I snatch it from her fingers. She blows me a kiss.

  “Bye, honey,” she says, smiling.

  I forget she exists as I unfold the note. It was hastily written on motel stationery, but I recognize Daisy’s handwriting.

  Can’t say we didn’t try.

  The letters blend together; the words becoming meaningless as I read it over and over again on the bus ride back to Chicago North.

  Can’t say we didn’t try.

  I rush home immediately. She’s still there. I have to believe Daisy’s still there, waiting for me. We can sit down together and work this out. We can come up with a solution that gives us both what we want without…

  I can’t stomach the thought, but it echoes on the edge of my mind.

  … without giving up our baby.

  I open the door to our apartment, relieved to find it unlocked.

  “Daisy?!” I call out.

  No answer.

  I barge through the empty living room. I pass the empty kitchen. The empty bathroom.

  “Daisy!”

  Her bedroom.

  Her clothes are gone. Her suitcase, missing.

  No.

  This isn’t right. It’s not fair.

  I reach for my phone. Anger surges through me as I call her, pressing the phone so hard against my head it hurts.

  Daisy came into my life for a reason. I have to believe that. Otherwise, what was the point of all of this? Some sort of messed up karma? To teach us a lesson about the dangers of casual sex? What was all of this for if it wasn’t to bring us together to be a family?

  It rings repeatedly, mocking me with that dull tone until her voicemail finally picks up.

  “Hey, you’ve reached Daisy Hawthorne. Leave me a message if you’re into that kind of thing, you freakin’ weirdo.”

  I inhale a deep breath, preparing to unload on her, but I stop with my eyes locked on her bedside table.

  Her key is there. Left behind. Still attached to the tiny baseball keychain.

  Can’t say we didn’t try.

  She told me that once before. Jenny did, anyway. We skipped to the end that night, and now we’re back again.

  She made her decision the moment she stepped off the field. I could scream at her. I could demand she come back to me, but that wouldn’t change the outcome.

  Daisy is right. Trisha is right. It doesn’t matter how much being in the major leagues will provide for her and our child. All the money in the world won’t make up for the fact that I won’t be there. Five months out of the year isn’t enough to be a good father. I’ll miss everything. I’ll experience my child second-hand through photos and videos. Would it even recognize me when I showed up?

  I hang up the phone without saying a word.

  Daisy promised that she’d find a good family for it. Maybe that’s why we found each other again. To put her on the path to finding the best life for our child.

  Even if that life doesn’t include us.

  CHAPTER 32

  DAISY

  I drag my suitcase and garment bag behind me, letting it thump on each stair as I go. Rose’s neighbors might not appreciate that, but whatever. I’m having a moment here.

  It’s for the best, I tell myself for the hundredth time since I left my key behind at Hunter’s. He can go pro without us holding him back. I can go to Boston, to Los Angeles, to anywhere my job takes me. And the baby will be loved and cared for by people capable of it.

  It’s for the best.

  I arrive at Rose’s door. I use my foot to knock twice, lacking the energy to raise my hand.

  It’s for the—

  The door opens on John Kirby. Great. He’s still wearing his black graduation robes with his honor cords dangling over his shoulders.

  And he’s holding a flute of champagne. Super great.

  I deflate. “Are you two ever not about to have sex?” I ask.

  John ponders, his lips curling delightfully at the thought.

  “Ew,” I say. “Stop that. Where’s Rose? I need to talk to her.”

  He steps back to welcome me in. “Rose. Honey. Your sister is here.”

  I drag my suitcase inside. Before I fully cross the threshold, Rose appears from the kitchen with her own flute, her eyes wide with panic.

  “Daisy!” she whispers. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hunter and I split up,” I say.

  She gasps in surprise. “Oh, no! What happened?”

  “Eh, it’s for the best,” I murmur. Maybe the more I say it out loud, the more I’ll believe it to be true. “I left the game early so I could grab my stuff from his place. And let me tell you, I thought a bus full of sweaty college dudes was the worst thing I ever smelled in my life. The mid-day ride from Peoria to Chicago is way worse.”

  “Yeah, that seems… unpleasant.” Rose looks over her shoulder, clearly on edge. “So, you need somewhere to crash?”

  “And a place to pee.” I gesture down the hall toward the bathroom. “Didn’t dare touch the one at the bus station.”

  Rose stays in front of me. “You know, there’s a coffee shop across the street,” she says, her words lightning fast. “They have a bathroom. A big one. A nice one.”

  “I’d rather just pee here.”

  “And they have coffee! Lots of coffee.”

  “I can’t drink coffee.”

  “Decaf is just as good!”

  “Look, if you and John want to have sex, I don’t care. I’ll gladly hide in the kitchen for the next four minutes until you’re done. Just let me pee.”

  John rolls his eyes.

  Rose sighs. “Daisy, this isn’t a sex thing, it’s—”

  The toilet flushes down the hall.

  I squint. “Who else is here?”

  “Mom,” she whispers.

  “Mom is here?” I grip my bags. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I tried to get you to leave!”

  I glare at John. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” He smiles. “Do you two have a strained relationship?”

