Right For You, Too
[Bucky Barnes x fem!reader] [past Steve Rogers x reader]
Part 2 of the Right For You-niverse
Summary: A birthday re-do at Yankee Stadium, sweet questions, a surprise from Cap.
Warnings: None. Fluff for days and days.
Words: 4.9k+
A/N: This is the sequel to Wrong About Me, Right For You. Enjoy!
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It was so warm that the heat off the pavement made the ice cream vendor on the corner of River and E 161st look like an oasis. Straight off the D train, which unloaded an ocean of white and blue pinstripes, Bucky knelt to offer you a piggyback ride–nevermind that it was too hot to tolerate someone else’s skin against his own; it was all in the name of your birthday, and that meant scoping out which intersection the sunglasses vendor had posted up at. Wherever the ice cream vendor was, Sal’s Sunglass Shack would be at the adjacent corner (Sal flirted with his wife across the street, as she scooped over-large helpings of vanilla into waffle cones before they could liquify, and pretend like they were thirty years younger).
“There!” You spotted Lara’s Ice Cream. “Think she’ll let me dunk my whole head in rocky road?”
“Doesn’t hurt to ask,” Bucky laughed. “Why’d you have to have your birthday when it was pushing a hundred?”
“I like seeing you sweat, Jamie.”
“What a pest.” He lovingly pinched your thigh, and crossed the street with the tide of sports fans when the light turned green.
It was unfairly hot, sticky even, but… Bucky didn’t mind that you were clinging to his shoulders, occasionally brushing your lips against his temple. When you had come out of your bedroom when he picked you up, holding a gift bag, he had narrowed his eyes. It was your birthday celebration, and here you were giving him gifts. So now, he was walking with the girl of his dreams in matching Lou Gehrig jerseys. They weren’t vintage–you’d said you had them made after he told you Gehrig was his favorite player as a kid, and your names were embroidered over the left breast, and it was the most thoughtful gift Bucky had ever received.
Then, you had put your cap on backwards and kissed him. Like you kissed his cheek now: sweet and lingering. “In case I forget to say it later, I had a nice time today.”
Bucky glanced up at you. “Don’t jinx it,” he chuckled.
“Doesn’t matter what happens. I might take a foul ball to the chin. Still. I’m here with you, and that’s the best thing you could do for my birthday.”
“I haven’t given you your present yet.” Bucky was so nervous about said present, he’d be sweating even if it was twenty below, but he was trying not to show it.
“What did you get me?”
“You gotta wait, doll. We have an agenda, remember? Two scoops of rocky road. Three pairs of sunglasses. It’s pretty far down the list.”
Upon arriving at Lara’s cart, Bucky allowed you to jump down. The gray-haired woman beamed; she had come to know both you and Bucky this season, and she knew before you had to ask that you both wanted “the usual.” Two scoops of rocky road ice cream, in a cup.
“It’s her birthday,” Bucky mouthed to Lara, pointing at you, and looking away innocently when you caught him. You poked him in the side.
“Honey! You came all the way here to see me on your day?” Lara said, like a history-making rivalry wasn’t being played out fifty yards from her cart.
“Technically it’s tomorrow, but yes.” You grinned. “Nowhere else I’d rather be!”
“Well your scoops are on me. Not yours, kiddo–you’re not special today.” She winked at Bucky, who couldn’t agree more.
Bucky gave her enough cash for three people’s worth of ice cream. “I gotta see a man about some sunglasses.” He signalled to Sal’s stand, where one Sam Wilson was currently perusing like he hadn’t been waiting for the two of you as planned. You gave him a thumb’s up. Bucky jogged across the street. Sam whistled as he approached.
“Look who’s in new gear! Gehrig, too? With your name–you’re kidding me.”
“That little nightmare had it made.” He nodded at you. You stuck your tongue out, and then used it on the rapidly-dripping ice cream. “I would’ve cried, except I am way too nervous.”
“I picked these out,” Sam said, temporarily ignoring Bucky’s nerves. He presented three identical pairs of sporty sunglasses, which had dark oil-slicked lenses and glinted from purple to yellow in shifting light. They were ridiculous, and perfect. “They’re not aviators, but I thought they’d make her laugh.”
