Chapter 28
Kenzie
Several worst-case scenarios skip through my mind like obnoxious mean girls touting, “Told you so.” The leading contenders are that both Aaron and Trevor are in on some nefarious plan to humiliate me in front of the team—mission accomplished.
That Trevor entered into a bet with Aaron to get me to date him before Aaron could acquire another fiancée—which sounds like a poorly plotted rom-com.
And the most painful one: Trevor’s and my relationship is all a hoax.
That last one hurts the most because, as much as everything between Trevor and me feels real, what if I was deluding myself?
Even as that thought fires off, my gut doesn’t believe it.
Trevor is a good man. Or at least I think so?
What if I can’t trust my instincts with him either?
After all, that’s what I’d learned with Aaron—that I’m too na?ve to know better.
The desire to be in my parents’ kitchen overwhelms me.
It’s so juvenile to want to run home to Mom at twenty-six, but if this is the worst-case scenario I fear it might be, I’m going to need my mother’s patchouli-scented arms and her honey cakes.
Dozens of them. I hope she’s stocked up on flour because—
“Aaron tricked you into an engagement under false pretenses,” Trevor says with a wince, almost as if it hurts him.
A twinge of guilt slices through me that I’d even doubted him for a second. Trevor would never do anything to cause me pain. He’s been nothing but supportive since the day I met him, and these last few weeks, I’ve come to understand what a healthy romantic relationship is supposed to be like.
My gaze cuts to Aaron, but his only response is a bored shrug. “I don’t understand why we’re even talking about this. We have media in twenty minutes.”
“For once, I agree with Lawson,” Patrick says, pushing off the wall. “Everyone, shower up. Get ready. Chapman you can escort your guest—”
“Hold on.” I lift my hands out in front of me. “Why?”
Aaron rolls his eyes like We’re really doing this? before releasing a nasally exhale. “I have a cash flow problem.”
“You’re a major league baseball player.”
He snorts, indignant. “That doesn’t mean I have the kind of money I should have, especially since some players take up more of the team’s resources than others.”
When Aaron glares at Trevor, my hands fist at my sides.
“So you’re in want of a wife because some evil family member is going to write you out of their will or something?”
Tenny gasps, clutching his tennis necklace. “How’d you know?”
“Romance fan,” I say flatly, not taking my eyes off my scheming ex. “Basic marriage-of-convenience setup.”
Aaron shrugs again. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I want,” I say, edging closer, “for you to admit that leading me on until I agreed to marry you when you couldn’t care less about me was a crappy thing to do. It’s right up there with kicking puppies or stealing all the toys from the Whos on Christmas Eve.”
“It’s not a big deal.” He glances around for backup, but none of his teammates are on his side. In fact, they look incensed on my behalf.
“It was to me,” I tell him, coming toe to toe. “And I deserve an apology.”
Aaron is several inches taller than me, but a sense of strength ribbons through me as I stand up to him.
My chin is tilted to a gloriously defiant degree, my muscles steady.
Me from a few months ago would have been quaking with nerves while avoiding eye contact, but in this moment, I feel not only fearless but powerful.
“Apologize.” The demand comes from somewhere deep in my core.
He glances around, that smug expression curving toward his raised brows.
An eerie calm washes over me as I take a steady inhale. “Very well. You leave me no choice.”
Then I pull back my elbow and punch my ex in the face.
“Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.” I rock myself on a bench in the hallway because I just destroyed my chances of ever being let back into the Waves stadium.
Punching one of their starting pitchers?
What was I thinking? I mean, Aaron undoubtedly deserved it, but still.
Now, I’ll never be able to attend one of Trevor’s home games.
Tension squeezes my skull as I blink to keep the tears from falling.
My hand stings like a sonofagun, but it’s the long-term repercussions that make me want to cry.
I wish I’d considered them when Aaron had been smirking down at me.
In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to curate a repertoire of various disguises. Maybe different aliases too?