  I groan as I heave my bags back toward the front door, but it’s too late. The bathroom door opens behind me, followed by the familiar gait of a woman in thick high-heeled shoes.

  “Daisy?”

  I stiffen in the doorway, letting my bags slip to the floor.

  My mother stands with her arms crossed over her chest; tall and strong as she always has been. She looks just like me and Rose, plus about twenty-five years of ball-busting experience.

  I swallow. “Hey, Mom.”

  She regards me with inquisitive eyes, her gaze lingering on my swollen midsection. Welp. She knows about that now.

  “Hello,” she says. “Well, isn’t this unexpected?”

  I chortle. “You could say that.”

  “How far along?”

  “Six months,” I answer.

  “Ah,” she says, her smile stiff. Judgmental. “My daughters are so full of news today.”

  “News?” I look at Rose. “There’s other news?”

  Rose hesitates, her eyes cast with sympathy. “Oh, we don’t have to announce anything right now. She just got in. Let’s all just sit down and relax and—”

  “Announce what?” I ask.

  “Don’t you have to pee? Mom’s out of the bathroom now.”

  “Rose, what’s up?”

  She sighs before looking at John behind her. He steps closer, gently placing his hand on her side in support.

  “We’re engaged,” Rose says.

  She shows her left hand. There’s a diamond ring on her finger. Yeah. That wasn’t there before.

  Well, this fucking figures.

  “Oh,” I say. “When did that happen?”

  “Today,” she says.

  “Today?” I nod. “So, the same day my relationship falls apart, you get engaged. That’s…” I shake my head. “No, that sounds about right, actually.”

  Rose steps forward, out of John’s embrace. “Daisy…”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m happy for you.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’re right, Mom. We’re just full of news today. Rose is getting married and I’m knocked up. The father is a baseball player — not that it matters. He won’t be around anymore, but that’s fine. I got my dream job to fill that void, but you won’t care about that because it’s not at some fancy law firm downtown.”

  Rose reaches for my hand. “Daisy…”

  “No, Rose. This is fine.” I step back, the weight of their awkward gazes almost too much to bear. “Can I use your bathroom now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” I march across the living room, keeping some distance as I pass my mother. “Real great to see you again, Mom,” I murmur.

  She says nothing.

  CHAPTER 33

  HUNTER

  July

  “Whiskey sour, please.”

  I pause and glance across the bar at her. Short. Blonde.

  But she’s not her.

  I give her a nod and grab a glass from beneath the counter.

  It’s a busy evening at Bruno’s. Most Northies have gone home for the summer, but the locals are still here and full of Bearhawk pride, thrilled to be served by Home Run Hunter himself. Fine with me. The tips are nice — and often more than generous. This is my last chance to hoard some cash before my whole life changes.

  And to keep myself busy. If I’m alone in that apartment for too long, I start to think about— no.

  Not going there.

  I set the drink down. The blonde flashes a coy smile at me, her eyes blending with the red, white, and blue streamers over our heads.

  “Thank you,” she says, obviously interested. “I’m Jenny.”

  My heart lurches. “Have a good night, Jenny.”

  I turn away, catching the look of rejection in her reflection as she glares at my back. It’s nothing personal. The last time I took home a girl from this bar, it didn’t work out too well in the end.

  I grab a few empty glasses and carry them to the sink in the corner. The television blares above the bar, but I tune it out. Soccer. Not my game.

  The old man at the end of the bar slams his palm down, rattling his glass. “Dammit, Kirby. Come on!”

  I raise a brow and glance at the television again. Jordan Kirby. Not John. Unrelated, as far as I know.

  I shake it off before my thoughts drift too far.

  “Hey, what’s an asshole like me supposed to do to get a little service around here?”

  I spin around, recognizing the voice before I even see him. “Dennis!”

  He holds up his hands. “What the hell are you doing working back here?” he asks, grinning.

  I laugh. “Just a temporary situation.”

  “Yeah, I bet. You’ve got your pick on the roster.”

  “Being on the roster doesn’t pay my rent yet.”

  “Touché. Still, must be nice to know that you’ll be Scrooge McDucking it into a pile of cash by this time next year.”

  He mimes a dive. I chuckle.

  “You’ll be sitting pretty same as me, Dennis,” I say. “Just you wait.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He points at the bar. “Well, since you’re back there, how about you give me a beer? Take one for yourself, too — if that’s allowed.”

  “Traditionally, no, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

  “People always do,” he jokes.

  I open two beers and set one in front of him. “It’s nice to see you, Dennis,” I say, tapping the necks of our bottles together. “Haven’t heard from you since Omaha. Where you been?”

  “I’ve been around. Getting in all sorts of trouble.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  He takes a sip. “How’s your girl?”

  I swallow hard. “She’s not my girl anymore.”

  “You guys still split?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thought you’d have made up by now.”

  “Well, we haven’t.”

  Dennis opens his mouth, clearly wanting to ask more about it, but he pauses and shrugs his wide shoulders. “Shit happens, eh?”

  I take a drink. “Shit happens.”

