Chapter Two
Air floods my lungs as I draw in a breath, waiting for the final play of the game. The screaming crowd fades to a dull roar as I zone in on the batter, readying myself for the last pitch of the night.
If he hits it within my territory, I won’t let it hit the ground.
We’re up a four-three lead on the Crowns. The New York based team hasn’t made it to the league championships in nearly thirty years, and they’re walking around our stadium like this is finally their year—like the World Series is already theirs.
It’s still early in the season, but they’re undefeated, and their stats are inflating their egos fuller than a balloon on the verge of popping. Beating the Bears would make their heads so big they could catch a lift on a stiff wind, but it’s not going to happen.
Not today.
Not on my watch.
With a runner on third, and this being the last batter up, the Bears have to work together to ensure our win. My eyes meet the catcher’s briefly, then I glance at Austin Cooper, our pitcher, but he’s laser-focused.
Drawing his arm back, his lips purse together, and he lets it fly.
The sharp crack of the ball slamming against the metal rattles through the air. The runner on third pushes off the base.
My eyes track the ball, and within seconds it slaps into my mitt with force.
The batter’s out, but I’m not done yet. With precision, I sidestep and tap the player who was on third, tagging him out too before the crowd can even react.
Then, the stadium explodes.
People are on their feet, cheering, screaming.
The sportscaster announces our victory.
My teammates plow into me, clapping my shoulder as a collective eruption of excitement overtakes the field.
A smile widens across my face, but my eyes sweep in the direction of the VIP box in the stands. Scanning the group of familiar faces—family and friends of my teammates—I search for the one person I hoped would show up.
Distinct pink hair.
Ocean blue eyes.
But she’s not there. She never is.
Instead, I’m met with the friendly smile of her brother. My best friend Dylan has his fist thrust in the air, mouth open with a cheer ringing through his vocal cords. I can’t hear him, but I feel it all the same.
A rough hand pounds onto my shoulder, pulling my attention back to the field and squeezing the muscle tightly. I glance over and see that it’s Austin.
“Drinks at the pub?” he asks, waggling his brows.
“I don’t know. I’m pretty beat.” Plus Dylan’s here, and he’ll want to go grab a bite. I don’t say it out loud, but I don’t think I have the energy for both of their personalities right now. “Plus I have to head out to the ranch in a couple hours.”
My parents own Fox Den Ranch out in Deerbrook Valley, which is about an hour away from Bridge Point.
I told them I’d go out and check on the property once or twice for them since they’re in Colorado visiting our extended family.
They have staff who’s there regularly, maintaining it and taking care of the horses, but the ranch isn’t their main house, and they’re diligent in making sure someone is out there a few times a month to oversee the property.
Aside from that, it just sits until me or my brother feels like heading up for a little R and R, but with Cody’s wife being sick, and having a three-year-old to care for, weekends at the ranch aren’t high on his priority list.
Twenty minutes later, I’m showered, dressed, and saying goodbye to my teammates as I walk through the locker room with my duffle slung over my shoulder, still riding the high of another Bears win.
The air changes the moment I push open the door, hot and humid disappearing to fresh and cool. Dylan’s standing just beyond the threshold waiting for me with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Dude, you and those freaking catches, I swear.” We clasp hands and pull each other into a bro-hug. “Good game, man.”
“Thanks for being there.”
We fall into step as we weave our way through the corridor. The stadium has emptied significantly, but as always, hundreds of people linger, hoping to catch a glimpse of the players as they leave.
It’s still surreal I’m one of those players, and people—fans—lose their minds when they see me.
It’s a feeling I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to.
Shouts of my name threaten to distract me with every step as Dylan and I try to slip through the crowd. I have to force myself to focus on the conversation, listening to my friend as he fills me in on the last couple of weeks of his life.
Dylan is a solo adventurist. He thrives on traveling and just got back from a spur of the moment, week-long trip to Tahiti. The waves were calling to him he said when he called me from the airport, about to board his flight.
“Do you wanna grab some grub?” he asks, bumping into my shoulder once he finishes his long-winded update of his trip.
“Yeah, sounds good. Any place in mind?” My eyes connect unintentionally with a pretty blonde’s, and I tip my head in acknowledgement as we pass by.
“No, I’m down for anything.”
I’m doing my best to get out undetected, but I can still hear the not-so-subtle gasps from people as I walk by.
Pulling my baseball cap lower on my head, I keep my gaze cast downward, tightening the hold on my duffle.
Our pace quickens, and after a few more minutes, our feet finally hit the sidewalk.
I make a split decision and veer us left, heading toward a nearby sports bar. It’s not the most discreet place to dine, but they usually have a few tables in the back saved for if any of the Bears players want to have a bite to eat after a game.
The noise amplified from the busy city street shifts into loud chatter and clanging dishes when we enter the restaurant. Dylan checks in with the hostess, and within seconds we’re ushered to a private back patio.
A couple of my other teammates are already seated at tables with their loved ones. I nod to them as we take our seats, but have no interest in going over to make small talk. The hostess places our menus in front of us and lets us know our server will be with us shortly.
