“I don’t know, Griff…there are bruises on my arms and a mark on my neck.” Her voice was hesitant, uncertain. “After everything that happened, I don’t know if I should be in the middle of all that attention. What if the press?—”
“Screw the press,” I interrupted gently. “They don’t get a say in what you do. You love baseball, Tate. I see it every time you watch me play. Don’t let them take that from you.”
She exhaled slowly, then reached for her phone on the nightstand. “I haven’t checked my socials since everything happened. Maybe I should see what’s out there before I decide.”
I hated that she felt like she had to do that. Hated that she was bracing for whatever storm was waiting for her online. But I didn’t stop her. She needed her freedom, and I wouldn’t take it from her.
She unlocked her phone, her dark brows furrowing as she scrolled through her notifications. Her breathing hitched.
“What is it?” I asked, shifting so I could see her screen.
There were hundreds of messages, comments, and tags. But it wasn’t the usual toxic garbage that the media threw her way.
Tate, are you okay?
We’re thinking of you. Stay strong.
Don’t let them break you, queen.
You’re so much more than the headlines.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled. “They’re…worried about me?”
I took the phone from her hand and set it aside, cupping her face so she had no choice but to look at me. “Of course they are. People who actually care about you? They see past the bullshit.”
She swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with emotion. “Idon’t know what to do, Griff. My following has grown so much since the press started posting about us. I thought it was all fake. I didn’t realize they actually liked me,” she whispered, admitting the truth.
I kissed her forehead. “You’re an inspiration to a lot of young women out there, Tate. You don’t have to decide right now. I just want you to think about it. You’re my good luck charm, and tonight is the last game.”
She nodded slowly, resting her head back against my chest. I held her tighter, silently praying she would find the courage to show up tonight. Because if there was ever a moment, I needed her there, it was now.
Sittingin my car outside the stadium, I pressed my phone to my ear, my fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel as I waited for Millie to pick up. If she didn’t hurry up, I would be late.
The call rang four times before she answered, her voice breathless. “Is she okay?”
I huffed out a small laugh. “Did I interrupt something?”
Millie scoffed. “Just myfuckingclass. I damn near sprinted out of the room when I saw your name pop up.”
“I need you to go to my house, get her ready, and be at the game in an hour. Jaxon’s wife, Logan, will be waiting for you. I’ve already informed security and my agent that I’ll have two guests.”
Millie hesitated. “Griffin…”
I sighed, already anticipating the pushback.
“When we spoke yesterday, she didn’t want me to come overyet, and shedefinitelydidn’t sound up to being in public,” she said, her voice laced with concern.
“Millie, please. Ineedher there.” My grip tightened around the steering wheel, my chest constricting at the thought of playing this game without Tate in the stands.
She sighed heavily on the other end. “I’ll do my best, but I won’t promise to perform miracles.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“Good, because convincing her to leave that luxurious penthouse of yours might take divine intervention,” she muttered. “I’ll call you if I can’t make progress.”
“Thanks, Mills. I owe you.”
“Yousodo,” she quipped. “And it’s Millie to you.”