“Say no more.” Bucky batted Sam’s hand away when he reached for his wallet. “Please. Hemorrhaging money helps me calm down. No offense, Sal.”
“Nobody else I’d rather gouge than you and your girl, Barnes.” The old man wore a tiny pair of circular sunglasses at the end of his nose, which served no purpose except making him look like he flew a dirigible.
Sam snorted. “Got any birthday deals in honor of the Princess?”
“Oh, I charge double for birthdays,” Sal snickered.
“How about for Cap?” Bucky suggested.
Sal shook his head. “Can’t afford the endorsement. But when I hit the big time, I’ll give you a ring.”
“You got it, Sal. Buck–Why are you freaking out?” Sam asked, when Bucky stole a glance across the street for the millionth time.
“Well…” Bucky hadn’t exactly told Sam the whole truth when he had invited him to come join the two of you for the big game. Mostly, he’d just insinuated that given how crappy your last one had been with Steve ditching, he had wanted to make it up to you. Sam readily agreed, and had even suggested going in with Bucky on season tickets as your gift, but… “I’m gonna ask her to move in with me.”
Sam blinked. He glanced between you and Bucky, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Y’all are… don’t tease me, man. Please, for the love of god… is this a thing? You two?”
“Depends,” Bucky blushed. “Are you happy about it or not?”
“You’re joking.”
Bucky scratched his cheek. “It’s very much a thing.”
Sam’s face fell for a moment, and his head dropped forward. He let out one long breath. When he looked up again, his eyes were shining. He held out his hand, and pulled Bucky in for a firm hug. He kept shaking his head, and smiling, but he looked so sad. Bucky patted his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I think that’s the feeling.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why it’s hittin’ me like this. You two deserve it.”
“Thanks, man.”
“How long?”
“Ran into each other by chance about five months ago,” Bucky said. “And, um.” He shrugged. “It was like… we both could breathe. Dunno. Maybe it sounds stupid–”
“Man, it sounds like you both finally got some sense,” Sam chuckled. “I never understood why she stayed with him when he ditched her all the time. Not complaining–it meant I got to know her when she wasn’t doing the Cap’s Girlfriend thing where she just… you remember how she’d stand behind his elbow and smile? God. Killed me. She’s the funniest person in any room, unless Steve was there, and her entire sense of humor got siphoned away–sorry. I’m clearly still pissed at him.”
“Nah. I’m sorry it took us so long to tell you, but we’ve been dealing with Steve’s stuff and trying to sell his place–turns out it’s hard to do when the owner had no will.”
To say it had been difficult was the understatement of both centuries which Bucky had seen, but it was resolved. Steve’s things were gone–given away to museums, thrift stores, or tossed if neither places wanted them–and now you and Bucky might actually focus on moving forward like you had been prevented from doing for so long.
“Christ,” Sam sighed. “Shoulda told me. I would’ve helped.”
Bucky shook his head. “She had a hard time with it. Sometimes she couldn’t handle me being there. It was something we had to do slowly, and give her a chance to breathe into the empty spaces until it was all gone. So. That’s done.”
“And now you’re gonna ask her to live with you.”
Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I still… Sam, sometimes I wake up and worry he’ll come back.”
“Won’t happen.”
“Too many unknowns to feel secure in that. But. She knows how I feel.”
“You have been head over heels for that woman since at least her last birthday.”
“Longer. God–way longer. Years.”
“I know,” Sam said. He clasped Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ve seen you spend your whole day with her and then I’ve seen the aftermath, when you’re so sad you can’t form words, because you had to put her hand in his and walk away. Hurt me to see it. You two have always been two peas in a pod. You always fit better with her, and–”
“And now?” Bucky motioned to you. You were standing on top of the cement planter box, hands on your hips. You waved and grinned with delight.
“Come on slow pokes!” You hollered.
“She’s a live wire,” Bucky said proudly. “No making herself smaller, none of that shit anymore.”
“Thank god.” Sam pointed at you, and howled when you pointed right back.
“If you two are standin’ here all day, mind if I take a smoke break?” Sal leaned over the table covered in colorful frames, none of which likely cost him more than a dollar a piece, which didn’t account for his prices in the mid-twenties. He gestured to the sunglasses Sam had picked out. “You keeping my girl waiting?”
