into a room crowded with scientists, most of them men, and being taken seriously means dressing the part. I fiddle with an earring, taking a deep breath.

Even if we were still dating, I wouldn’t have gone to today’s game. He wouldn’t have let me miss this moment, and truthfully, I wouldn’t have offered. If anything, he’d be in the audience, and it’d be yet another thing he gave up for me.

Every time it hurts so much, someone might as well be driving a rusty stake through my ribs, that’s what I have to remember.

Our stars don’t align.

We’re not even in the same galaxy.

“Mia?” Alice says as she opens the door. “Where the hell—oh, there you are. Good. You’re late.”

I finish adjusting my jacket before looking at her. She opted for a dress and flats today, and clearly at some point between when I last saw her and now, she went to the hairdresser. “Hi, Alice.”

“I still can’t believe Beatrice wants you to give such a big presentation.” She doesn’t bother hiding the envy in her voice. “Someone who’s an actual expert should be talking about this.”

“It’s always been the plan.”

“And you’re just an undergrad. This is my dissertation. You barely know what you’re talking about.”

“Good luck defending it,” I mutter as I brush past her.

She steps in front of the door to prevent me from leaving. “Excuse me?”

I could pretend that what I said was genuine. But she’s spent weeks doing nothing but denigrating me just because she’s insecure, and I’ve held my tongue for the sake of professionalism. She can think whatever she wants, but I earned the right to give this presentation. I’m jittery with nerves and lost in an ocean of heartbreak, and she doesn’t get to walk all over me. Not anymore. Not today.

I’ve hidden my claws until now, but she picked the wrong day to mess with me.

“I said, good luck defending it. Especially since I rewrote most of your code.”

She flushes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You know it’s the truth.” I take a step closer. “Alice, you’re smart, but not when it comes to the technical details. I tried to help you, but you didn’t want to work together.”

“It’s not like I asked Beatrice to bring you into the lab.”

“Look at the audience out there,” I say. “It’s almost all men. We could have been supporting each other this whole time as two women in a field that is still dominated by men, and instead, you acted like I was some idiot you had to put up with. I made the program better. Professor Santoro’s next paper will be better for it. Your dissertation will be better for it. I deserve to give this presentation.”

She flushes deeply, opening her mouth and closing it before finding her voice for a reply. “If you fuck it up, it’s going to come straight back to me.”

I reach around her for the door handle. “Good thing I’ve got this.”

Once I’m in the hallway, I don’t linger; I don’t want to get into an even bigger argument with her. I duck into a classroom and check the time.

I have ten minutes before I need to be in the auditorium.

Robert Meier will no doubt be in the front row, questions ready. There are videos online of how he approaches these events, and he always has a notebook open on his lap, full of observations and queries. Sometimes, he’ll interrupt the presentation to ask them, pressing for more information, more analysis. If I manage to make it into his program next spring, I’m going to be challenged like never before.

The thought of it makes me nervous and excited all at once.

Aside from Penny, who insisted upon coming to the symposium, even though I told her I wouldn’t mind if she would rather go to Sebastian’s game, there won’t be a friendly face to look at. I haven’t spoken to my family since the barbecue. I know I have to suck it up soon and reach out, because the longer this lingers, the worse I’ll feel, but a part of me is still holding out hope that Giana will be the first to apologize. If I’m being even more honest with myself, I hope my parents will be willing to hear me explain my plan in depth, instead of ignoring it and disapproving from the sidelines.

My phone buzzes with a series of texts.

BEX

Good luck today, Mia!

JAMES

Good luck Mia!

COOPER

You’re going to crush it 🙂

PENNY

I can’t wait <3 You’re going to be amazing!

IZZY

Go get ‘em, space genius <333

I bite my lip as I stare down at my phone, but the last text—the one I truly want—doesn’t come.

Instead, Izzy texts me again, privately this time.

Thought you might want to see this before it goes public

I made Penny promise to take a picture of you onstage <333

I click on the image she sent me. It’s a screenshot of a letter.

Sebastian’s letter to Major League Baseball.

To Commissioner Scofield and Those it May Concern:

With the MLB Draft Day approaching, I want to thank the 30 major league teams for their interest, both in me as a player and as a person. Baseball has been a major part of my life since the very beginning, and I know how much it meant to my father, Reds legend Jacob Miller. Some of my earliest memories include playing catch with him and listening to Marty Brennaman shout, “This one belongs to the Reds!” after victories. It has been an honor and a privilege to follow in his footsteps, and I will always love the sport.

In considering my future, however, I have realized that I need to follow a different path. As such, I am withdrawing my name from consideration for the MLB Draft, now and in the future. I am grateful for all that baseball has given me, but it’s time for me to pursue my own passions.

In addition, I will be graduating McKee University a semester early, making this season my last. The past three seasons have been some of the most challenging and exciting of my life, and I thank Coach Martin, the staff, and my teammates for helping me grow into the man I am today.

I would like to thank my family for their support, as well as Mia di Angelo for showing me that I need to define my own future. I don’t know what it holds, but I am excited to find out, and I know my parents would be proud of me.

Sincerely,

Sebastian Callahan

Tears blur my vision by the time I finish the letter. It’s so him, I feel like I could reach through the phone screen and touch him. I’ve missed being able to hug him whenever I want, which is something I thought I’d never say about someone. I wipe my eyes, careful not to mess up my mascara.

He thanked me. Despite everything—despite leaving him and loving him and leaving him again—he thanked me.

I wish I could be at the game, even just as his friend. I’m sure it means so much to him, one last time spent doing the thing he learned to love from his father. While I’m glad his family is there to cheer him on, I wish I was there too. But just like he’s defining his own future, I need to define mine.

Our stars don’t align. I’m being devoured by a black hole that wants to squeeze me into nothingness, but this heartbreak, however deeply it cuts me, is nothing compared to the future heartbreak we’d have inflicted on each other. That night at James and Bex’s was just a taste.

I have to make him a memory, starting now.

I enter the auditorium from the back. Professor Santoro is starting the symposium with a welcome speech and presentation of her own, and then I’m up first. She’s already at the podium, talking into the microphone, her silver-threaded hair glinting in under the stage lights.

“One of the best parts of being a professor is discovering a student you know has what it takes to go the distance,” she says. “Someone you know is going to surpass you one day, because frankly, she’s smarter than you.” This earns her a couple of chuckles. She pauses to smile, looking out at the audience—and then over her shoulder at me, waiting in the wings.

“This has happened to me a few precious times in my career, and from the moment I met Mia di Angelo, I knew she was something special,” she continues. “She has the passion, the smarts, and above all, the curiosity that someone needs to do great things in this field. I’ve been so proud to have her as an undergraduate researcher this summer, and I can’t wait for you all to meet her.”

I realize a beat too late that that’s my cue and hurry onto the stage, aiming for the podium. My first slide is up on the projector behind me, ready to go. My footsteps sound so loud against the wood stage that I can’t focus on anything else.

She smiles as we pass each other, squeezing my arm. “Chin up. Speak clearly. You’ve got this.”

This isn’t the first presentation I’ve given, and it won’t be the last. This is just the beginning. I give her a nod as I settle in at the podium.

I look at the crowd and nearly knock over the microphone.

My family is sitting in the first row.

Giana. Mom, Dad, and Nana. Penny is at the end of the row next to my sister, beaming.

I meet my mother’s gaze, and she gives me a slight nod.

I steel my spine and begin.