Chapter Twenty-One
It’s insane how easily Gareth and I fell into something that felt an awful lot like domestic bliss after those couple days spent at the ranch together.
Like life stood still until this moment, then it was all speed ahead for us, but I fear I’m one orgasm away from becoming a trad wife, and that terrifies me.
I’ve never been a woman who dreams of marriage and babies, but I think that’s because I’ve never allowed myself to envision it with anyone other than Gareth. It’s always been him, and when I couldn’t have him, I didn’t want to think of a future with anyone else.
He makes me feel like I can have everything, though.
Time’s zipped by these last few days—lazy mornings spent in bed blending into hectic evenings.
Hours slip past in a blur of sex-drunk happiness, and Gareth cooking shirtless in my kitchen.
On days we’ve had to work, we fill the moments texting when we can and making plans for the second we can be back in each other’s arms. I’ve been to two more games, lucky that the Bears have had a streak of home games where I’ve gotten to watch him play, admiring how baseball is so ingrained within him, he can anticipate what’s going to happen before it does.
Tonight, though, the Bears are in New York, playing against the Crowns. The team flew out last night.
It was the first time I’d slept alone in days, and his absence was tangible.
He left an empty space both between the sheets and somewhere deeper, locked inside my rib cage.
I woke up more than once, half expecting to find him curled up against me, arm lazily draped across my waist, but his side of the bed was cold instead.
“Punk Princess!”
Rosie’s voice snaps me out of my spiral.
Her stiletto boots clap sharply against the bar’s concrete floor as she saunters in my direction, looking like a biker’s wet dream in her skintight leather pants and white crop top.
Her lips are painted cherry red, her hair half-up, half-down, intentionally messy and pulled back in a claw clip.
She passes a coffee across the counter just as I yawn, both of us having come in early this morning to restock.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Her eyes glitter, far too wide-eyed and bushy-tailed for nine am.
“Hey,” I grumble, covering my mouth with the crook of my elbow as my word turns into a yawn. “What’s the plan for this morning?”
She hesitates for just a second—just long enough to raise suspicion before scrunching her nose, failing to suppress a smile. “Yeah…about that.” Reaching into her back pocket, she procures an envelope and extends to me.
“What’s this?” My stomach flips as I take it from her fingers.
Inside is a boarding pass.
I stare at it, then back at her, before looking down at it again, actually reading it this time. Ridgewood to LaGuardia. First class. Departure ten am.
The clock on the wall ticks, taunting me. It’s nine fifteen.
LaGuardia.
New York?
“What is this?” I repeat, my heart rate kicking up.
“Better call a rideshare,” Rosie singsongs, hoisting a bag onto the stool beside her. “Or I can have Cain drive you, but you’d have to hop on the back of the bike.”
My gaze shifts to the bag, realization clicking into place.
That’s my bag.
The pieces of the puzzle shift into place. “I’m going to New York?”
Rosie grins. “Lover boy swung by last night on his way out of town. Packed you a bag and handed me your ticket, asked me to make sure you got to the airport in time. You’re going to New York, baby girl.”
“But I work tonight,” I argue weakly, excitement quickly taking the place of hesitation.
Rosie rolls her eyes, waving her hand dismissively.
“Good thing your boss already gave you the night off. And the rest of the weekend.” She smirks, then turns, heading back to her office.
“Have fun in Manhattan. And say hi to Sly and Nixon for me if you guys cross paths! Miss having those two around.”
Manhattan.
I’ve always dreamed of visiting the East Coast and immersing myself in the wonder and chaos I’ve only ever seen in my favorite shows and movies—the feeling that only New York can give you from wandering through the crowded sidewalks and staring up at the skyscrapers.
Gareth isn’t just giving me this opportunity, he’s taken the initiative to plan every last detail to make sure I not only get to check off this bucket list item but experience it with him.
He bought the ticket, packed my bag, and left everything with the one person he knew would make sure I made it to the airport in time.
Excitement blooms in my chest and I clutch the boarding pass tighter, slinging the bag over my shoulder. I don’t make it a single step before Rosie’s voice grabs my attention again.
“Hey, Punk Princess!” She sticks her head out of her office. “Called you a car. It’ll be here in five.”
A giddy, bubbling feeling erupts in my chest. “You’re the best,” I shout back.
Spinning on my heel, I’m grinning like an idiot when I push through the doors of Andromeda, the sunlight warm but blinding.
Nerves settle as I wait for the car, palms sweating as the reality sinks in. My small city buzzes around me, but it seems like time stands still as I wait for my car.
Finally, it shows up, and I pull open the door, smiling at the older gentleman as I slide into the backseat.
Just as my seatbelt clicks into place, my phone buzzes. I bite my lip, hands trembling slightly with nervous energy—or is it excitement?
Golden Boy
See you soon, Trouble.
I don’t respond, but lean back against my seat and clutch the phone to my chest like it’s a lifeline as Ridgewood blurs past my window.
