Chapter 18 Bennett
Bennett
Ihad never wanted to fuck a slice of cake so much in my life.
The first bite of the chocolate raspberry ganache was downright obscene. I closed my eyes for a second, letting it linger.
Rich, dark cake melted against my tongue, the tart pop of raspberry cutting through it like a warning shot. And all of it was wrapped in silky buttercream that tasted like someone had bottled pure decadence.
I opened my eyes, scooped up another bite, and froze. Three sets of eyes—well, four if you included little Bailey—were staring back at me with amusement.
“What?” I asked after I swallowed.
Matty leaned back in his chair and gestured between me and my forkful. “Do you need us to leave the two of you alone?”
“Sue me, it’s fucking good.”
“Emphasis on the fucking,” Pink murmured under his breath.
Dani smacked the back of his head. “Can we please limit the fucks when you’re around my daughter?”
Pink nailed her with a look that only he could get away with, one that said, does she know who her mother is?
That was par for the course for them, though.
Dani and Pink had a kind of easy rhythm that reminded me of my brother and me.
And even though Dani was nearly a decade older than him, there was no weirdness to it.
She handled him with equal parts affection and exasperation, like an older sister who’d long ago accepted that her younger brother was a menace but loved him anyway.
Pink pushed buttons; Dani pushed back harder.
“Come here, Baby B,” Pink said, already reaching for the baby. “Let’s show your mom just how good of an influence your Uncle Jared can be.”
Dani smiled when he settled her daughter in his lap and wrapped an arm around her middle.
“I agree with King,” Soren said from the head of the table, nodding solemnly. “This one is in the top three, for sure. Clarke loves raspberries.”
I sat back and wiped the crumbs off my fingers, laughing as I took in the scene.
Plates of half-demolished cake sat scattered across the table like casualties of war.
Bailey gnawed on a teething ring with intense focus, her drool landing in Pink’s lap.
The bakery’s soft jazz playlist hummed in the background, clashing hilariously with the fact that three professional athletes and one very patient new mom were currently debating the structural integrity of buttercream.
Of all the things I had done with this team, I never could’ve predicted this. Two years ago, we’d been swimming in a glacier-fed lake in Alaska, basking in that World Series win glow, and now we were tasting wedding cakes like we were auditioning for The Great British Baking Show.
And yet here we were.
Matty speared a chunk of the salted caramel espresso and held it up like evidence. “If you get this one, I can’t promise not to sneak off with multiple slices.”
“You’re not sneaking anything,” Dani warned without looking up from her plate. “Clarke has a spreadsheet. She will know.”
Pink snorted. “Of course she does.”
Soren grinned, unrepentant. “She’s thorough.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Remind me again why she isn’t here,” I said. “I could be wrong, but I feel like picking out a wedding cake is usually a thing for the groom and the bride.”
“Because I’m still technically on maternity leave until the season starts,” Dani explained.
She offered a fingerful of frosting to Bailey, who happily slurped it up.
“Clarke is stuck doing double the work until then, which is why you have me to taste on her behalf. I have strict orders for us to narrow it down to three finalists, so eat up, boys.”
I reached for the lavender honey slice next. Warm, floral notes hit my tongue with the first bite. I knew without thinking about it that this was the one Bella would pick.
Just thinking about her making that little, involuntary hum she did when something tasted exactly right made my pants tighten.
Just the other night, I had made her dinner. She’d texted me earlier in the day saying she’d been on her feet for hours and all she wanted was someone else to feed her. I’d shown up with all the fixings for grilled chicken with roasted vegetables and a simple pan sauce.
For thirty minutes, I’d watched her sit at the kitchen table—barefoot, hair in a messy bun, clad only in sleep shorts and one of her brother’s old shirts—and moan around almost every bite.
It was torture of the sweetest kind, and yet nothing compared to what came next.
We had moved to her sofa for dessert, a peanut butter chocolate mousse from one of the food carts near the stadium, and some new rom-com on Netflix that we had both stopped watching about ten minutes in.
I’d nearly shot my load when Bella had taken the first spoonful and moaned again.
That same low, throaty sound.
I’d made it through three, maybe four more bites before setting both our bowls aside, shoving her back against the cushions, and stripping the shorts from her body.
Five minutes later, she’d been coming on my tongue, whispering my name like a prayer. Ten minutes after that, I’d spilled into her hand after the sloppiest and most uncoordinated—in the best way possible—hand job of my life.
Afterward, we’d just lain there, sticky and half-dressed, the rom-com still playing in the background like nothing had happened. No awkwardness, just easy conversation and shared silence, her head resting on my chest like it belonged there.
Because it did.
It had struck me then how natural it felt being with Bella. Like we’d been doing this for months instead of barely a week.
And that was how I’d ended up sitting there with a fork stalled halfway to my mouth and a dopey, far-off look on my face, which Pink noticed immediately. Because of course he did.
“You’ve got that look again.”
“Which one is that?” I shot back.
“The one where you smile like an idiot because you’re thinking about the depraved things you want to do to my sister.”
Correction: I was thinking about the depraved things I had already done to his sister.
“I don’t hear you denying it, King,” Soren said around a smirk.
