Chapter 20
QUINN
A week later, I sat on the small set of bleachers at the ballpark where Ford and Aiden ran little league practice, along with a smattering of parents and a few nosy onlookers.
My attendance here had been another of Addison’s suggestions .
And by that, I obviously meant demands. The girl had made it her personal mission to make sure Ford and I were seen everywhere together, all the while acting like a couple in love.
After last week’s…incident, I wasn’t sure we needed to worry about it.
Ford and I had, in fact, been the talk of the town, just like Addison wanted.
And Mabel hadn’t hidden her smugness over the fact that we’d used her Pleasure Palace to sneak off and have some fun.
She wasn’t even upset Aiden hadn’t used it as she’d hoped, so long as it had gotten used.
I’d never met a person—her age or otherwise—who was so invested in the health and enjoyment of people’s sex lives, but more power to her.
And there was no denying Ford’s and my sex life was healthy.
That may have been the only part of our relationship that was, but I wasn’t going to complain.
I was getting regular D for the first time in years, and I wasn’t mad about it.
Especially when that D was attached to someone who knew exactly how to use it.
The two-hour little league practice was nearly up.
I’d watched Ford—and Aiden, but let’s be real…
my gaze mostly stayed locked on my husband—interact with the kids, being his usual carefree self.
He was exactly as I’d expected him to be—kind, funny, goofing off with the children, and not taking anything too seriously.
What I did not expect was the softer side of him and just how good he was with the kids. Or how much it would make me want to melt.
In the dugout, he knelt in front of one of the kids.
With blond pigtails braided over her shoulders, Cassidy was one of only three girls on the team.
She’d just struck out—again—and though no tears streaked her face, I could tell it was taking everything in her not to shed them.
Her bottom lip quivered, her eyes bright and glassy, and I wanted to wrap her up in a hug and tell her everything would be all right.
That she didn’t have to be strong all the time, but as that was something I hadn’t yet mastered in my life, my advice would’ve fallen flat.
This was…just who I was. Who I’d conditioned myself to be after years of sly abuse at the hands of my parents.
I’d always been the aloof one. The one people thought was snobby or stuck-up, but it’d been my barrier.
And I’d perfected it in my thirty-one years, using it as a shield from those who didn’t think I could do something.
Or worse, who actively tried to knock me down.
But it turned out Cassidy didn’t need a hug from me or false words I didn’t actually take to heart. Not when she had Ford.
I sat directly behind them, close enough to hear his words, though I wasn’t sure anyone else could.
“You know you did awesome, right?” he said.
“I didn’t do awesome. I struck out twice!”
“Striking out is all part of the game, Cass. Even the pros do it.”
“Not as much as me.” She folded her arms over her chest, brows drawn down and her bottom lip stuck out in a pout.
“You know they miss more balls than they hit, right?”
“They do?”
“Yep…they usually hit fewer than a third of what’s pitched to them. And they’re out there making millions every year. So we’re going to give ourselves a break for not playing as well as they do, all right?”
“Okay,” she said, though her voice was wobbly, and those tears she’d been trying so hard to hold back rolled in two fat drops down her red cheeks.
“Today was just one day in a whole lot of them. We all have off days. But the point is that you show up and try again. That you don’t give up if it’s something you love.” He reached up, swiping away her tears with his thumbs.
I wasn’t so sure I hadn’t turned into a puddle right there on these uncomfortable bleachers, because holy shit. Holy shit . What I wouldn’t have given to hear that kind of pep talk as a kid. Or, hell, as a teen or even an adult.
The people I’d surrounded myself with—my parents, especially—were more inclined to point out all my flaws. For as long as I could remember—the first time happened when I was six and fumbled a step in my dance recital—they’d focused on everything I’d done wrong.
They also liked to remind me exactly how my fuckup would affect them . How their friends would view them if I didn’t get straight A’s, didn’t graduate as valedictorian, didn’t go to Harvard Med School. It didn’t matter what I did accomplish. That paled in comparison to their expectations.
Their words were never about lifting my spirits and encouraging me to do better. To try again. It was always about how disappointed they were. How I could’ve done better. How embarrassed they were to have me as a daughter.
So I’d resorted to giving those talks to myself. The problem was, my words weren’t always the kindest where I was involved. I had a lot of grace for my patients and for the few people I considered friends or even acquaintances.
But for myself? Hardly any. I was a perfectionist, and nothing was good enough for my standards. Not even my best.