“Sorry, Sal.” Bucky paid Sal for the glasses, and put his on to hide the terror in his eyes. “I’m so nervous, I’m afraid I’m gonna ask her to the tune of take me out to the ballgame.”
“First of all… she would love that,” Sam laughed. “She will cry of happiness.”
Sam was right. Bucky knew that. It didn’t make him feel any better. Making you cry had about a fifty-fifty shot at making him feel terrible and lose his nerve, even if you were crying out of happiness. He couldn’t help it. He never wanted to see you weep when he was involved, but it couldn’t be helped in this case. There was no way you wouldn’t. He also was pretty certain you’d be happy. So.
When Bucky and Sam joined you across the street, you doubled over with laughter at the sight of them in their shades. You had to set their ice cream down or you would’ve let it fall to the pavement. Once you recovered, you lept at Sam for an enthusiastic hug.
“Hey, Bean!” Sam twirled you around with a laugh. “God, you are so old!”
“You’re older than me, Robin.”
“Nice of you to take two old men out for your birthday.” Sam set you on your feet again and offered you the glasses so you would be stylin’ too. “I hope these are ridiculous enough for your weird sensibilities.”
“You have such subtle taste,” you giggled. “But I gotta say–you both look very sexy in them, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say you belong in the Yankees dugout.”
“Strippers were expensive, so. Play your luck right and you might get your own personal dance from our resident hunk.” Sam shoved Bucky’s shoulder, pushing him right out of the brooding panic he was in. “Not me, though. Got bad hips.”
“See? Ancient,” you giggled. “Can we go in?” You handed them each their own ice cream soup.
Sunglasses on, ice cream finished, wet wipes used from the small cross-body bag Bucky wore, the little party entered the stadium.
The seats Sam and Bucky had gone in on together were behind the first base line, right where you’d have the vantage of players coming out of the dugout. As far as you were aware, that was the grand birthday present you were waiting for. Bucky sat with you, while Sam took off in search of several combo boxes. You wiggled in your seat in excitement, chattering away about your favorite players as their faces flashed up on the jumbotron, and how very likely it was that they would beat the Dodgers, given their stats, on and on… how cool it was to be able to see the stitching in the baseballs, how much you loved the smell of the dirt…
“Baby, this is so cool!” you finished, fingers pressed into your cheeks to try to put a bottle on the smile which was threatening to cramp your dimples.
“It is,” Bucky laughed. He put his arm behind your chair, but thought better of holding your shoulders, given how hot the metal seat back was. He had never been more thankful vibranium didn’t retain heat.
“To think–we used to have to imagine the baseball from all the way up there.” You indicated the nosebleed seats, where you and Bucky had been sitting habitually this season. You were beaming, but your glee settled into an anxious itch as the music began to play.
“It’ll be over quick,” he soothed.
“You think I’ll ever get over his stupid voice?” You peeped. You meant Steve’s voice–Cap, as he made the formal announcements. It had been several weeks since you’d been to a game, but usually, you waited in the beer line so you didn’t have to see his face up on the jumbotron, either. Bucky brushed your temple. First would come take me out to the ballgame, and his deep, resonant voice would boom, welcoming fans to Yankee Stadium.
“You’ve heard it a million times, you know it’s a three minute clip and it’s done.” Bucky was always as shaken by it as you, but he tried to look passive for your sake. Still, you sagged into his side.
“I’m so sorry,” you murmured. “It’s just–”
“Hey.” Bucky tipped your chin up. “Why you apologizing?”
“I don’t want you to think I… miss him. Or something.”
“It’s okay to miss him, doll. He’s no threat to my peace of mind,” Bucky lied, like he hadn’t admitted to Sam that very fear. Still.
“Okay,” you breathed. “But. Before I get all goofy, I… you know I love you.”
You hadn’t been saying it for long. A few weeks, at most, but. Bucky never got tired of hearing it, even though every time you said it, it hit his ear like you’d been practicing it in the mirror. You were still nervous to tell him. As if he hadn’t been in love with you since Steve introduced the two of you.
“I love you too.” He smiled gently. “Especially when you’re goofy.”