“Because I try not to lie.”
Matty raised both brows. “They put on quite a show at the farmers market last weekend.”
“Watch it,” I warned.
“And at the Junior Roasters clinic.”
Pink made a dramatic gagging sound. Bailey squealed with delight at the noise. “Gross, that’s my sister you’re talking about. I don’t want to hear any details.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, though my ears were getting warm. “When are you and Nessa tying the knot, Pink?”
“Yes, do tell,” Dani added with a pointed glare.
Pink clutched his metaphorical pearls. “Me? What about Dani and Coach? They have a baby together.”
The table dissolved into overlapping voices after that. Someone threw out the idea of a double wedding, which made Pink nearly choke on his bite of carrot cake, and Soren shook his head, scribbling his notes into the notebook that Clarke had no doubt given him.
I took another deliberate bite of lavender honey, letting the flavor ground me, and suddenly I wasn’t thinking about wedding cakes anymore.
I was thinking about how in less than a week, I’d be gone for spring training. Long days, longer nights, and miles between Bella and me when we were just getting started.
The thought landed heavy in my chest.
“You good, man?” Pink asked, his voice cutting through the noise like he’d felt the shift in me.
I met his eyes. Pink, who was usually the loudest, most extra person in any room, had gone quiet, watching me with that rare, serious look he usually only saved for the pitching mound.
I knew that look better than most. It was me who was usually staring back from behind the plate.
The table chatter faded a little, like the rest of them had sensed the change in temperature. Even little Bailey.
I exhaled, then met his stare straight-on. “How do you and Nessa make it work?”
Pink blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
“You’re on the road half the season. She’s here, running the bookstore. You don’t get the added benefit of having your girl travel with the team like Soren and Coach Ward do, so how do you make it work? How do you keep it solid when you’re gone for weeks at a time?”
The question hung there, plain and earnest.
Pink studied me for a long beat, the usual lightness gone from his face. He passed the baby off to Dani and then leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“You’re serious about her,” he said quietly. Not a question.
I didn’t flinch. “Yeah, I am.”
He nodded once, like he was accepting something he had already suspected for a while.
“Then listen up,” he continued. “Because I’m only gonna say this once and none of you are allowed to quote me back to Nessa later.”
A small laugh rippled through the group.
“First, you have to decide it’s worth it.
Not just the good moments, but the shitty ones too.
The missed calls because she’s working late or you’re stranded somewhere outside of Kentucky.
The nights when you’re exhausted and she’s had a crap day and neither of you has the energy to be cute over FaceTime.
You have to look at that and still say it’s worth it.
We’re worth it. If you’re only half in, waiting for things to get easier, you’ll fuck it up fast.”
He paused, picking at a crumb on the table.
“Second, you make the time count. When you’re home, you’re home.
No half-assed hanging out while you scroll through highlights or checking your phone every five minutes.
Put it down and be there. With her. And when you’re gone, you show up in the ways you can.
” He held up his fingers, counting off said ways.
“Send her stupid memes at 2 a.m. Call her during your cooldown stretches, even if you only have five minutes. Text her about the random dog in a sweater you run into outside the stadium that reminds you of her. The little things stack up.”
Dani nodded slowly, her eyes softening around the edges. Soren’s expression was thoughtful, like he was filing the words away for his own future reference.
Pink kept going.
“And third, trust. Not the easy kind. You have to trust that she’s not going anywhere just because you’re not in the same zip code.
And she has to trust that you won’t forget her the second you step on the plane.
No games, no bullshit, no excuses. Just say it straight.
And when you fuck up, and trust me, King, you will fuck up because we all do, own it.
Apologize, fix it, don’t let it fester.”
He looked at me then, really looked, and something clicked in his eyes. The teasing edge was gone, replaced by something sharper and heavier—an older-brother warning wrapped in respect.
Because he knew exactly who I was thinking about.
And he was quietly asking whether I was man enough not to screw it up.
“She’s my sister, King. She’s tough, smart, and has a heart the size of Oregon.
But she’s also the kind of person who will carry shit quietly until it breaks her.
So, if you’re gonna do this, do it right.
Don’t make her wonder where she stands. Don’t make her feel like she’s second to the game.
Because if you do, I’ll be the first one in your face, and I won’t be nice about it. ”
The table was dead silent now.
Pink exhaled, then gave a small, crooked smile. “But if you do it right? If you show up the way she deserves? She’ll love you so hard it’ll scare you sometimes. And it’ll be worth every mile.”
I swallowed, throat tight. “I know.”
Pink nodded once. “Good.”
Then he reached for another slice of cake like the moment hadn’t just happened.
“The brown butter and vanilla bean is by far the best.”
A wave of laughter washed over the table. First Dani, then Soren, and finally Matty, who let out a relieved, “Damn, Pink. Who knew you were such a romantic?”
Pink flipped him off without looking. “Eat your cake, asshole.”
I took a bite of the brown butter cake with fluffy vanilla bean frosting sandwiched between each layer.
Goddamn. He was right.
About all of it.
And I was going to make damn sure Bella knew it, too. Every mile, every call, every stupid meme at 2 a.m.—she was worth it.
Every single one.