Chapter 32
Liam
"Oh my God, Liam." Tessa rolls her hips to meet my mouth. "There's no way you don't do this often."
I laugh, the vibration causing her legs to tremble. If only she knew how wrong she is.
"Right there," she whimpers as I flick my tongue across her clit.
I chuckle again. I don't need directions.
Not because I'm any sort of expert, but because the second I settled between her legs, I knew what she likes.
Maybe it's been luck, or maybe she's been really good at faking the way her back arches off the bed.
But it's as if we've been at this forever, and my body already knows how to complement hers.
Or I'm just so tuned in.
Tessa tells you what she wants if you're listening. The way she breathes, the way her thighs tighten around my shoulders—it's all a map if I'm paying attention.
And I know all the reasons I'm not supposed to be, but my God…
Am I paying attention.
The timer on the cold water tub dings, but I keep my eyes closed, savoring one last moment in the memory of this morning.
I forgot what it felt like—sounded like, tasted like—to make a woman come undone. But maybe that's why. This wasn't any woman. It was Tessa. And there's no way I won't remember that forever.
With my eyes closed, thanking God for the cold water pounding into me from all angles, I replay the image of Tess falling apart above me over and over.
We both knew it was a game changer—that it was sealing our fate, and nothing after this could return to anything even resembling professional.
But somewhere along the way, that idea stopped paralyzing me.
It was still there—the over-analyzing, the worry for the aftermath.
But being with someone, specifically her, didn't completely debilitate me like it used to.
Instead, the crippling thought was that I might have to go the rest of my life not pleasing her again the way she deserves—not hearing my name float from her lips while she falls over the edge.
"You hittin' the red lights after this?"
I startle, a gravelly voice I know so well pulling me from the perfect place I was in my head. "What?" I ask, my voice dry.
Mack—who's wearing nothing but our warm-up shorts from three seasons ago and a facility towel tossed over his shoulder—smacks the timer still beeping every few seconds and nods toward the infrared sauna behind me. "You goin' full regimen?"
I glance behind me like I'm not sure what's there despite bouncing back and forth between the tub and sauna almost daily.
It's the reason I'm here, even on my off day.
I thought a ten-minute soak to lower my core temperature, then sitting under the red light to hit the deeper tissue might help me recover from, well…
everything. But especially this morning.
"Yeah," I finally answer.
"Well, let's get to it then. The rook wants me to watch his at-bats with him later."
I stare at him blankly, this entire situation throwing me in so many ways.
"What? He asked me to… at least someone appreciates my help."
"That part I understand," I admit, forcing myself to stand. I move to the edge of the tub and swing my leg over it. "It's the joining me in the sauna that I'm not so sure about."
Mack laughs as he strolls over to the machine and steps inside. I pull at the cling in my bathing suit, following him blindly, and nearly run into his half-naked body when he stops at the door.
"What the—"
"I thought maybe we'd chat," he says, his tone taunting. When I meet his gaze, his eyes are soft, a tinge of sadness to them. I pause, reading his expression, a lump forming in my throat that I didn't expect to build. I clear it away, slapping my arm to his shoulder.
"You gonna miss me, Gramps?"
Mack swallows what must have formed for him too and nudges my arm. "Nah, still plenty of time."
I smile knowingly and nod. He slips his towel over the outdoor rod next to mine and turns away, stepping inside the eucalyptus box.
I do the same, scrolling through the list of playlists for my personal music on the in-sauna tablet and hitting the usual Recovery option in the program settings.
The machine immediately roars to life as I pull the floor-to-ceiling glass door shut behind me.
The red lights ignite, the heat molding around us almost immediately, while a familiar indie folk song gently plays in the background.
Mack leans on the back wall, swinging his legs up onto one side of the L-shaped bench. I take a seat opposite him on the other half, sinking into the wood and curling my calves under the rounded lip.
"So, how's it goin' with the kid?" I ask, my eyes closed and my head resting on the wall behind me. I don't need to specify which one. Despite there being several new guys on the team, Jace Holloway is the one we're always talking about.
"I should be asking you that question—you're with him more than I am."
I shrug, even though Mack's too busy staring at the back of his eyelids to notice. "I gotta teach him something. And whenever I'm not, he's up my ass anyway. Like a puppy begging for a goddamn bone."
Mack chuckles roughly, and I crack my eyes open. "What's so funny?"
He shakes his head without looking at me. "You were exactly the same with Rivers when you started."
Memories of my mentor rush through me, hitting me differently than they would have before. "Yeah, but the difference is, I listened to him."
"And Holloway listens to you."
The first rush of heat flows over me, my body temperature officially rising.
"Maybe after I prove I'm right." I sit up straighter, and Mack's eyes flutter open.
"I just don't get it. He's eager to learn, but so reluctant to change.
And I swear, the kid's more concerned about where I'm headed than how he'll do taking my spot. "
Mack wipes his brow and sits up so his back is flush with the wall behind him. "I think he's just hesitant. It's not you specifically. Baseball's everything to him."
"Oh, that I know."
He purses his lips as his eyes close again.
"But with that kind of attachment comes…
protection. You guard what's worked for you even if people you trust suggest there might be something better.
Holloway isn't ignoring you—he's just spent years doing things one way, and it's carried him this far. Changing that feels risky. Vulnerable."
His eyes snap to mine so quickly I almost miss it before they close again.
But I don't.
"Sometimes it takes seeing it for yourself…" he continues, his voice casual and mouth glowing red from the light beside him. "Testing it, to realize the new way might actually be better. That you might like it. That it might even feel… right."
Somewhere along the rest of his explanation, I stopped simply listening to the words and latched on to how they hit me on their way out. The sauna's heat must have seeped under my skin because now I'm warm from the inside out.
"Are we still talking about the rookie and baseball?" I ask, managing to keep my voice steady.
The corners of Mack's lips slowly curl upward, knowingly, as he pops only one eye open. "You tell me."
"Alright, who's ready for the—"
My senses from the scene in my kitchen literally stop me in my tracks as I step halfway through the doorframe leading out from the laundry room.
I see Ruthie first, her smile ear-to-ear, her hair tied up on top of her head in the messy way she likes it.
She has her hands elbow-deep in a bowl so big I can barely see her frame behind it, and there's what I assume is batter on her rosy cheek.
Sammy has his paws resting on the island beside her, his tongue hanging out ready to lap up any drips that come flying from the whisk.
The smell hits me next—banana bread? With chocolate chips. I inhale deeply, savoring it, and the combination immediately makes me think of…
Tessa.
She pops into view at the perfect time—the second I interpret the sweet sound floating around me as her laugh. It's the first time I've seen her since we parted ways this morning—her to finish unpacking and me to hit the facilities.
She's as beautiful as ever in her faded, cropped t-shirt.
I watched her slide it on after I tucked my arm under her limp body and helped her off the bed.
She's dancing around to the beat of whatever song on Ruthie's playlist is pumping through Alexa, and it's something I could stand here and watch for hours.
But what really gets me isn't the way her hair matches my daughter's, tossed into a messy top knot that spills over, or how her hips sway softly to the music. It's the way she's looking at Ruthie that does me in.
She's watching her mix what's in the bowl, but she's not just observing her. She's seeing her—really seeing her. With care and love and a gentle promise.
And Mack's words come rushing back to me.
This change does seem risky. And I sure as hell feel vulnerable. But standing here, watching Tessa fall in step with my daughter like she's always belonged—after how we connected earlier—also feels pretty damn good.
I stay there, observing for another moment before I can't stand to not join them any longer. "What's goin' on in here?"
They hear me this time, standing side-by-side at the counter, