Chapter 19
JEFF
I leap off Molly faster than I’ve moved in the years since I retired from playing pro ball.
She pushes up onto her elbows, staring at me wide-eyed.
My daughter has the worst timing in the world.
“Stay here,” I whisper, returning to my wife for a minute, cupping her face. “Let me handle this.”
“Jeff, I can’t—”
“Trust me.” I kiss her quickly. “I’m not hiding you. Just give me a second.”
I head for the stairs, my mind racing. Sinclaire’s standing in my foyer, Silas on her hip.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say, descending the stairs. “Didn’t expect you.”
“We wanted to surprise you for an early Father’s Day present. Trick thought—Well, we thought we could come to the game tomorrow too.”
Silas reaches for me. “Grandpa!”
I take him, bouncing him automatically, but my attention stays on my daughter, barely hearing what she’s saying, my thoughts spinning. “It’s Father’s Day?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, that wouldn’t be a surprise, then, would it?”
“Right.”
“Are you okay? You seem … flustered.”
I’m fifty years old and my daughter just about caught me fucking my young, secret wife she has no idea about in the middle of the afternoon.
I could make an excuse. Send Sinclaire away. Keep Molly hidden upstairs like some dirty secret.
But I won’t do that to her. Molly deserves better than being hidden, no matter how complicated the truth is.
“Actually,” I say, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Molly’s clearly listening, because there are footsteps from my bedroom.
Sinclaire’s eyebrows rise. “Oh. Oh. You aren’t alone.”
“No.”
She gets a comical expression on her face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know … You’re never … I’ve always …”
She’s not wrong. I’ve always had an open-door policy for my daughter, because there’s never been anything I wanted to hide from her.
There still isn’t, although, going forward, I’m going to have to start closing my bedroom door.
I look up the stairs. “Molly? Can you come down here, please?”
There’s a pause that feels like it lasts forever. Then Molly appears at the top of the stairs. She’s smoothed down her shirt and finger-combed her long hair, but her lips are still swollen from my kisses and there’s a flush on her cheeks that makes it very clear what we were doing.
She descends slowly, her hand trailing along the banister. When she reaches the bottom, she stands beside me but doesn’t touch me. I can feel her trembling.
“Sinclaire, this is Molly Henderson. She works in PR for the Outlaws.” I take a breath. “And she’s … my wife.”
Sinclaire’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Your what?”
“My wife,” I repeat, more firmly this time. I shift Silas to one arm and reach for Molly’s hand with the other. She weaves her fingers through mine.
“How—when …?” Sinclaire shakes her head. “You didn’t tell me you were even dating anyone, let alone married.”
She refocuses her attention on Molly, taking her in. Her head tilts to the side. Then, slowly, she rolls her attention back to me. “Dad.”
“Yep.”
“Dad.”
“Don’t be rude, Sinclaire.”
“I’m not being rude.” Her head spins back to look at Molly as the door creaks open behind her.
Trick Lowry steps in the door, laden down with bags.
He’s my former teammate, the slugger who came into the league when we were teammates, who I returned to Florida to coach, and who is responsible for the third World Series ring I own.
He’s a big lug of a man, a cowboy through and through, and in the two years since he retired and stole my daughter back to his ranch in Wyoming, he hasn’t come down to Florida as much as Sinclaire has.
And now he does a slow, careful perusal of the tableau in front of him.
His former coach. His wife. His son, who immediately wants down from my arms to race to his dad. Trick sets the bags down with a heavy thud and catches his toddler.
But his attention is clearly on the unexpected stranger who immediately clutches my hand again, as if she trusts I’ll protect her.
I will, and I like that she knows it.
“Trick, man, this is my wife, Molly.”
“Your …” His eyebrows jolt upward. “All right. Nice to meet you, Molly.”
Sinclaire is still staring at her.
“I know how this looks,” Molly says.
I squeeze her hand. “We both do.”
Sinclaire’s expression is unreadable.
Trick looks at Silas and says, “Should we go find some toys, buddy?”
“Toys!” My grandson races up the stairs, his father right behind him, and Sinclaire pushes past me and Molly, heading for the back of the house.
We follow.
Sinclaire sits down heavily in an armchair. “Okay. Somebody better start explaining, because I feel like I’ve walked into an alternate universe. Because I definitely remember a time very recently where you were opposed to me and Trick, Dad.”
Keeping Molly’s hand in mine, I guide her to the couch opposite my daughter and we both sit. “Remember the wedding promotion at spring training? When I married Captain Citrus?”
“Yes.” Sinclaire frowns. “I was there.”
“The regular mascot was sick. Molly filled in. I figured it out when she was standing beside me, so on some level, we did know who we were exchanging vows with.” I glance at Molly, who’s biting her lip.
“But we thought it wasn’t real. It turns out, though, we signed a real marriage license by accident.
When we found out, we could have gotten it annulled right away, but … ”
“But we decided to get to know each other first,” Molly finishes. “To see if maybe the accident was actually meant to be.”
It feels so good to hear her say that out loud. Meant to be.
“So you’re really married? Like, legally?” Sinclaire looks justifiably confused.
“Yes,” I say.
“I tried to fix it, but apparently, once it’s done, it’s done,” Molly adds.
“And you’re …” She gestures between us. “Together? Like a real couple?”
Molly speaks up. “We’re trying to be. I know the age difference is a lot. I know this whole situation is unconventional. But I care about your dad, a lot.”
“Do you love him?” Sinclaire pivots to me. “Do you love her?”
“With everything I have,” I say, and I mean it. “I know this happened fast. I know all the reasons it shouldn’t work. But I haven’t felt this alive in years. Maybe ever.”
“Well,” Sinclaire says slowly, “this is a lot to process.”
“I know.”
“You could have told me sooner.” But she’s laughing now, and I feel some of the tension drain from my shoulders.
“So you’re not … upset?” Molly asks, cautiously.
“Oh, I’m processing a lot of feelings right now,” Sinclaire says. “But upset? No. Vindicated over the grief he gave me about Trick? Yes.”
I rub the back of my neck. “That’s fair. But listen, we don’t want to tell anyone about this just yet. It’s still very new.”
Sinclaire mimes zipping her lips shut. “Got it,” she mumbles.
Our conversation is interrupted by the return of Silas, now with an armful of toys, so we migrate to the kitchen.
The conversation flows better than I expected now that the initial shock has worn off. Molly and Sinclaire bond over my lack of social media acumen, although Molly’s critique of me sounds so loving, it’s getting pretty close to unexpected praise.
She even shows Sinclaire the video she made at the grocery store.
“That’s more vegetables than I’ve ever seen my dad buy at once,” my daughter snarks.
“Hey, I haven’t had a good reason to before now.” I squeeze Molly’s hips as I shift past her to take food out of the fridge.
As soon as I open the doors, Sinclaire makes a surprised sound. “Whoa, that’s full.”
“Again, the Molly Effect.”
“Good job, Molly,” she mutters.
Molly laughs.
We eat lunch on the back patio, Silas toddling around the putting green while we watch.
Molly fits seamlessly into the conversation, asking Sinclaire about ranch life and listening with genuine interest to Trick’s enthusiastic explanation of their summer pasturing routine, which involves moving hundreds of cattle into the hills and monitoring them mostly from a distance, using drones.
“But sometimes we go up for a day, to check on the fencing and watering holes,” my daughter adds, gazing at her husband adoringly, in a deeply intimate way that would have made me uncomfortable two years ago—or hell, two months ago—but now I see through a different lens.
Maybe it’s taken me fifty years to finally grow up and recognize the value of a deeply intimate relationship with the right person.
As if she can feel my breakthrough, Sinclaire slides a knowing look my way. I hold my daughter’s gaze. Thank you I try to silently say. She nods. She gets it. I was a dick to Trick when he announced he was in love with her, and I owe him an apology for that. The heart wants what it wants.
