Baker
What else is new?
Jett Riggsby has left the chat.
I toss my phone onto the bed and strip the rest of the way down. My bathroom’s outdated—yellow tiles, a sink with a crack running down the middle—but it’s clean. Hot water hisses to life, steam filling the space until the mirror fogs.
Stepping under the spray, I brace my hands against the tile as the heat works through me. My black eye throbs in the steam, the dull ache reminding me of all the times my mom said I’d outgrow my wild streak. Guess not.
The water smells faintly of iron, my sandalwood body wash cutting through it, and for a second, I let myself drift. But there she is again—Wren—rising up with the steam, unshakable.
If I close my eyes, I can still see her in my parents’ house. Barefoot on the couch, watching football games. Hair mussed from long, heated moments in my bedroom. Riding beside me on the tractor, Storm running ahead, laughing like the world was ours.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel the weight of the night I left her. No goodbye. No explanation. Just gone.
Because my father made damn sure I didn’t have a choice. One night of trouble, one mistake too many, a deal with the judge, and the next morning, I was shipped off to basic training before the sun came up.
I carry that with me still—the resentment, the silence, the image of her waiting for me at her house. Boxes and luggage packed so we could start our future together in the one-bedroom apartment we picked out.
She’s back now. And I’m still the same fucked-up kid who broke her heart.
The only difference is, now I’ve got a farm the size of a small country on my shoulders and a war carved in my bones. I don’t know which weight is heavier.
By the time I kill the water and step out, dusk has settled over town, its soft light bleeding through the blinds. I tug on jeans, a clean t-shirt, and grab a hat as I head for the truck.
The softball field sits on the edge of Silo Bay High, tucked behind the football stadium like an afterthought.
But tonight, it’s alive—the metallic ping of bats, kids chasing each other behind the bleachers, parents hollering from their seats.
Floodlights hum overhead, buzzing like cicadas, and the smell of concession stand popcorn drifts over the parking lot.
Levi’s parked in the outfield grass, tailgate down, cooler tucked behind his back, and a stainless-steel mug in his hands.
His daughter’s easy to spot on third base.
Audrey Welles has her dad’s same sharp jaw and competitive fire sparking beneath the brim of her cap. She guards her base like she owns it.
“’Bout time,” Levi says as I climb up onto the tailgate. I reach behind him, popping the top of a beer and pouring it into my own travel mug. “Thought maybe you went to The Spillway instead.”
I groan, taking a sip of cold beer.
Levi grins, eyes fixed on the field. “I heard all about last night from no less than fifteen different people.”
“Fucking Silo Bay and their gossip.”
“You dropped a guy on his ass. Be glad it didn’t hit the front page of the paper.”
I don’t answer. The crowd erupts as Audrey scoops a grounder and slings it across the diamond, the smack of leather on leather echoing. Levi pumps a fist like it’s the World Series.
“That’s my girl,” he shouts, pride written all over him.
I sip my beer, watching her hustle back to position, and something twists in my chest.
Levi was sixteen when Audrey came along.
Two years older than me and already carrying the weight of a grown man while the rest of us were still trying to figure out how to act like we weren’t kids anymore.
Scared, reckless, and stubborn. Everyone said he’d skip out, that he’d turn tail and run the second the responsibility sunk in.
Hell, the whispers were loud enough to drown out half the town.
But it wasn’t him who left. It was her mom.
Senior year, she packed up and split—leaving Levi standing there, a junior with a baby in his arms and the whole damn world doubting he could do it.
Instead, he’s raised one hell of a kid.
And in a way, Audrey isn’t only his. She’s ours.
Each of us has had a hand in her life—rides to practice, homework help, late-night emergency runs when she was sick, teaching her to ride a horse, supporting her hobbies, whether it be softball, volleyball, or showing sheep at the local fair.
Especially Greer. She’s been there since day one, one of two girls in our wild pack back in school.
She slipped into that pseudo-mom role without ever asking for it.
Audrey runs to her for advice the way most kids run to their mothers.
Audrey’s this living, breathing reminder of all of us—our screw-ups, our loyalty, the way we circle wagons when one of us is bleeding. She’s proof that sometimes the people everyone writes off end up standing the tallest.
Me, on the other hand? I can barely keep my own shit together, let alone think about raising anyone else.
Levi cuts a glance my way. “You gonna talk about it? Or sit here and brood like usual?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Bullshit. Wren’s back. You get in a fight her first night out. You think people aren’t going to connect the dots?”
I rake a hand down my face, the stubble rasping against my palm. “I didn’t go looking for it.”
For her.
“Doesn’t matter. You’ve always had blinders on when it comes to Wren.”
The field lights buzz louder, or maybe it’s the blood in my ears. Audrey makes another clean play, and the crowd cheers, but all I hear is Levi’s words pressing into me.
“Well, she’s pissed at me, so she’ll probably be keeping her distance.”
He huffs a dry laugh. “I can imagine being the reason for a bar fight isn’t exactly how she wanted to start her time back in town.”
“Not sure that’s the reason.” Shaking my head, I mutter, “At least not all of it...”
“What do you m—” Eyes pinched, he turns his head to look at me. “She doesn’t know your dad is the reason you left, does she?”
I stay quiet, eyes on the field, my silence the admission.
“Shit, Jett. No wonder she’s pissed. Does she really think you just left her?”
“I think so. Something doesn’t add up, and I can’t figure out what.”
Levi finally gets me to meet his gaze with a grip on my shoulder, steady and unflinching. “So tell her.”
If only it was as simple as that.