The song ended, and you laid your cheek against Bucky’s shoulder to brace for impact. But Steve Roger’s narration never came. Instead… you gasped. Captain America strode to the pitcher’s mound. Your Cap–the one who had cried at a sunglasses stall over being happy for you and Bucky. The man who kept his promises.
Sam.
The crowd roared. He was wearing a different jersey than his usual Ripken duds, which he had been wearing when he met up with you and Bucky–his own custom uniform, with Wilson on the back in bright red lettering against the navy blue, offsetting the subtle white pinstripes. Obviously outside the usual uniform standards, but exceptions were made for Cap. He was still wearing his stupid douchey sunglasses, and a hat with the Yankees logo, but with the shield behind it. It was perfect.
“They gave him a jersey with away colors?” you protested, but you were sniffling.
Sam winked at the two of you, and chuckled at your stunned faces. “Good afternoon, Yankee Stadium!” His voice bellowed. He had a little microphone pinned to his collar. The crowd was electric. “I would like to personally thank you for coming today, on this, the hottest day in the history of baseball. We are about to witness an iconic game, a rivalry between the coasts. As a Louisiana boy, I can’t pick sides… but one of these fine teams gave me a free t-shirt.” He gestured to his torso and the truly beautiful jersey he wore. “As a side-note… I want to thank you all for being here for my first game as your Captain America.”
If the crowd could’ve stormed the field to lift Sam on their shoulders, they would have. The whole stadium chanted Cap, Cap, Cap, Cap… on and on. Bucky squeezed your knee, and you shared a look of awe with him. Pride, too. That was his best friend. Sam wasn’t one to let fame go to his head, but this was different. He loved baseball more than most people like anything, and he was getting this opportunity to share his new role with a whole stadium of people who loved baseball, too. It was awesome, in every sense of the word.
When the crowd calmed enough for him to speak, Sam said, “Please join me in welcoming to the field… the Los Angeles Dodgers!” And the attention was diverted from him once more, as he liked it.
As the starting lineup for the Dodgers jogged on the field, Sam read off their names, and each man in turn raised an arm to greet the crowd. A smattering of Dodgers fans cheered. Then, the music changed. New York, New York began, and Sam grinned.
“And now… your boys… give it up for the New York Yankees!”
You and Bucky were on your feet in an instant, and you cheered so loud for your favorite players, Bucky was certain you were going to lose your voice.
Sam took a baseball and a glove from the Yankees catcher. He fit the glove, took his stance, and threw out the first pitch–a beautiful, fast throw which had the catcher wincing. This was, after all, the man who regularly threw a heavy shield. Sam shook the catcher’s hand, and pulled a marker out of his pocket. He offered it to the catcher, and had him sign the baseball. You and Sam often talked about how good number sixty-six was, how much of an asset he was to the team; it was surreal to see him speaking to the man himself. Then, Sam was crowded by guys from both teams, shaking his hand or patting his back, thrilled to meet Captain America. He passed around his baseball and glove to as many players as possible. The field was a little bit chaotic, but for Sam’s first game as Cap… it was perfect.
The regular announcer took over, but not before Sam ran over to the railing. He held out the glove and ball… to you.
“Happy birthday, Bean. From your team.” He winked. You looked up at Bucky, who was as shocked as you.
“Samuel Elizabeth, that was a dirty trick!” You crowed, clutching the ball and glove to your chest. Sam hauled himself up over the railing (which was an illegal and uncouth thing to do, but the security guard standing nearby chortled and gave him a thumbs up), and pulled you into a tight hug.
“Listen, I… I’m proud of you,” you said, making eye contact with Bucky over his shoulder. Sam squeezed you tighter. “Please tell me this is permanent.”
“Oh yeah, baby! You’ll hear my dulcet tones at the top of every inning, too.” He rubbed your back.
“You didn’t plan this specifically for my birthday, did you?” You pulled back sharply to look Sam in the eye. He shook his head.
“Happy coincidence. This guy didn’t know, either.” He patted Bucky’s shoulder. “So. Surprise! Y’all are my people, and I’m so glad we’ll be sitting in these seats together for every home game.”
“Seriously. You two are so sneaky. I cried on our tickets this morning,” you admitted. Bucky nodded when Sam looked at him for confirmation.
