Bonus Epilogue
SCOTTIE
I’m staring at the photo that’s ruined my life, along with a hundred variations of it, all from that same stupid restaurant in Cleveland with Jake. Fletch and Poppy are in the background, but you don’t see anyone talking about them.
No, it’s all, “Jake Rodgers’ Secret Romance: Baseball’s Bad Boy Goes Public with Childhood Friend,” and “The Kiss Felt Round the League: Superstar Jake Rodgers Cozies Up to Blonde in Exclusive Photos.”
My family’s playing Settlers of Catan around my brother’s dining room table while I return from the living room, where I was just talking to Poppy on the phone.
My baby nephew is fussing, so I grab him from the swing in the corner and hold him close, sniffing up that new baby goodness.
He smells so heavenly, it’s a wonder I have any anger left in me at all.
But then Jake whoops from the table, and it all comes back. I sit down across from him. And kick.
It doesn’t land on his shin. It lands on the stupid table leg, instead.
Pain shoots through my toe. I bite my lip to keep from giving Jake the satisfaction of hearing me yelp.
“JAKE RODGERS,” I whisper-yell. “I am going to kill you.”
He’s too busy arranging his longest road cards with infuriating precision to even look at me. “That’s like the tenth time today, bro. Add it to my tab.”
My traitorous brothers laugh, but my mom looks worried. She raises her blonde eyebrows. “What’s wrong, Scottie girl?”
I show her my phone—one of many posts and articles about Jake Rodgers and his new girlfriend.
“Jakey,” Mom says excitedly. “Are you dating someone?”
“Look closer, Mom,” I say.
She does. “Ah.” Her mouth stretches into a sympathetic frown. “Let me guess: Jake had you pose as his fake girlfriend again to fight off unwanted attention.”
I glare at her. “Yes, but as you can see, he also kissed me, and let me tell you, that gets a lot more attention than him being at a restaurant with yet another dumb blonde.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, kid,” my oldest brother, Dallas, says. “You’re not that dumb.” His wife smacks his arm, and my parents follow.
Anger boils in my blood. “I hate you,” I say, pointing to my brothers and Jake.
“What did I do?” Hudson asks.
“I’m sorry, Scottie Girl,” Dad says, looking up from the board. “But you’ve been Jake’s Betty-guard for a long time. What’s different now?”
Tears burn in the back of my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. They want to know what’s different?
A pair of blue eyes that shine when he laughs, shaggy blond hair he’s always pushing out of his face, and the biggest, bravest, most unrestrained smile I’ve ever seen pop into my head.
Lucas Fischer.
My nephew stirs like he’s rooting, and my sister-in-law sees and takes him. “I’m sorry, Scottie,” she says with a soft smile. “Whoever he is, he’ll understand.”
I close my eyes with a heavy sigh. Of course it would take someone outside of the family I grew up with to see how much I’ve suffered at the hands of Jake Rodgers.
Don’t get me wrong: I love my parents for basically taking him in, especially when things with his family got so bad for so long.
But sometimes, I feel like they chose him over me.
Protecting Jake meant sacrificing Scottie on the altar of Jake’s reputation.
I know Lucas is all flirt, no follow-through, but I won’t lie and say I don’t like it. The way he shows up at the stadium with coffee he knows I’ll pretend to hate. The way he finds me in the stadium and gives me a nod before winding up.
I’m suspicious about it, make no mistake.
But I like it.
And if I’m honest with myself, I could like him, too. Kind of. In that way you can’t help but love a golden retriever puppy who keeps bringing you the ball even after you’ve thrown it into the lake a dozen times.
I’m not saying Lucas is my destiny, but for the first time in my life, a guy has pursued me relentlessly, no matter how many ways I’ve shut him down, and no matter how many reasons I’ve given him to stop.
I know—it sounds like a red flag that he hasn’t gotten the picture.
It’s not: it’s the greenest flag that’s ever flown. Because I’ve said, “you wouldn’t last ten minutes with me, Fischer,” when what I meant was “prove it,” and “keep dreaming,” when I meant “keep trying.”
But when he’s asked me out and I’ve said “I’m washing my hair,” he’s backed off immediately.
