Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Amelia
I don’t remember driving home.
I remember gripping the steering wheel too tight. I remember the stadium lights shrinking in my rearview mirror. I remember the sound of Kamden’s voice. Angry, sharp, wounded, playing on repeat in my head.
You were supposed to be smarter than this.
That one hurt the most.
By the time I get to my apartment, my chest feels hollowed out.
I kick off my shoes by the door and drop my purse on the counter. The silence is deafening. No stadium noise. No Wilder’s steady voice. No adrenaline.
Just me.
And the wreckage.
I sink onto the couch and press my palms into my eyes, trying to stop the tears that won’t stop coming.
I love Wilder.
That hasn’t changed.
But loving him just detonated my world.
A knock at the door makes my entire body jolt.
For a second, I think it might be Wilder.
But I know it’s not.
The knock comes again. Harder.
I stand slowly and walk to the door, my stomach twisting.
When I open it, Kamden is standing there.
His jaw is tight. His knuckles still red.
“Can I come in?” he asks, voice rough.
I step aside without a word.
He walks in slowly, looking around like this place is suddenly unfamiliar to him. Like I am.
The door clicks shut behind him.
Neither of us speak for a long moment.
Then he looks at me.
“How long?” he asks quietly.
“A few weeks,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself.
He exhales sharply through his nose.
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie,” I whisper. “I just didn’t tell you.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not,” I say, my voice cracking. “Lying is saying nothing’s happening. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
He turns to face me fully now.
“You didn’t think I deserved to know my best friend was sleeping with my sister?”
The word sleeping makes my stomach twist.
“It’s not just that,” I say. “It’s not just sex.”
He laughs bitterly. “It never is at first.”
Anger flickers through me.
“You don’t get to reduce this,” I snap. “You don’t get to make it sound cheap.”
His eyes flash.
“You have no idea what I’ve watched him do, Amelia.”
“And you have no idea what I’ve seen in him,” I fire back.
Silence crashes between us.
He runs a hand over his face, exhaustion replacing some of the fury.
“I trusted him,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
“He was my brother.”
“And you’re mine,” I say, stepping closer. “You always will be.”
His eyes lift to mine, and for the first time tonight, I see more hurt than anger.
“You almost got hurt once because of a baseball player,” he says, voice softer now. “I heard you screaming on that field. I can still hear it sometimes.”
My breath catches.
“That was different,” I say gently. “That was someone who didn’t care about me.”
“And you’re so sure he does?” Kamden asks.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
He studies my face, searching for doubt.
He doesn’t find it.
“He said he’d request a transfer,” Kamden mutters.
“I didn’t ask him to,” I say quickly. “I don’t want him to. I don’t want anyone sacrificing their career because of me.”
“You think he’d actually do it?”
“Yes.”
Kamden looks away, jaw working.
“I don’t recognize him around you,” he admits. “He’s different.”
“He is,” I whisper. “With me. He is.”
He sinks down onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees.
“I was scared,” I say quietly, sitting across from him. “Not of him. Of losing you. Of losing my internship. Of everything blowing up.”
“Well,” he mutters, “that part came true.”
Tears sting again.
“I love him,” I say.
The words hang heavy.
Kamden closes his eyes for a second.
“When did that happen?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Somewhere between him spreading his father’s ashes and him telling me I never had to be scared again.”
That one hits him.
He swallows hard.
“You really believe that?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He looks at me for a long time.
“You’re not a kid anymore,” he says finally.
“No,” I reply softly. “I’m not.”
Silence settles between us, but it’s different now. Less explosive. More uncertain.
“I’m pissed,” he says honestly.
“I know.”
“And I don’t trust him.”
“I know that too.”
“But…” He hesitates. “I don’t want to lose you over this.”
My chest cracks open a little at that.
“You won’t,” I whisper.
He stands, pulling me into a hug before I can stop him.
It’s tight. Protective. Familiar.
“I need time,” he says into my hair.
“Take it.”
“And if he hurts you—”
“He won’t.”
“And if he does,” he continues, ignoring me, “I will end him.”
A small, broken laugh escapes me.
“That sounds about right.”
He pulls back, studying my face one more time.
“Don’t make me regret trusting you,” he says quietly.
“I won’t.”
He nods once and heads for the door.
When it closes behind him, I lean back against it, heart still aching but steadier.
It’s not fixed.
Not even close.
But it’s not destroyed either.
And for now that’s enough.
Because Kamden finding out is just the beginning.
I barely sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Kamden’s fist hitting Wilder’s face. I hear the crack in his voice when he said You were supposed to be smarter than this. I replay the way Wilder stood there, bleeding and unflinching, defending me.
And then there’s the silence.
No call.
No text.
Not even a simple Are you okay?
That silence is louder than the stadium ever was.
By the time I pull into the players’ parking lot, my stomach is in knots. I sit in my car longer than I should, staring at the stadium like it might swallow me whole.
This place used to feel exciting.
Now it feels like a battlefield.