“You know she will sleep with that glove on,” Bucky snickered as you held the new leather to your skin. “Gonna have Gerrit Cole’s autograph printed on your forehead.”
“It would be an honor,” you said dreamily.
“I gotta go do a press thing,” Sam said, “but I’ll be back before the second inning.”
“With those sunglasses on?” you teased.
“I know you ain’t insulting Captain America’s shades.”
“I would never.” You pulled your own down the tip of your nose and winked.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure you wouldn’t, Princess Beanie.”
“I swear to god.” You punched his arm, and immediately winced from the impact. “Get out of here with your stupid nicknames, and bring me the shittiest beer in the place when you come back!”
Sam saluted, and disappeared again, back up the steps this time, after giving Bucky a prolonged hug. Sam received many pats on the back as he passed through the fans, and there was something really… moving, watching him walk through the crowd, instead of trying to avoid them like… well, it didn’t matter. Comparison was pointless. Sam was Captain America, baseball’s Cap, and Bucky couldn’t be prouder.
You sat beside him, and handed your new souvenirs over for Bucky to inspect. He pushed the sunglasses to the top of his head and whistled. “This is amazing. We gotta get you a real good display. Something that swivels so you can see all sides.”
“Where would I put something like that?” you giggled, as Bucky reverently ran his thumb over Cole’s autograph.
He gulped. “Well. Honey… you, um, could keep these at mine.”
“Yeah?”
“But… they would miss you, so. You’d have to visit pretty often.”
Your eyes sparkled with laughter from beneath your own sunglasses. “We haven’t spent one night apart in five months, but do go on.”
Bucky touched your chin. “Y/n… You know how I feel about you.”
“Remind me.” You leaned into his touch. Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Please?”
“You're gonna make me get sappy in front of total strangers.”
“You don’t mind, do you, sir?” The man behind you was on his third beer and couldn’t have cared less if you jumped Bucky right there. “Go on.” You took off your glasses and hooked them on the front of Bucky’s jersey, smoothing your hand over his heart to give him courage.
“You are so lucky you’re cute.” Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m in love with you, babydoll. I’ve not made any secret of that since you snotted on me on our sushi date. But. I want to share a closet with you. Well… give you my closet, you know I have one suit, I’m not a hanging clothes kinda guy. And I wanna put up all our photos on one wall, and have his and hers mugs. So. Really, what I’m trying to say is: now that we’ve sold his place, I would love it if you moved in with me. You basically already live there, but. I got you a copy of my key. Actually–I wasn’t supposed to do that, so please don’t tell the super,” he said quickly, nervously. “I should’a asked you a while back, but I think part of me was still… I dunno. Not sure. If this is what you wanted.”
“Take a breath,” you said, breathless yourself. Sure enough… your eyes were brimming with unspent tears. You held onto his wrist as his thumb made circles over your jaw. “You still worried that if he was standing right here, I’d pick him?”
Bucky’s heart was in his throat. He didn’t want to nod, so he kissed you. Softly, to ask for forgiveness for being weak. But you hummed.
“Let me put you out of your misery, handsome. I’ll move in with you. I would love to.” You kissed the corners of his mouth, and his forehead. “I should’ve known from the minute I met you that you were it, Jamie. It was you who made my skin all tingly, not him. I wasted a lot of time because I thought I was lucky Steve chose me, but… you made me believe I deserve to be chosen. If he was here right now, I’d probably… well, I’d throw up on him out of shock, most likely. That would say everything. Just, all over his stupid Keds.”
“Gross,” he laughed. “But effective.”
“Yep. And I’d look him straight in the eye, and say, ‘the love of my life is James Barnes, so skedaddle!’ Something old-timey to twist the knife.” A tear streaked down your cheek to punctuate the feeling.
“So evil, so cute.” He wrinkled his nose. “Well. Okay, then. You’re gonna be my live-in lover.”
“‘Live-in lover,’ Jesus Christ. Am I your dame, old man?”
“I’m sorry, woman!”
“Oh boy. You hate the word ‘girlfriend,’” you giggled.
“I’m going to tickle you to death.”
***
The Yankees beat the Dodgers just for you, and Captain America provided a full flight of New York’s shittiest beer on tap to celebrate. You had a better birthday than you ever remembered having, and it was capped by Bucky and Sam helping you move what little belongings you had left into Bucky’s place the next day… your actual birthday.