After we finish eating, Molly and Sinclaire take Silas inside to find more toys. That leaves me alone with Trick on the patio.
He’s quiet for a long moment, staring out at the lake. Then he turns to me.
“Sinclaire was worried about you,” he says. “That’s why we’re here, although that has faded in importance with the new news.”
I frown. “Why was she worried?”
“She said you’ve been more stressed than usual during your calls.” He leans back in his chair. “Said you sounded defeated. That’s not like you so early in the season.”
“It’s been a rough start,” I admit. “We’re not clicking yet. The roster changes, the new guys not meshing with the veterans. It’s frustrating.”
“I could come to practice, talk to some of the guys. Remind them what it takes to win.” He grins. “Or I could just glare at them. That used to work pretty well.”
“It still would,” I say, grateful. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“That’s what family’s for.” He glances toward the house, where Molly’s voice floats out through the open door as she plays with Silas. “She seems good for you. Young as hell, but good.”
“She is.” I can’t keep the smile off my face. “I know it looks crazy, but she’s just incredible.”
“Jeff, I married your daughter. You really think I’m going to judge?”
“Yeah, fuck. Of course not. Look, I’m sorry about—”
“Water under the bridge. Besides, you look happy.” Trick stands up and claps me on the shoulder. “Now, come on. Let’s get in there before Sinclaire interrogates your wife.”
But inside, there’s no grilling going on. Molly’s teaching Silas a clapping game, both of them sitting cross-legged on the living room floor. Sinclaire’s watching them with an expression I can’t quite read.
“He likes her,” she says quietly when I sit down beside her. “I can see why you fell for her. She’s really lovely.”
Molly blushes but keeps playing with my grandson.
“She is lovely,” I say, not nearly as quiet. “She’s been like a lightning bolt of energy to the organization too.”
Sinclaire nods thoughtfully. “Hence the secret.”
“Exactly. Thank you for understanding.”
“Of course, Dad.” She smiles. “Even if you did accidentally marry someone younger than me.”
“Never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Not even a little bit.”
Molly looks up and catches my eye with a soft, private smile that I feel all the way to my bones.
And then Silas tackles her, and she tumbles to the floor, and that warm, private feeling turns to a deeper, hungrier desire to see her holding a child of her own, of our own, and to be more present for that baby than I was with Sinclaire.
I glance sideways at my daughter.
She wrinkles her nose at me. “Yeah, okay. I’ll probably have siblings, huh?”
“Sorry if that’s weird for you.” Because it won’t be weird for me. At all. I’m looking forward to the white picket fence years. “We might move to Wyoming.”
Her vaguely weirded out expression morphs to pure glee. “Yes. Oh my God. Please have all the babies and move to Wildflower Hollow. You can coach Little League.”
As far as plans go, it’s pretty fucking perfect.
When Trick and I put on the Toronto-New York game in the afternoon, Molly borrows my car to go get some stuff from her apartment.
“Don’t go to work,” I tell her.
“Show up driving Coach’s car without Coach? No, I’m not going to risk the questions that might raise. I’ll be back soon.” She kisses me briefly, but it’s in front of Trick and Sinclaire, and she’s a very good girl indeed for being brave like that.
I follow her out to the front so I can tell her that in private too.
But as soon as the front door closes behind me, she buries her face in my chest.
I tip her chin up so I can see her face. “Hey. Look at me. Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She lets out a shaky breath. “You told Sinclaire you love me.”
“I do love you.”
“We’ve only known each other—barely—for two months.”
“And I’ve been in love with you for most of that time.” I stroke her cheek. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” Her eyes are shining. “Because I love you too. But it’s scary.”
“You’re allowed to feel whatever you want, Whirlwind.” I kiss her softly. “If you’re scared, that’s okay. And if you love me anyway, then I’m the luckiest man alive.”
She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me properly, deep and hungry. When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Go get a bag of things you want to leave in my house forever,” I growl against her mouth. “Because tonight I’m taking you to bed, my bed, and I’m going to show you what I really mean when I say I love you.”