I’m on my way to the airport. I’m going to Manhattan.
And Gareth is waiting for me.
By the time the plane touches down at LaGuardia, I’m a ball of nerves, my chest tight from the anxiety of landing. The plane feels like it’s going way too fast for the runway; the howling of the wheels grinding to a stop scream through the cabin.
Finally, when the plane slows and we’re taxiing to the gate, I let out a breath.
I’m here.
Powering my phone back up, I check the time, not bothering to send Gareth a message.
I knew by the time I arrived his game would have already started.
Hopefully I’ll make it for at least half the game.
I spent the entire flight agonizing over whether I should rent a car or just call for a rideshare, ultimately deciding to just get a cab. It’ll be the quickest option.
The passengers ahead of me start to get off the plane, so I stand, reaching for my bag in the overhead compartment. It was small enough to be stowed as a carry-on, and I’m grateful not to have to wait for a checked bag.
When I step out of the tunnel and into the terminal, I’m hit with a wave of impatient chatter, loudspeaker announcements, and the scent of coffee from the small coffee bar across from the gate.
All around me, anxious travelers drag suitcases, and accents and different languages overlap as groups pass me by.
I walk as quickly as my feet will carry me, following the signs to baggage claim knowing that’s the way out. Hopping onto an escalator, I take it down, checking the time on my phone again.
The game just started.
When I step off, I look up, spotting my name, neatly written on a sign in bold black marker, held by a man in a nice black suit.
Gareth really thought of everything.
Approaching the man, I give a small wave. “Hi. I’m Indy Archer.”
He nods, lowering the sign like he’s tired of holding it. “Charles Pierce, Ms. Archer. Pleasure to meet you. Let’s get you over to the stadium.”
Charles leads me to a black town car idling by the curb just outside the automatic doors and opens the passenger door. A man sitting in the driver's seat surprises me, but he tips his hat and offers me a warm smile. “Hello Ms. Archer, I’m Stewart. How was your flight?”
I pull my seatbelt across my lap, buckling it into place. “It was good, thank you.”
“Mr. Fox has given us instructions for you to leave your bag in the car while you’re enjoying the game.
” Stewart makes eye contact with me from the rearview mirror before pulling out onto the street.
“We will be in the back lot waiting for him to call when you’re ready to be picked up and taken to your next destination. ”
“Where is the next destination?” I ask curiously, peeking at my phone again.
“Mr. Fox thought you might ask that question, and due to his excellent intuition, I’ve been instructed not to say.” He flashes me an apologetic smile through the mirror.
I return it graciously.
Of course Gareth told them to keep their mouths shut. Why would he not?
The city flashes by the car window, streaks of brick and steel, honking cars, and the sun fading into darkness. I never tear my eyes from the window, completely entranced by the cityscape emerging before me.
When the stadium comes into view, a sense of peace washes over me.
My drivers drop me off near the front entrance, spilling me out into a sea of fans, most of which are wearing the Crown’s team colors, plum and black. I stick out like a sore thumb in my Bears jersey and ripped jeans, but I keep my head held high as I enter the stadium.
Inside, the noise amplifies. Following the signs, I make my way to the VIP box and find my seat. There’s only two other people in the box—an elderly man and woman. Someone’s parents, I assume. I smile at them as I drop into the hard plastic stadium seat and lean forward, staring down at the field.
There he is.
Fox, number twenty-seven.
Already in position at third, eyes honed in on the Crown’s player up to bat. I take a second to drink Gareth in, mouth salivating at the way his white baseball pants hug his ass, and the way the cuffs of his shirt accentuate his biceps.
I’m no better than a man.
The batter hits the ball, and it sails into the outfield. The outfielder catches it effortlessly before whipping it over to second, effectively taking out the Crown’s player who strayed first.
A double play, like it was nothing.
I’m on my feet in an instant, cheers pouring out of me like it’s my job, and it feels as if Gareth hears me, his eyes lifting to mine, even though there’s no realistic way he can.
The world stops, only for a second, but for that moment it’s just the two of us. His face breaks into a grin so wide and genuine, I feel all the air rush from my lungs as I gasp, wishing I could jump into his arms and kiss him senseless.
He winks, then turns back to the game.
Everything blurs into sound and excitement—the crack of the bat, the crowd cheering and singing. The Bears took an early lead against the Crowns and it’s been full speed ahead, with a few quick glances up to where I sit. Then Gareth scores the final home run of the night, leading them to victory.
The team erupts around him, celebrating their win.
Ripping off his helmet, Gareth’s hair is a sweaty mess, but his eyes are bright when they find mine. “I love you,” he mouths just before his teammates Austin and Jensen pull him further into the cohort of jerseys and laughter on the field.
My fingers curl tight around the railing, leaning over to watch them while my heart hums with the energy in the air.
I can’t believe I let myself miss out on years of this feeling.
Of him.
Of those looks. Those winks.
And those three little words mouthed from the field that hit harder than the game-winning ball.