More Than This - Jake and Mikayla Bonus Scene



            Jake just pitched his first game at college level, and he killed it.
            I can’t keep the stupid grin off my face as I walk out of the field early, beating the rush of the crowd. Of course his family is here, his parents and Julie have all-access passes, so they’re going to wait for him just outside the locker rooms.
            I’ll be waiting outside the stadium, along with all the other supporters, because I want to see his face when he walks out and sees all the fans he’s just made.
            When I get to the exit, a small crowd has already formed. I take up position behind the barriers and wait.
            “Hey!” the boy next to me yells. He can’t be more than eight. “You have an all-access pass?” he says, disbelieving.
            His dad next to him laughs, giving me a sorry look.
            I smile, but before I can say anything, the boy gasps. “Holy Moly,” he says, “you’re Jake Andrew’s girl!”
            Great.
            During winter break ESPN came out to his parents house and did a story on him, how he got eyed at a young age, his move to Australia, etc. He didn’t mind them taking footage of him, his old school, and his hometown, but he wasn’t really up for the interview. I told him that he should do it, that it was major exposure for him. He said he’d only do it if I were in it, too. I agreed. Only because I figured they wouldn’t ask me anything. It was Jake’s story after all. I was wrong. The questions were minor but still enough to have me a nervous wreck. Jake smirked silently next to me the entire time.
            So, because of that one ESPN story, I’d been getting recognized. Mainly around campus, but also by the huge baseball fans around town. This kid must be one of them.
            He then proceeds to tell me every statistic he knows about Jake. By the time he’s out of information, the crowd has grown, the media is waiting and the atmosphere is electric.
            He’s the first to walk out when the doors burst open. There’s a scowl on his face, but it changes the instant he hears the crowd’s roar and his name being chanted. At first it’s shock, and then it’s elation.
            My heart swells, and I’m on the verge of crying. But it’s the good kind. Because if anyone deserves this kind of worship, it’s Jake Andrews.
            The crowd gets louder as the flashes from cameras blinds him. There are reporters ready, with a microphones under his nose. I see his eyes dart around the crowd. I could wave to get his attention. I could shout his name. But I’d just be another fan amongst fans. So I do nothing but watch him. He lifts a finger to the media and turns his back, swinging his gear bag, hanging off his shoulder, behind him. He walks to the fans that have every item imaginable ready to sign. He declines the girls that ask him to sign body parts. “No skin,” I see him mouth, before moving to the next person.
            After fifteen minutes of signing, he makes his way back to the media. He answers their questions but I can see he’s distracted—his eyes still roaming the crowd.
            I wait.
            And then finally, our eyes lock.
            He pauses mid sentence, a huge grin taking over his face. He shakes his head slowly, drops his bag, and starts towards me. The media part for him, as if he’s a god. Because right here, right now, he kind of is.
            The cameras follow him, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look away. He just walks slowly, and casually until he’s right on the other side of the barrier.
            I bite my lip to stop the huge smile forming.
            And we stand there, staring at each other, grinning like idiots.
            I love him.
            “What are you doing?” he says, shaking his head.
            I shrug, “Being your number one fan.”
            He laughs. Then grabs me by my waists and lifts me up in the air and over the barrier. I squeal from the sudden movement, my hands gripping his shoulders. The crowd cheer as he chuckles, slowly loosening his hold on me. But he doesn’t let me touch the ground. Instead, his arms goes around my waist, and he holds me so my face is just above his.
            “I love you, you know that?” he shouts over the sound of the crowd.
            I flip his cap backwards and lean down to kiss him.
            I don’t even care about the camera flashes. I don’t care about the crowd. Because I do know. I know that he loves me. “I love you, too,” I say when I pull back. “So much more than a lot.”
            He lowers me to the ground and holds my head against his chest. I wrap my arms around him, and glance at our surroundings.
            My heart constricts, a lump forms in my throat, and tears well in my eyes. But I blink them away and shut out the emotions.
            Because today is Jake’s day. It’s day we’ll remember forever. A day worth celebrating.
            It’s not a day to think about my dad.
            And how much he would have loved to be here.
            “I should probably finish with the interviews.” He pulls away and grips my hand, bringing me with him.
            I let him.
            When we get back to his spot, he continues answering questions. I half hide behind his arm. I tune out the questions, most are basic, some game related, some not, I’ve heard them all before.
