Chapter 35 #2
Jase’s smile didn’t waver. “We’re concerned about maintaining our batting averages where they should be.”
A few people snickered.
“We’re not here to be a distraction. We’re here to play ball and help this team win.”
“And are you comfortable being open about your relationship now?” someone asked.
Dylan didn’t hesitate. “We wouldn’t have done it on the field if we weren’t.”
I pressed my fingers to my lips, pride swelling in my chest. They weren’t dodging questions or downplaying it for anyone else’s comfort. They were simply being honest.
Someone finally signaled that time was up, and Jase thanked the media with a nod while Dylan gave a quick wave. The reporters then moved on to someone else.
A little while later, they emerged through the players’ exit, freshly showered.
Jase spotted me first. His face lit up like the stadium lights outside. He closed the distance in three long strides and pulled me into his arms without hesitation.
“Did you have a good time watching the game?” he asked, hugging me tight.
“I did. You both played amazing.”
Dylan hugged me next. “Thanks, Princess.”
Agent Pederson cleared his throat, then gave me a sheepish grin. “Are you three ready to head out?”
I nodded and held both their hands as we left the stadium. It felt like a weight had been lifted now that everything was out in the open and we weren’t hiding anymore.
Jase, Dylan, and I rode in the Secret Service SUV while Gage and Chase drove in their own car back to their house.
Things felt different from when I had been in Portland at the start of the year. Not bad different. Just easy and relaxed. Maybe it was because I wasn’t meeting the parents for the first time and we weren’t trying to hide parts of our relationship anymore.
Despite the late hour, the five of us gathered around the kitchen island, bottles of beer in front of us on the countertop. Everyone was still too hyped up to think about sleeping just yet.
Chase was animated, replaying the final inning as if we hadn’t all been there. Dylan leaned against me, his arm draped over the back of my barstool. Jase sat just as close on my other side, his knee brushing mine every so often, as if he needed the reminder that I was actually there with them.
I noticed Gage was a bit quieter, and he watched me for a moment, a gentle expression on his face.
“Hey,” he finally said. “I just want to say I hated hearing what happened to you in Vegas, but I’m so glad you’re here and safe.”
I smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Dylan’s thumb brushed slow circles across my shoulder. “So where does everything stand now?”
I took a sip of my beer before responding. “Well, the FBI has taken the lead on the investigation. Callum”—I watched Dylan tense at the mention of the asshole—“is still in custody. The White House is trying to keep as much of the story out of the press as possible.”
“Did they figure out how he knew where to find you?” Jase asked.
I nodded. “Preliminary findings suggest someone in Senator Whitmore’s office was feeding Callum information obtained from a White House staffer. Both staff members have been fired and may face charges as well.”
“Shit,” Dylan grumbled.
“I spent most of my time in D.C. in meetings,” I continued. “With the Secret Service. With the FBI. With lawyers. With advisors. A lot of people telling me what I should do.”
“And?” Chase prompted.
“And I listened,” I said. “They were adamant that I always have protection, but I also made it clear I’m not going to hide away and stop living my life.”
Jase smirked. “Hence the very public good-luck kisses.”
I shot him a look. “Oh, don’t even start. You two kissed on the field after the game.”
“That was a spontaneous team-bonding moment.” Dylan snorted.
“But you stole my move,” I deadpanned.
Gage chuckled. “I don’t think anyone missed the message.”
Eventually, the conversation drifted to the Seawolves' schedule, travel plans, and what else I would do while in town.
When Chase yawned, Gage stood and stretched. “All right. I think that’s our cue to call it a night.”
“We’ll see you in the morning,” Chase told us.
“Goodnight,” we all called out as they left the kitchen.
The three of us waited until we heard their door close before exchanging a glance.
Jase leaned in. “Farthest room from theirs?”
I laughed softly. “Absolutely.”
We tiptoed up the stairs and down the hall to Dylan’s room, as if we were sixteen again and sneaking around.
The door closed behind us and we spent the rest of the night trying to be as quiet as we could.
The next morning, the five of us crowded into the kitchen again, moving around each other as we made breakfast. Actually, the guys made breakfast, and I supervised.
As I watched Jase flip pancakes while Dylan stole a piece of bacon from the baking sheet, my heart did that little flippy thing it always did whenever I was with them, and it made me think how different my life looked these days.
I loved my family fiercely, and I always had. My childhood was full of opportunity and privilege, yet it was also structured, polished, and carefully managed, with household staff on hand to ensure everything was perfect. It was the kind of life people loved to reduce to headlines and clichés.