I finally step out, smoothing down my blazer, forcing my shoulders back. I am a professional. I worked too hard to crumble now.
The hallways feel different. Conversations hush when I pass. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Paranoia has a way of filling in blanks.
I step into Susan’s office, and she’s already there.
She looks up slowly.
“Amelia,” she says carefully.
My pulse spikes.
“We need to talk.”
Of course we do.
I close the door behind me, forcing my hands not to shake.
“Is this about last night?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
Susan folds her hands on her desk. “Coach Carson told me there was an incident in the stands.”
My chest tightens.
“There was a misunderstanding,” I say quickly.
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Between Kamden and Wilder.”
I don’t answer.
She exhales. “Amelia, I need you to be honest with me. Is there something going on between you and Wilder?”
The room feels too small.
My mind races. Lie? Deflect? Protect?
Before I can respond, the door swings open.
Wilder steps in.
Behind him is Coach Carson.
Oh God.
Wilder’s eyes find mine instantly. There’s apology there. And determination.
Coach Carson shuts the door hard enough that the sound makes me jump.
“What the hell is going on?” he demands.
Susan stands. “That’s what I was just asking.”
Wilder steps forward. “It’s not complicated.”
“It looks complicated from where I’m standing,” Coach snaps. “My starting pitcher just got into a fight with his catcher in the middle of the stadium.”
Wilder doesn’t flinch.
“That fight,” he says evenly, “was about Amelia.”
Susan’s face drains of color.
I feel like I’m standing outside my own body.
Coach Carson turns to me slowly. “Is that true?”
I swallow.
“Yes.”
The word hangs there like a grenade.
“Define about,” Susan says, her voice tight now.
Wilder moves closer to me. Not touching, but close enough that I feel his presence at my side.
“We’re together,” he says.
Susan’s eyes snap to him. “You’re what?”
“We’re in love,” he clarifies.
Coach Carson mutters a curse under his breath.
“How long?” Susan asks.
“A few weeks,” I admit.
Her disappointment is worse than anger.
“Amelia,” she says quietly. “We talked about professional boundaries.”
“I know,” I whisper.
Coach Carson runs a hand over his face. “This is exactly the kind of distraction we cannot afford.”
“It’s not a distraction,” Wilder fires back.
“You punched your catcher in the mouth last night!”
“He punched me.”
“And why was he punching you?” Coach roars.
“Because he found out I’m in love with his sister,” Wilder says without hesitation.
The room goes silent.
Susan looks at me, hurt etched across her features. “You let me compliment your professionalism yesterday.”
Guilt crashes over me.
“I didn’t plan this,” I say, my voice breaking. “It just happened.”
“It always ‘just happens,’” she replies softly.
Coach Carson points at Wilder. “Do you understand the position this puts the team in? The league?”
“Yes,” Wilder says. “And I told Amelia last night I’d request a transfer if that’s what it takes.”
My head snaps toward him. “Wilder.”
“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not letting her take the fall for this.”
Coach stares at him. “You’d walk away from this team?”
“If it protects her career,” he says without hesitation.
Susan’s eyes flick between us.
“You both understand,” she says slowly, “that if the league deems this inappropriate, it’s her license and internship on the line first.”
The words hit like a punch.
Coach exhales. “This is a mess.”
“It’s not a mess,” Wilder says. “It’s two people who fell in love.”
“And fell into a professional conflict of interest,” Susan counters.
I feel small. Exposed. Torn between defending us and defending my career.
“I can step down,” I say suddenly.
Both of them turn to me.
“What?” Wilder says sharply.
“I can transfer to another team,” I continue. “Another department. I won’t let this destroy everything.”
“No,” Wilder says immediately.
Coach Carson studies me carefully. “That might be the cleanest solution.”
My chest tightens.
Susan looks conflicted. “Amelia is one of the best interns I’ve ever had.”
“Then don’t let her sacrifice it,” Wilder says. “If anyone moves, it’s me.”
“This isn’t your call alone,” Coach snaps.
Silence settles thick and heavy.
Finally, Coach Carson points at both of us. “Until I speak with league officials, this stays quiet. No public displays. No distractions. You two focus on your jobs.”
His eyes harden. “One more incident like last night and I make the decision for you.”
He turns and walks out.
Susan lingers.
“I believed in you,” she says to me quietly.
“I didn’t lie to you,” I whisper. “I just fell in love.”
Her expression softens just slightly.
“Love doesn’t exempt you from consequences,” she says gently.
Then she leaves.
The room feels hollow.
Wilder turns to me, searching my face.
“Why haven’t you called me?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His jaw tightens. “I was trying to handle this. Talk to Coach before you walked into it blind.”
“You could’ve told me.”
“I didn’t want you worrying more.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. “Too late.”
He steps closer now, lowering his voice.
“We’ll fix this,” he says.
I don’t know if that’s true.
But when his hand brushes mine, it's subtle, hidden from cameras and doors and watching eyes.
I realize we just went from a secret romance to a public problem.
And there’s no going back now.