“So, that was quite a game.” Dylan looks over the menu, addressing me without looking up from it. “It was nice to see you play. Sorry I’ve missed a couple.”
“I don’t expect you to be at every one.” I know what I want, so I put my menu back on the table. “But yeah, thanks for coming. Still jet-lagged?”
“You have no fuckin’ idea. I’m exhausted.” With perfect timing, he stifles a yawn. “Where’s the next game at? Maybe I can come to that one, too.”
“We have two more games here next week, then we fly down to Rosemoor in two weeks.”
“Oh I bet you’re excited for that game. You guys just love the Rebels.” The sarcasm is thick in his voice as he teases about our rivalry with the team down in Southern California.
“Oh yeah.” I laugh. “They’re our best friends for sure.”
“How’s life besides baseball?” Dylan prompts, scanning the restaurant. Finally, he places his menu on the table. “What did I miss while I was gone?”
“Same shit, different day. Just been spending time with Cody whenever I can, trying to help out with Bodhi.”
“How’s Eva doing?”
“Not good.” I shake my head as my gaze falls to my lap. My sister-in-law’s been battling Hodgkin lymphoma and is going through intense chemotherapy. A knot forms in my throat as I think about her, my brother, and my nephew.
Dylan’s mouth downturns. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, it sucks.” My words hang heavy between us, but I don’t let them linger. “How’s everything else with you? Still house hunting?”
“Eh. A little here and there but nothing serious. My place is fine, I’m just getting up there in age and feel like it’s time to own something—sink some roots in.”
My eyebrows raise in surprise. “Giving up traveling?”
“Definitely not.” Dylan grins. “But I might hang around for a while this time. Keep an eye on things.”
Alarm bells ring in my head. “What do you mean ‘keep an eye on things’?”
“I don’t know.” Dylan shakes his head, but any further explanation dies on his tongue as the waitress approaches.
His gaze rakes over her when she greets us.
The solemnness in his tone disappears instantly and is replaced by the charm Dylan’s known for, laying the flirting on thick as she takes our order.
When she leaves, I cock my head, not willing to let his cryptic words go. Something tight and unnerving has settled in my stomach, my instincts telling me to press him further—I know he means to watch over Indy, and I want to know why. “What do you need to keep an eye on?”
Dylan scrubs his hand down his face, his charm slipping enough for me to see a different emotion that doesn’t sit well either. Worry. “Indy told me about her new boyfriend.”
My heart plummets. Bile rises in my esophagus at the thought of her with any man other than me. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed—I still want her. Still can’t stand the thought of someone else doing the things I long to do with her.
I mask my irritation as my hand curls into a fist on my lap. “New boyfriend?”
“Yeah. She swears it’s not serious and that they’re just having some fun.” He shudders at the thought, but all it does is make my blood boil. “I’m not a fan of the dude.”
With my elbows on the table, I lean forward, engrossed in the conversation. “You’ve met him? What don’t you like about him?”
Dylan’s shoulders lift indifferently. “I don’t know. He’s a biker. Don’t love that.”
“How did she meet him?”
“How do you think?”
My eyes narrow. Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back in the metal chair. “The bar?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he a part of the gang?”
Indy works at a bar in Ridgewood that also doubles as a clubhouse for the city’s vigilante motorcycle club. To say I hate her surrounded by a bunch of bikers, potentially putting herself in danger simply because of the company she keeps, is an understatement.
“Not that I am aware of”—his brows crumple as he thinks about it—“but I think he wants to be with the way she said he hangs around. He's one of their regulars.”
“Why would she start dating a regular?”
I’m well aware I’m peppering Dylan with questions he likely wouldn’t know the answers to, and that I shouldn’t give a shit about the answers to, but I can’t help it. I need to know.
It’s baffling how after all these years he still has no idea I’m in love with Indy.
“Beats me.” He shrugs again. “I thought that shit wasn’t allowed, but she’s proving me wrong.”
I bark a laugh to hide my disdain. My stomach twists as the waitress returns with our drinks, placing them down in front of us. She flashes a megawatt smile at Dylan and sashays away again.
“If she says it’s not serious, why are you referring to him as her boyfriend?” I press.
Picking up his beer, he takes a long sip of it, swinging his gaze to one of the flat screens across the patio with UFC recaps playing. “Because she referred to him as her boyfriend,” he finally says when his drink’s half gone.
She referred to him as her boyfriend?
Anger burns through me, intensifying with each passing second I sit here and stew. Dylan returns his attention to the TV, and I tap my fingers against the sticky wood table.
To my knowledge, Indy’s never classified anyone as a boyfriend before, and that’s a hard pill to swallow.
For years I’ve held onto the notion of there someday being an us. I’ve held onto that lingering piece of hope that because neither of us had ever gotten serious with someone, we were holding out for each other.
Now she’s calling another man her boyfriend, probably out doing God knows what with him right this very second, and I’m sitting across the table from her brother about to share a meal with him like he didn’t just drop a grenade directly onto my lap and watch it explode.
So what the hell am I going to do about it?