Chapter 17
Tessa
Jo
How's the trip? How are you?
I read my latest text from my sister, not in the group chat for once, and look back at Ruthie.
She's on game three of Skee-Ball with the new friends she made about twenty minutes ago—two little girls who visit Grand Oaks together with their families once a year.
They remind me of Jo and I when we were little—one a little quieter and one brassier than the other, but both sweet and silly and capable of making a new best friend in a matter of minutes.
Ruthie glances over, and I wave to her before responding to my sister.
It's fine. I've been hanging with Ruthie around the hotel most of the day while Liam does whatever it is baseball players do before a game—workouts, meetings. The game's in a few hours, so we'll head over soon.
Jo
And you? I can't believe you broke up with Travis.
I sigh, crossing one foot over the other as I lean on the wall behind me.
It's Trevor, but you know that already. And I'm okay. It's for the best. Shitty how it went down, but I think if we're both honest, it should have ended weeks ago.
Jo
Sounds to me like it basically did.
Pretty much.
I can't help the scoff that escapes me as I think about the situation all over again.
It's crazy how when you're so close to something you barely notice the bigger picture.
I always shrugged off Trevor's behavior—sure, he was selfish and dismissive, but I wasn't exactly obsessed with him either.
I justified his actions and the way he treated me because I kept telling myself that the rest of our relationship was good enough.
Good enough to keep me sane, good enough to keep things fun—good enough to make it so I didn't feel like I was doing life alone.
But now I see things much more clearly.
Yes, Trevor was there, but I was always lonely.
He was never really present, and when he was, it was only because he was getting something out of it.
There was no depth to our relationship—we were roommates just going through the motions—and I kept pretending that was good enough because it was easier than admitting that it wasn't, I guess.
My phone buzzes again.
Jo
Agreed. How's Liam been?
I sigh again, staring at the message longer than necessary before my gaze drifts back to Ruthie.
She and the two other girls dance around a ticket strip pouring from the Skee-Ball machine, lights flickering off the metal and reflecting in the smiles on their faces.
I laugh and peer down at Jo's message, still unanswered on the screen.
Liam.
How has Liam been? Different since I pulled up last night, that's for sure.
Eager, light—more like the guy I know he usually is.
But we haven't spoken much since we landed, just a goodnight when we made it to our rooms beside each other and a good morning at breakfast before he ran out for workouts. So, we'll see who I get today.
"Tess!" The sound of Ruthie's voice cuts through the alarms and whistles that are the soundtrack to the hotel arcade. "Tess! Look!"
"Woah, it's like you robbed the place," I joke, grabbing the string of tickets and letting it slide through my fingers.
Ruthie looks at the girls and giggles. "Can we cash them in?"
I glance down at my phone, seeing Jo's text still written across the screen, then check the time. "Yeah, but let's do it now. We don't want to be late for the game."
"Okay." She smiles and turns in toward her friends. "Let's go."
The three prance away toward the ticket counter by the exit, and I follow, using the twenty feet it takes to get there to text my sister back.
Better… I think. Hey, I have to go, but I got another alert this morning. Do I need to worry about you? I'll text you after the game.
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I catch up. "Alright, girls. What can we get?"
"Did you know Norah's dad has a hot rod? That's like a super fast car."
I peer down at Ruthie licking up the side of her plastic baseball hat full of ice cream. "I did not. Did he get that before or after her mom wrote a book?"
She slurps at what's already melted and shrugs. "Not sure."
I hold back a laugh as we proceed toward our seats, the video of the Grand Oaks starting lineup playing in the background.
Ruthie has not stopped talking about her two new friends since we pulled out of the hotel parking lot, and although I'm happy for her, I'm not sure how much more there could be left to share.
"Sera said she drove in it once." She scoops up a glob of cookie dough, nearly elbowing the usher.
"Thanks," I murmur as he points us to the first row.
"Norah's dad drove them in it to a show her dad was playing," she continues as we descend the stairs. I turn my head after each step to make sure she's paying close enough attention not to topple down them.
"He plays guitar. And sings," I think I hear her say as I put my back to the ledge in front of our row. Thankfully, we have the first two seats, so there will be no more potential victims.
I let Ruthie step in first as she shoves the chunk of sugar she definitely doesn't need into her mouth.
The video ends, and up next is the lineup for the Gators.
"Man, they're so cool," she somehow continues as she plops into her seat.
I take the one next to her, quickly scanning the field.
"Hey, do you think they'd be able to come to my birthday—"
"Look, it's your dad." I cut her off, only a tiny bit sorry for interrupting her post-social-outing, current-sugar-high ramble. If I don't end it now, I may know the entire family tree of both girls by first pitch.
I point toward Liam on the big screen as the announcer reads off his position and drags out his first name.