  “But hey — you’re Home Run Hunter!” he says. “Give it a year and you’ll have gone through a dozen just like her.”

  I force a chuckle, staring at my beer. “Maybe.”

  I don’t think there’s anyone in this world quite like Daisy Hawthorne.

  I’m not sure if that’s a comforting thought or not, though.

  “And there it is,” Dennis says, smirking.

  I blink. “What?”

  “That far-off stare she was looking for.”

  I study his curled mouth, tossed to one side like a demented clown. “She?”

  Dennis retrieves his phone from his pocket. “Trisha sent me.”

  “Trisha?”

  “I come bearing a gift.”

  My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I reach for it, cautiously studying his mischievous eyes as I swipe open my messages.

  There’s a link. I click it, quickly downloading a PDF file labeled SI_Novak.

  “Did she finish the exposé?” I ask.

  “Now, please remember, I’m just the messenger here.”

  I look up. “Why? What did she do?”

  “You’re not gonna like it,” he says slowly.

  I open the file. It’s a few pages from Sports Illuminated magazine, the fonts and layout easily recognizable to any sports fan. There’s a photo of me sprawled across the page, but it’s not the usual athletic pose one expects to see in one of Trisha Wells’ exposés.

  It’s a photo of us. Us. Daisy and me. One of many selfies she snapped of the two of us together. Beneath that is a headline, large and bold-printed.

  Home Run Baby.

  “What the hell is this?” I ask.

  “Read,” Dennis says, enjoying his beer.

  On March 12 of this year, Hunter Novak, second baseman of the Chicago North Bearhawks, walked out onto a baseball field in Chicago. He hit a home run straight into the crowd. It’s not the first time, nor would it be the last, but this home run was special…

  On that same day, Daisy Hawthorne walked into that same stadium. She sat down next to her twin sister, Rose, and watched with excitement as Home Run Hunter hit his first homer of the day. The next thing she knew, the lights went out, and Daisy woke up in the hospital with a headache and something special…

  “Does Daisy know about this?”

  Dennis waves a hand. “Keep reading.”

  Daisy Hawthorne was pregnant with Hunter Novak’s child. Sound a little far-fetched? A bit too coincidental? Well, I’m just getting started—

  I stop reading, tossing my phone onto the bar. “What the hell is she doing? She can’t print this.”

  “She already has,” he says. “Article goes up on the website tonight. Magazine hits stands on Tuesday.”

  “Tell her to pull it.”

  “It’s a human interest story,” he says. “People love this shit.”

  “I could sue her for this shit.”

  He holds up his hands. “I am but her humble concubine, my friend. But if you ask me, she’s got a point.”

  “A point?”

  “You’re telling me that story isn’t extraordinary?” he asks. “That it’s not just a tad interesting?”

  “You think Daisy and I didn’t know that? That we didn’t think twice about it? We did.”

  “Think about it again, Hunter. The universe is—”

  “The universe is full of shit, Dennis.”

  “I used to think so, too.” He gestures at my phone. “Then, I read that. Now, I’m not so sure and neither will millions of other people come tomorrow morning. Think about that before you implode.”

  “I don’t need to think about it. Daisy and I didn’t work out. We wanted different things. End of story.”

  He scratches his head and lets out a sigh. “All right. If you say so.”

  I toss my half-empty beer into the bin behind the bar.

  Dennis lays some money down to pay for them before sliding off the stool. “It was nice seeing you again, buddy.”

  He walks off, leaving me to sulk alone.

  What the hell is Trisha thinking, printing something like this? And using these photos? I can only imagine how Daisy’s going to react. There’s no way she signed off on this herself. No way. She could barely stand to look at these herself, let alone have them published for millions to gawk at.

  I grab my phone off the bar, ready to toss it into my pocket and forget it, but I pause and lean my back against the wall. I scroll, finding more photos and more details of our days together.

  Hunter and Daisy did everything they could to keep their affair from us, but no amount of sneaking and secret texts could prevent that look on their faces when they saw each other. Daisy’s cheeks turned bright pink at the mere mention of his name while Hunter looked upon her as his name would suggest: fierce and protective.

  I glance around the bar for customers, but quickly resume reading. It’s all here. All of it. Daisy and her little baby bump. Her silly smile. My, admittedly, handsome mug. I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself so happy. Just flashing back to these moments fills my gut with butterflies.

  Their affair was only supposed to be one night, but fate intervened. It knew something they didn’t; something that most of us spend our lifetimes searching for but never find. If there’s one thing all of us can learn from the Home Run Baby, it’s that every once in a while, we all need to look up into the sky. Rain or shine, there just might be a baseball careening down to hit us, too.

  The old man growls at the television again. Kirby missed another goal.

  Fate intervened. If I believed in that stuff, I’d think this game was a sign. I’d think that Jenny across the bar shooting flirty gazes at me with a whiskey sour clenched in her hand was a sign. I’d definitely see this exposé as one, too.

  But there’s no such thing as fate. There’s just coincidence.

  I delete the file from my phone and get back to work.

  CHAPTER 34

  DAISY