Chapter 30
thirty
. . .
Lucas
As the private elevator to the owner’s box rises smoothly, my stomach does the opposite. Jess glances at me, and her lips quirk into a smile.
“Nervous, Carmichael?” She squeezes my hand, and the gold band on her finger catches the light.
“Meeting your father as your husband is slightly different from meeting him as Austin’s teammate,” I admit, adjusting my collar. “The last time I saw him was after a USC game. He was officially scouting Austin.”
“Relax. Dad already loves you by proxy.” She reaches up to straighten my shirt, and her fingers linger at my collar. The documentary cameraman shifts position to capture the moment. “He’s just thrilled that I’m married to someone who understands baseball.”
When the doors open, we’re greeted by the expansive luxury of the California Devils' owner’s box. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the stadium, where players warm up on the field. Sam Lexington strides toward us, his imposing height belied by the warmth in his eyes.
“Lucas Carmichael!” He envelops me in a bear hug that nearly knocks the wind out of me. “About time my daughter brought you around. Welcome to the family, son.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor to be here,” I say, meaning it more than he knows.
“None of that ‘sir’ business. It’s Sam.” He wraps an arm around Jess. “You’ve been keeping this one all to yourself, sweetheart. Married almost four months, and this is the first time you bring him to a game?”
“We’ve been busy, Dad,” Jess says as a blush creeps up her neck.
The blush isn’t entirely for show. Last night’s activities would have given the documentary crew enough footage for an entirely different kind of film. The memory of Jess arching beneath me sends heat through my body, and I force my thoughts elsewhere before it gets awkward.
Austin appears, and he claps me on the shoulder. “Lucas! Hope you’re ready to see some real baseball.”
“As opposed to the college ball we played?” I counter with a grin.
“You know what I mean.” Austin laughs. “Professional versus amateur.”
Garrett, Jess’s older brother, approaches with a more measured pace. His handshake is firm, his assessment shrewd. “So, you’re the PR guy who swept my sister off her feet,” he says, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Interesting career choice for a Carmichael.”
“Garrett,” Jess warns.
“It’s ok,” I say easily. “My father had similar thoughts. But I’ve always preferred shaping narratives to legislation.”
Garrett studies me for a moment and then nods. “Fair enough. Jess seems happy. That’s what matters.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Sam interjects, looking at his daughter with obvious pride. His voice drops as he adds, “Never seen her like this with anyone else.”
The comment hits me harder than expected. It hasn’t been a charade for a while now, but hearing others observe what I hope to be true is validating.
Jess slides her arm around my waist. “Food’s out, guys. Lucas, come meet everyone else.”
For the next half hour, I’m introduced to what feels like most of the Devils’ administration and more family and friends.
Jess remains at my side, her body a warm constant against mine.
We no longer use the cameras as the excuse to touch, lean into each other, or share private smiles. None of this is a performance anymore.
There’s something about the easy way the Lexingtons interact that enamors me.
Sam’s booming laugh, Austin’s playful ribbing, even Garrett’s protective watchfulness—it all feels so natural, so comfortable, nothing like the calculated conversations and political undertones of gatherings at my parents’ home.
I watch Jess roll her eyes at something Austin says and then catch her father’s knowing wink in response, and something clicks into place inside me.
This is what family can be—warm, genuine, connected.
I find myself imagining Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas mornings with these people, wondering what Jess would look like opening presents by a tree or how her laugh would echo through a house that’s ours, not just mine and with her temporarily inhabiting it.
“So, Lucas,” Sam says as we settle into our seats for the first pitch, “how are you finding married life?”
The cameras aren’t close enough to catch our conversation over the roar of the crowd. I could give a generic answer, but something about Sam’s genuine interest makes me honest.
“It’s been surprising,” I admit. “In good ways.”
Sam nods, his eyes on the field. “Love’s like that. Knocks you sideways when you least expect it.”
“Dad’s the resident expert on great love stories,” Austin adds, leaning over with a beer. “Still wears Mom’s ring on a chain.”
Sam’s hand drifts to his chest, where I can now see the outline of something beneath his shirt. “When you find the real thing, you know it,” he says simply. “Seems like you two found it, too.”
I’m saved from responding by the crack of a bat. Everyone jumps up as the Devils’ leadoff hitter sends one deep into right field. Jess cheers loudly, her professional composure forgotten in her enthusiasm.
“She’s been like this since she was little,” Garrett tells me during the seventh-inning stretch. We’re standing by the bar, watching Jess and Austin argue good-naturedly over a disputed call. “Baseball in her blood, journalism in her heart.”
“Like your mother,” I observe, remembering what Jess has told me.
Garrett looks impressed. “She told you about Mom?”
“Some. I know how much she influenced Jess.”
“She doesn’t talk about Mom with just anyone.” Garrett studies me over his scotch. “You must be something special, Carmichael.”
Austin said the same thing, and the weight of his approval feels significant.
Later, as the game winds down with the Devils ahead by two, Jess leans against me and lays her head on my shoulder. The documentary crew has moved to capture fan reactions, giving us a rare moment of privacy.
“Having fun?” she asks, her voice soft.
“More than I expected,” I admit, playing with her fingers. “Your family is great.”
“Even Garrett, with his interrogation techniques?”
“Even Garrett.” I find myself running my thumb over her knuckles, memorizing the feeling. “I like it here. With them. With you. It feels…right.”
The admission surprises me almost as much as it seems to surprise her.
I’ve never been one for sentimentality, always keeping relationships at a safe distance, but sitting here, surrounded by her family, watching her in this element, I’m seeing pieces of Jess that I never knew existed, and I want more. I want all of it.
“Your dad said something earlier,” I continue quietly, “about never seeing you this happy with anyone else.”
Her body tenses slightly before relaxing. “Dad’s got a romantic streak a mile wide.”
“Is he wrong, though?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
She looks up at me, her expression unguarded in a way that makes my heart stutter. “No,” she says finally. “He’s not wrong.”
The moment stretches between us, with neither of us wanting to be the first to break the silence. I’m struck by the realization that four months ago, I was perfectly content with my meticulously ordered life. Now I can’t imagine going back to that solitary existence.
For the first time in my life, I’m thinking about a future that has nothing to do with career goals or familial expectations, but just the simple, terrifying possibility of waking up next to the same person every day.
A person who challenges me, frustrates me, and somehow makes everything in my world sharper, more vibrant, more real.
“Grant’s end-of-summer party in the Hamptons is next weekend,” I say, changing the subject before we venture into territory too dangerous for a public setting.
“I know. Blair’s already planning our annual trip. We usually stay at Brandon’s family's place.” She sits up straighter. “The documentary crew won’t be there. Grant doesn’t allow filming at his private events.”
“I know.” I take a breath. “I was hoping you’d stay with me at Grant’s guesthouse. I can meet you there when your flight gets in.”
The question hangs between us. This is more than our arrangement requires. I’m asking her to share a space with no cameras or witnesses for an entire weekend. The crowd erupts as the Devils clinch the win. In the commotion, Jess leans close, and her lips brush my ear.
“Just us sounds perfect,” she whispers.