            But then one interviewer asks a question that makes Jake’s entire body tense. I look up at him, but his gaze is somewhere in the distance. His jaw clenched.
            “Jake?” the reporters asks, getting his attention again. “Have you dedicated your first game to anyone in particular?”
            “Yeah,” he says quietly, nodding his head. He positions me so I’m next to him and his arm is around my shoulders, “I guess I’d want to dedicate it to an old fan of mine. Someone that followed me from my high school days . . . and uh . . .” He pauses to take a breath.
            I look up at him confused.
            He kisses my once on the temple, and the camera’s start flashing.
            “His name’s Kevin Jones. And even though I never got to meet him . . . I know he sure as shit would’ve loved to have been here today. And even if my girl wasn’t his daughter, I know that he would have been.”



            She hasn’t said a word since we got in the car. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have mentioned her dad. I hear her sniff and glance over at her. She wipes away a tear.
            I pull the car over into a hidden dirt road that opens up to a clearing. I park and face her.
And wait.
            Because I don’t know if this is one of those situations where she just needs some time before she opens up, or if it’s something else.
            Eventually, the silence gets so loud that I need to say something. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out.
            Her head whips to face me, “What? Why?”
            “For bringing up your dad, I’m sorry,” I repeat.
            “Jake . . .” she breathes out. She unbuckles her belt and moves closer to me, doing the same to mine. ‘Why would you be sorry for talking about my dad?”
            “Because you’re crying right now, and it’s my fault.”
            “Baby,” she says sympathetically. I don’t know why she’s like that to me. I’m the asshole that made her cry. “I’m not crying because you mentioned him. I mean, not really. Okay, I am. But it’s good tears.”
            “Good tears?” I ask, incredulously.
            She nods, and then looks away. “Why did you think of him, though?”
            Shit.
            I was hoping she wouldn’t ask.
            I must’ve been quiet for too long, because she says my name to get my attention. “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” I tell her.
            She rolls her eyes.
            “Fine.” I bring her legs up so they’re over mine and we’re as close as we can possible be. “It’s hard to explain. It’s just . . .” I think about my next words. “The second I stood on the mound, I felt him there.”
            She gasps, her eyes wide, but glazed over. “What do you mean?” she whispers.
            I shrug. “I don’t know, I just . . . I could just sense him . . . watching me out there.”
            “And?” she asks, waiting for me to continue.
            “And . . . I don’t know . . . I think it was his way of saying it was okay, you know? You and me—that he approved—”
            Her giggle cuts me off.
            “What?” I ask her, happy that she’s not crying anymore.
            “Jake, there was never a doubt he would have approved. He loved you.”
            I roll my eyes, “He loved the baseball player me. He didn’t know me as a person, Kayla.” I face the windshield.
            “Either way, Jake, he would have loved you.”
            It’s quiet for a moment, both of us thinking, but she’s the first to speak. “Do you think about it often? I mean, do you worry that he wouldn’t like—or approve of you—or something?”
            I face her. “Well, yeah. Of course I do, Kayla. I mean, if you think about it—every decision I make, the things we plan, the way I am with you, all of that—I have to think about everything twice. Once for me and once for him. And I have to hope that whatever I’m doing is good enough, you know? Because he’s not around to kick my ass if it’s not.”
            She’s frantically wiping away tears now. “Wow,” she slowly says.
            Then she sits up straight, and composes herself. “Jake, there’s absolutely no question in this entire world that you’re doing everything right. And if you knew him, then you’d know how much he would have loved you. They all would have.”
            I shrug, but don't make eye contact. “Maybe.”
            She barely ever talks about them. Not to me anyway. I know she meets up with James occasionally, and I’ve slowly learnt to deal with it. Maybe she talks to him about them. Maybe he’s the one she cries to when she misses them. Maybe she thinks I won’t get it. Or that I don’t want to try.
            “Baby.” I face her, “Just because I didn’t get to know them when they were alive, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to get to know them now.”
            “You want me to tell you about them?” she asks, surprised. Why the hell would she be surprised?
            I nod. “I more than a lot want you to tell me about them.”
            A small smile begins to spread, but quickly consumes her entire face. ”When?” She’s excited, and it’s so fucking cute.
            “Right now!” I tell her.
            “What do you want to know?”
            “Everything! Anything. All of it. I want to know it all.”
            If possible, her grin gets even wider.