In the Statler-Matthewson house, nothing felt staged or formal.
It was laid-back, fun, and sometimes a little loud.
I smiled to myself, imagining what the tabloids would say if they saw me here, barefoot, drinking coffee from a Seawolves mug, perfectly content.
Turns out the girl they called spoiled was happiest with life’s simple things.
My phone buzzed on the counter, and my pulse quickened when I saw the text from my mom:
Turn on the news. Now.
I frowned and set my coffee down. “This can’t be good.”
Jase straightened at once. “What’s going on?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. My mom said I needed to turn on the news.”
Gage picked up the remote, aimed it at the TV, and then selected one of the twenty-four-hour news channels.
On the screen, an anchor sat behind a desk and said, “Earlier today, as the president departed the White House, he was asked several questions about his daughter and her relationships, which have been making headlines since last night’s baseball game in Portland. Let’s take a look.”
The footage cut to the White House lawn, where my dad was getting ready to board Marine One but stopped to answer questions from the press pool.
“Mr. President, are the reports about your daughter true?”
“Is Faye Donnelley in a polyamorous relationship?”
“What does this mean for the administration?”
“Are you concerned about the message this sends?”
“Sir, did the White House know in advance?”
Jase’s hand found mine, and Dylan came to stand behind me, his hands gripping my waist as I waited with bated breath to hear how my father would answer.
My dad paused, and the reporters fell silent.
“My daughter’s personal life is just that—personal,” he began, his voice even. “And ordinarily, I’d leave it at that.” He glanced briefly toward the cameras. “But I don’t want my silence mistaken for discomfort or shame.
“Faye is happy,” he continued. “She is loved, supported, and surrounded by people who care deeply about her well-being. I’m proud of the woman she is and the life she’s building. A father’s hope is that one day his daughter finds the person who makes her happy. She found two men who do that.”
Whispers rippled through the press.
“And frankly,” he added, a familiar edge of conviction creeping in, “if we devoted even a fraction of this time, attention, and dialogue to the issues that threaten the health and future of this nation—economic inequality, access to healthcare, violence, and climate change—we could accomplish extraordinary things.
“I believe everyone deserves privacy,” my father went on.
“But I also believe in being clear about where I stand. My hope is that every person finds a love that makes them feel seen, offers them safety, and gives them joy. Because finding that and holding onto it is one of the greatest things anyone can experience.”
He nodded, then turned and walked toward the helicopter again.
The broadcast went back to the studio.
For a few seconds, no one said anything. We just stared at the screen, which had moved on to the next story.
Eventually, Chase cleared his throat. “Well, your dad nailed it.”
Gage nodded. “Perfectly.”
I realized my eyes were burning.
Dylan pressed a kiss to my temple. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I just didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.”
Jase squeezed my hand. “He said exactly what mattered.”
The guys finished preparing breakfast, and we enjoyed a delicious meal together. When the dishes were stacked in the sink and Chase and Gage had gone back to their room to get ready for the day, I took a breath. “There’s something I want to talk to you both about.”
Jase’s and Dylan’s attention immediately shifted to me.
“I interviewed with a nonprofit here in Portland yesterday before the game,” I began. “They help women escape abusive situations and provide housing, legal aid, and counseling. It’s exactly the kind of work I want to do.”
Dylan’s eyes widened. “And?”
“The job’s mine if I want it.”
Jase stared at me. “You want to work here in Portland?”
I nodded. “Work and live here.”
The words had barely left my mouth when Dylan pulled me into his arms, laughing under his breath. Jase followed a second later, wrapping us all together.
“I thought I could look at apartments later today.”
Dylan pulled back slightly. “Is that what you want? Your own place?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t want to assume you’d want us all to live together.”
“Princess,” Jase sighed. “I can’t believe you’d even question it. If you’re here, we’re all going to be together.”
I laughed. “Well, if that’s what you want.”
“Looks like we’re going house hunting.” Dylan grinned.
I smiled, my heart full in a way I hadn’t known was possible.
A single Fourth of July night had been the beginning of something I never expected.
A life I was choosing.
With the two people I loved standing right beside me.
The world could turn it into a headline or reduce it to a sound bite about Jase and Dylan playing for the president’s daughter, if they wanted.
But I knew the truth.
This wasn’t about politics, optics, or expectations.
The three of us were playing for keeps.
The End.