Frustrated, I shrug off the too-hot flannel and get to work ripping through all the duct tape attaching Mallory’s throw pillow to my white tank top. I wish I had a pair of shorts to change into, but I settle for rolling up my borrowed sweats to my knees.
“Impressive.” One of the trainers—Margo?—hands me a bag of ice for my bruised knuckles. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months, and I wasn’t emotionally manipulated by the jerk.”
She sits beside me, leaning back against the wall.
Everyone else is where they’re supposed to be—media, ice baths, getting cuts taped up—before they receive their post-game meal.
Trevor is still wearing his dirty uniform in a meeting with Patrick and the general manager, Terry Hoffmeyer, who happened to be on site because he’d brought his kids to tonight’s game.
“I screwed up,” I tell her.
She clicks her teeth. “Maybe. Maybe not. There’s been a lot of murmuring in the background.”
Before I can ask Margo what she means by that, the door to Patrick’s office opens, and Trevor closes the distance in two large strides. He collapses to his knees in front of me, taking my busted hand in both of his.
“I’m sorry, Kenz. For so much.”
In the background, I register Patrick and the GM continuing down the hall. Margo drifts off as well.
“This is my fault,” I remind him.
Trevor shakes his head, not taking his gaze off the slight nick between my first and second knuckles. He keeps staring at that tiny scratch like it’s a bullet wound. Then his thumb traces my other knuckles before he brings them to his lips.
“This will never happen again,” he tells me, his voice harder than I’ve ever heard it.
I suck in a rough inhale as sparks shimmy down my spine. There is nothing better than knowing that someone is in your corner, caring for you, protecting you. But the fierce tension vibrating off Trevor is almost palpable. His jaw is so tight I worry that he’ll break a tooth.
I undoubtedly mucked things up with my rash—and very much illegal—decision to punch Aaron, but Trevor shouldn’t be this tense over my mistake.
Time to lighten the mood.
My shoulders slide back as I set a sly grin on my lips. “I know you love to be the big, bad protective type, but I’m pretty sure I just proved I’m strong enough to handle things myself. Did you see the way Aaron’s head snapped back?”
When Trevor’s gaze flicks to my face, I raise my eyebrows. “Not bad for someone who crunches numbers all day.”
His fingers frame my cheeks as a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
“I’m more than incredible. I’m scrappy.”
This gets the response I’d hoped for. Trevor’s laugh tumbles free as his shoulders settle. The tension in his eyes washes away like a sandcastle built too close to the waves, slowly, in gentle passes.
“There he is,” I murmur, leaning until my nose brushes his.
Trevor’s eyes run a lap around my face before he makes a decision. A different kind of focus replaces the hard frustration that had been there a moment ago.
“Kenzie, I—
“Aaron agreed not to press charges.” Patrick leans against the wall, a handful of steps away.
A shout bursts from my mouth as I jump in surprise, nearly breaking Trevor’s nose.
“You need to wear a bell or something,” I tell him, hand splayed over my thudding heart.
His mustache twitches like he’s restraining a smile as he drops his crossed arms and pushes off the wall.
“Even with Aaron agreeing to keep the scuffle confined to the clubhouse, this is messy. Terry wants to get ahead of speculation before they can spin too many theories. I agree with him, which is why you’re both heading to media. ”
“Now?” I sputter.
Patrick dips his chin.
The momentary reprieve I felt at not being brought up on assault charges swings into a violent swirl of nausea.
I expected to face public scrutiny but not while also wearing a grandpa costume.
Preferably, I’d have on the adorable outfit I’d worn hours ago—hair coiffed, a barely there sheen of eyeshadow on my eyelids, and my favorite apple lip balm on my lips.
Trevor stands, extending his hand to me. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we can go home.”
Home.
That word feels like a drop of water after days marooned in the desert. Nothing would be better than being at home with Trevor, our sweet fur babies nestled around us.
“Okay.” I slide my shaky hand in his and follow him down the hall.