He looks like him but different, his face chiseled, his eyes smiling at each person in the crowd.
Ruthie squeals, her spoon still hanging out of her mouth, and that quick they're on to the next player.
The rest of the lineup plays out, but I’m barely paying attention. I’m still replaying that clip of Liam pointing his glove into the camera. It isn't until the video fades out and guys make their way to the third baseline that I realize why.
I find the player with Montgomery written across his back right above the number twenty-three, and it hits me too late that this is the first time I'm seeing Liam on the field in real-life.
It's surreal—like he's less my boss, less Ruthie's dad, and more the athlete I used to watch from behind the bar at The Pub.
He glances around and something about how much bigger he looks now than from the other side of the screen grabs my attention.
Maybe not physically, but even from our seats in the stands he just looks…
dominating. Confident, powerful—so at peace with that dirt underneath his feet.
And when he spots Ruthie, his smile is steady. A mile-wide force all its own.
"Dad!" Ruthie calls, popping out of her seat. She waves ferociously, and I'm grateful—the fear she instills that I may be in the ice cream soup danger zone stops me from following every curve that Liam's tight baseball pants carve on his body.
Liam waves and blows her a kiss, and her grin grows the same size as his.
I watch her stick her tongue out at him playfully, and immediately, my gaze swings toward the field in the hopes that I might catch Liam Montgomery with his out too.
But the second I do, I regret it. Not because the image would make it hard to take my boss seriously, but because he's not mimicking her at all.
My eyes flick back to Ruthie, but all I find is her with ice cream dripping down her chin.
What is he frowning about?
When I peer down at him again, that's when I realize it. He's not staring at her, his face suddenly white, his jaw tense and eyes wide. He's looking at me.
He isn’t staring directly—more like he’s looking right through me—but somehow, his entire demeanor flips a full one-eighty. My stomach drops as I start to imagine what I could have done now.
I turn behind me completely to see if maybe there's something nearby that's causing the change, but all I find is an elderly couple. She has binoculars up to her face, and he has a pen in his hand and his head in a notebook.
I spin back around cautiously, more anxious now that this back and forth with him has returned. But when I do, it's gone. Liam's back, his smile halved but still there as he lifts one hand to toss me a wave.
I smile awkwardly, I'm sure, and bring one palm up to reciprocate the gesture. His eyes are light again, his face relaxed, and if anything he almost looks even calmer than before.
Did I just imagine that?
"Can I get cotton candy next?" Ruthie asks, flopping into her seat and thankfully stopping my mental replay of the last thirty-seconds.
"I, uh…" I shake my head, looking down at her with a creamy, white mustache and laugh, the last moment forgotten. Mostly. "You do know you don't have to have every ballpark snack your first game back, right?"
She looks up at me, her face full of betrayal. "It's been over a week," she says dramatically, as if I told her we were leaving Sammy at the kennel even after we return.
I roll my eyes teasingly. "Fine." I fold just as the announcers ask us to stand and remove our hats for the national anthem. "But not until the stretch."
Her lips part as we both rise to our feet. "Tessa… " She puts her hand to her chest either out of respect or faux-surprise. "I'm so proud of you."
I nudge her with my elbow, placing my palm over my heart as the players in front of us place their hats over their team names across their jerseys. The ceremonial flags wave in the slight spring breeze as the performer takes center field.
Moments later, her voice fades with the last line of the anthem, and the crowd erupts in cheers as the players make their way onto the diamond.
I track Liam's movement, waiting for him to turn around again—hoping our eyes meet once more, and he's still the version of himself he's been since I got to his house last night.
It feels like this weekend could be a turning point—a clean slate.
For me. For us. Like if we could just get our footing, we might actually go home having left our rocky start behind.
With Trevor gone, and the weight of our relationship off of my shoulders, I already feel lighter.
And if I could just find steady ground with Liam, I think everything else might start falling back into place.
I spot him—hat pulled low, crouching into position as he shifts his weight side-to-side.
He's in his element here—as if he's warming up to toss a ball with friends in his backyard instead of performing in front of thousands of fans.
He's not cold or distant or on edge. I don't think he ever meant to be.
Just like he is off the field, he's bright and easy—the version of him I find myself craving.
Here, he's ready. And so am I.
For the game, for the weekend. Maybe even for a fresh start.
"So… how about popcorn?"
A surge of relief washes over me as I look down at Ruthie, her eyes wide and sincere.
I smother a laugh and shake my head, grateful that, at least for now, her eagerness for snacks seems to be my biggest worry. She clasps her hands under her chin, begging, and I tug on one of her pigtail braids before giving in.
"Okay, fine." She throws her arms around my waist as Liam glances over at us, and I smile at both of them. "You're lucky I'm starving."