“You ready to get back out there with your team?” Ford asked the little girl. “They need you in the field. No one catches a pop fly like you do.”
Swiping the back of her hand over her eyes, she nodded and bumped her fist against Ford’s when he held his out to her. She picked up her glove and ran to her position on the field, shooting her teammates a bright smile, her spirit clearly lifted.
Ford stood then and glanced over at me, his ball cap low over his eyes, and shot me a grin. Butterflies erupted in my stomach at the single, inconsequential glance.
I’d just finally acknowledged that it was okay to enjoy our bedroom activities. That it was perfectly acceptable to allow him to make me come since he seemed to have a knack for it and did so amazingly. And we were married, after all, so it wasn’t like either of us could get it elsewhere.
But now? After witnessing that?
I was beginning to worry I might actually like my husband.
* * *
“You mind if we stop someplace on the way home?” Ford asked, driving us away from the ballpark.
One of his hands rested on the steering wheel, the other on my thigh, his thumb brushing over my skin.
His fingers were tucked absent-mindedly beneath the hem of my sundress, and this was not good. Not good at all.
“Sure,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. Pretending like I wasn’t freaking out on the inside over my shocking realization on the bleachers.
How the hell had this happened? How had I let this happen?
He was supposed to be my rival. My nemesis.
The one person who’d challenged nearly every high school success I’d had, who’d made the planned dominoes of my future to land off track, caused so many of those early disappointments and so much harsh criticism from my parents…
And he was starting to get under my skin.
Worse, I was beginning to wonder if I’d been wrong about him all along.
Had he always been the guy he’d shown me these past few weeks as his wife?
The guy who laughed freely, who offered himself up on a silver platter in the name of a fundraiser, who gave a pep talk to a disappointed eight-year-old…
The guy who brought his fake wife flowers and ice cream and emotional support coffees and subtly but firmly put Dr. Dicknose in his place anytime he was around.
“Shouldn’t take too long,” he said. “Bob called during practice and left a message that the new uniforms are ready. And then we can pick up some Chinese on the way home.”
Which was, unsurprisingly, what I’d been craving all week, though I couldn’t remember ever actually voicing it. But Ford was more astute than I’d given him credit for, especially when it came to me.
He pulled into the parking lot of Bob’s Sports Shop and put his Jeep into park. “You want to stay out here or come in?”
I unbuckled my seat belt, knowing if I waited in the car, I’d just fixate on everything that had been knocking around in my brain, and that absolutely was not a good use of my time or focus. “I’ll come in. I want to see these uniforms you willingly got dunked for.”
“Yeah, they better be fucking amazing, or I’m gonna be pissed.” His laughter belied his words as he climbed out of the car and strode around to my side, meeting me at the hood. Without hesitation, he grabbed my hand, linking our fingers together as if it were second nature, and guided us inside.
Bob’s was a small, family-owned shop. A glass case full of varying trophy styles took up the far wall behind the counter, and racks filled up the rest of the store, showcasing several uniform offerings.
“Ford,” an older white man with a bald head and a wide smile greeted him. “Looks like you got my message.”
“Hey, Bob. You got the goods?”
“Sure do. And they’re real beauts.” He opened up a box and pulled out a royal-blue jersey. It had their team name in bright white on the front and an embroidered 19 below Starlight Cove Resort’s logo on the back. “I think you made an excellent choice with these. The kids are gonna love them.”
“That they are,” Ford agreed, running his fingers over the embroidery, a smile tipping up the corners of his mouth. “What’s the damage?”
Bob shuffled through some papers before announcing the total, and my eyes nearly bugged out. But Ford just nodded as if he’d been expecting it. The thing was, I knew exactly how much the dunk tank fundraiser had made, and it only covered a little more than half of the total.
“You want the rest of this on the resort’s tab?” Bob asked, handwriting a receipt like we were back in 1953.
“Nah, put it on this.” Ford plucked a credit card from his wallet and slid it across the counter toward Bob.
And goddammit. Goddammit .
The hits just kept coming.
Why did he have to be a genuinely good guy…a truly kind person? And why did I have to suddenly become aware of it?
I knew I should be happy about this. Happy about the fact that I was beginning to actually like—not just tolerate—my husband, but I feared that would only complicate things further.
I was already married to the man. And God knew we were compatible sexually. What happened if we clicked on an entirely different level? What happened if we slipped into something neither of us had planned for or expected when we’d agreed to this marriage on paper only?
What kind of tangled web would that weave?