            We end up lying in the bed of his truck. His mom had packed blankets and other emergency supplies behind his seat. He didn’t even know about it until I told him.
            For the next three hours, I tell him everything.
            Him on his back, with me on my side, half on top of him, his arms wrapped around me.
            He listens intently to everything I say and asks questions. We laugh together, and he let’s me cry. And right now, with me in his arms, in our own little world, I introduce him to my family.
            My family—who would have more than a lot loved him.
            “You don’t need to worry, Jake.”
            “What do you mean?” he says, moving the hair out of my face.
            “About whether or not they would have loved you. They would have. And I do.”
            He looks into my eyes and smiles, “I love you, Kayla.”
            “I more than a lot love you,” I respond.
            Then in a goofy, mocking tone, he says, “I so much more than a lot love you.”
            We both laugh.
            He shakes his head, “How the hell did we even come up with that?”
            “I don’t know.” I laugh harder.
            When we settle down, he positions me so I’m on top of him. And we start kissing. It only takes minutes before the kissing turns into groping under each other’s clothes. “Babe,” he says, “let me take you home and make you mine.” He nibbles on my shoulder.
            I glance around, we’re in the middle of nowhere, and it’s so dark, you can’t see past a few feet from the truck. I look back at him, “Or you could make me yours right here?”
            He grimaces.
            What the hell?
            “Yeah . . .” He sucks in a breath with a hiss. “I was thinking that, but I feel kind of weird. Like, your dad’s watching.”
            My face must show how I feel, because he laughs.
            “Ew,” I spit out. Then the mental image of my dad actually watching us makes me say it again, only louder. “EW!”
            He chuckles and moves me off him. We pack away all the blankets and he jumps down off them truck bed, then turns to help me down. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead. “I’m glad we did this,” he says.
            I am too.
            Then a kid's voice breaks the silence. “Dude!” he yells from somewhere out in the darkness. It scares the shit out of both of us, “What the fuck!” he continues. He must be young because his voice hasn’t even broken yet.
            Jake and I freeze. We look around us but it’s pitch black.
            “What the hell?” I whisper, looking at Jake in shock. He protectively hides my body behind his. Because really, I need be afraid of a prepubescent boy.
            “What are you doing you little punk?” Jake yells into the air.
            “Hey! Fuck you!” the kid yells.
            And we can’t help but laugh under our breaths.
            “Yeah!” another kid pipes up. “Fuck you!” he repeats his friend’s words.
            Then the first kid speaks, “We’ve been sitting here for three fucking hours waiting for you guys to screw, and you couldn’t even close the deal!”
            Jake turns to me, a shocked expression on his face, but he can’t contain the chuckle that escapes. “Get out here, you assholes!” he yells.
            “Oh yeah,” the kid replies sarcastically, “like we’re going to listen to you, Mr. Hotshot-can’t-score-a-homerun.”
            I can’t help but laugh. There’s no way these kids are more than twelve, and the shit they’re coming up with is frickin' hilarious.
            The kid continues, “If I had a hot piece of ass like that, I’d be boning her right now!”
            I snort the same time Jake guffaws, “Hear that baby?” he says quietly, facing me, “You’re a hot piece of ass.”
            I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
            Then he faces the woods again, “You punks got a three second head start before I come after you!”
            “Oh yeah! You’re going to have to find us first!”
            Jake pulls out his keys and presses the remote start up for his truck. The roar of the engine echoes in the air, the same time his headlights illuminate our surroundings.
            “Oh fuck!” we hear, followed by, “Shit! RUN!”
            “I can’t believe that just happened,” Jake says, laughing quietly. He opens my door and waits for me to be seated. “I need to take you home now . . . and what was it?” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Oh yeah. I need to close the deal, score a homerun, and bone my hot piece of ass.”
            I throw my head back in laughter, “Yes!” I exaggerate, fist pumping the air. “I’m so turned on right now.”
            Once he’s in his seat, he faces me.
            And all traces of laughter is gone. He takes my hand in his, and kisses my palm. “Thank you, Kayla,” he says, before lifting his eyes to meet mine. There’s that same Jake intensity in them that I’ve gotten used to.
            “What for?”
            “For sharing them with me, and letting me love them the way you do.” He shrugs and take a huge breath. “And for helping me understand that it’s okay. That when the time comes and I ask you to marry me—that I won’t have to worry. Because I really think he’d be okay with it. You and me, I mean. I think he’d even like it. More than a lot.”