If I say no—a real, honest-to-goodness no—he’ll believe me.
I don’t want to say no.
And now, with this rumor about Jake and me going viral, what if he believes it? What if he stops?
My phone buzzes with a text.
Arch Rival
yo we need to talk about the photos
my agent thinks we should lean into it
I stare at the messages, my stomach twisting, and then glare at the man himself across the table. I knew he was going to do this. I knew the second the photos dropped he was going to ask.
Scottie
Absolutely not.
Arch Rival
Scott come on
Scottie
No. Find another Betty-guard. I’m done.
I pocket my phone and grab the dice. Jake’s staring at me across the table, and I can feel his eyes boring into my skull.
I don’t look up.
He clears his throat loudly.
“My turn,” I say, rolling the dice hard enough that one bounces off the table.
Jake grabs it and returns it to me, dropping it in my hand. He holds my gaze, and his eyes are pleading.
I glare and re-roll the dice.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake sit, and his expression shift. I risk a look at him and catch a hint of it: guilt. He knows what he’s asking is huge. Maybe he even knows what it could cost me …
But then Dallas says something about longest road, and Jake’s back to being Jake, arranging his cards like nothing matters but the game.
I get another text from him a minute later, before I’ve figured out how to respond.
Arch Rival
i need this Scott
it’s the first positive press i’ve had all year
you know baseball’s all i have
i can’t get sent down to the minors
besides if i get sent down you’ll have to put up with me way more
i’d owe you forever
Why does Jake have to be asking instead of demanding? It makes it worse. Because I can’t say no when he asks like this—not when his career is on the line, not when I’ve been looking out for him for years.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I could text Lucas right now. Explain the situation. Tell him it’s all fake—that Jake’s just my idiot pseudo-brother who needs me to save his butt again.
But if I tell Lucas, I’m risking Jake’s career.
And if I don’t tell Lucas …
I finally type:
Scottie
If I do this, you have to promise me three favors.
Arch Rival
anything but we have to date til spring training. agent says we could stage a breakup before season starts
Scottie
Fine
But our breakup will be the stuff of legends.
Arch Rival
you’re the best scott
owe you big time
He sends a gif of a cat with heart eyes. Like that’s supposed to make this better.
I look across the table at him, and he’s making puppy dog eyes as big as anything Lucas could do, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s about to ruin everything good in my life.
I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.
“Where are you going?” Mom asks.
“Bathroom,” I say, even though I’m heading for the front door.
“Scott—” Jake starts. I don’t turn around.
“You got what you wanted, Rodgers. Leave me alone.” I grab my coat and slip outside into the cold.
The porch light casts long shadows across the snow, and I lean against the railing, arms crossed tight over my chest. Through the window, I can see my family laughing, Jake already back to his game like all my hopes of a love life aren’t about to implode.
I pull out my phone to look at Lucas’s last text.
From this morning.
Lucas
Happy day after Boxing Day, Scottie Quinn.
Scottie
That’s not a real holiday.
Lucas
Ah, you’re clearly not half-Canadian like I am.
Scottie
You’re telling me Canadians celebrate the day AFTER Boxing Day?
Lucas
No, silly. Half-Canadians do.
It’s a thing.
Scottie
Uh huh.
Sure.
Lucas
You know, tomorrow’s the day after the day after Boxing Day.
We should celebrate.
Scottie
I don’t celebrate.
Lucas
Your loss.
It’s epic.
I could come out to Cleveland and show you.
Scottie
Oh, right. You’d just hop on a plane and celebrate a made up holiday?
Lucas
Is that an invitation?
I laughed when he sent that, not that I’ll ever let him know that.
I should text him about Jake. Explain myself. Give him some hint of what and why.
Instead, I shove my phone back in my pocket and stay on the porch swing, staring at the icicles hanging from the rafters, thinking thoughts even darker than the night sky until my sister-in-law comes to get me.
Because if Lucas Fischer stops looking at me like I’m the only person in the room, I don’t know what I’ll do.
And that scares me more than any headline.
Lucas is a golden retriever who never gives up. Scottie’s a black cat who never gives in. And Jake Rodgers is about to make their forbidden romance a whole lot messier. The Setup Man releases Spring 2026!