Sam filled the long wall down the hallway with framed photographs–of the three of you, several of only you and Bucky on the various excursions and dates you had gone on since reconnecting, baby pictures of you, Bucky’s enlistment headshot, family photos of the Barneses… filled. Bucky built a bookshelf for your tiny collection of books, which barely filled one box. It was aspirational, he told you. You tossed your underwear into the drawer with his, and hung all your clothes in the closet, just like he hoped.
Seeing your belongings next to Bucky’s–sometimes indistinguishable from them–filled you with such a sense of peace that you wanted to stay awake as long as possible to enjoy your new reality. Sam left shortly after midnight, after treating you all to the best pizza in New York. Bucky fell asleep hard, soon after. But you stayed up, snuggled against him in the bed you’d slept in as long as you’d been together, but now was yours permanently. Bucky’s resistance to the word ‘girlfriend’ wasn’t discouraging, as far as forever was concerned. In fact…
At three fifteen in the morning, Bucky was awoken by soft fingers smoothing hair from his forehead. He opened one eye. Yours were glassy in the moonlight, and you smiled.
“Hey,” he whispered sleepily, catching your fingers and pressing them to his lips. You smiled, but… “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you said, but your voice caught on thick emotion. “Everything is so perfect that I found myself laying here, crying.”
“Why, darlin’?”
“‘Cuz you’re good to me.”
“You deserve that,” he said. Bucky kissed your brow. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, no contest.” He laced your fingers together. “That’s been true since the day I first laid eyes on you. It’s only gotten more obvious with time. And now you sleep in my bed! How’d I get so lucky?”
“Because every morning,” you began, pressing your hand to his bare chest, over his heart, “you wake up and choose me.”
Bucky yawned. “Listen—it has never felt like a choice I have to make. That would be like ‘you, or breathing.”
“Had a nightmare the other night,” you admit, softly. “I was running to catch up with you, but you couldn’t hear me. And I was screaming, and trying to tell you how much I love you—but you turned around, finally, and realized I was there, and you vanished.”
“Shit. Been binging some Greek mythology?”
“Right? God.” You winced.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I did. Kinda. You rolled on top of me and said something I didn’t quite understand, and then started snoring.”
“I’m so charming,” Bucky snorted.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Would you wanna marry me? Someday. Not… not this second.” The moment it came out, you rubbed your cheek in worry. “I’ve never been with somebody who I wanted to marry before. But it keeps popping into my head. Every time I think about it, it feels so perfect. And not because you gave me season tickets to the Yankees, even though I’m so happy about it I want to cry all over again! And not because you asked me to move in, either. It’s everything else.”
Bucky swallowed hard, and rubbed his eyes. “You didn’t want to, with Steve?”
“No.”
“You’re serious,” he murmured. “You’d wanna be with just me, forever.”
“Only you, Barnes.”
“I’m—I—how… shit, gimme a second.” Bucky pinched his nose. Your face fell. “No, don’t do that, doll—I gotta find the words. Still half asleep. My brain is outpacing my mouth, here.” He grasped your chin between his thumb and index finger. “You’re telling me… I could call you my wife?”
You nodded faintly, smiling.
He didn’t hesitate, then. “Yes.”
You blinked. “Yeah? You mean it?”
“I want to.”
“You sure?”
“Babydoll, I’m serious as a heart attack.”
“You can live with this mess for the rest of your life?”
“I insist on it.”
“Might change your mind when you’ve had me as a roommate for a while.”
“Impossible.”
“Okay. That’s all, then. Go back to sleep.” You curled into his chest and fit yourself in such a position which had him laughing because of how ridiculous it was to have you burrowing as close as possible. He rubbed your back until you fell asleep.
But then he couldn’t sleep, because… because he was right. Right to love you, and to ask you to move in, and right to let himself feel every hard thing about Steve leaving until he could pick his fear apart and let it go, because for once, he wasn’t really scared about the future. The intrusive thoughts might still trickle in now and again, but his girlfriend was you, and you wanted the same things he did. Whether it was an entire afternoon of pro-baseball, or a life together. You were in.
Part 3
***
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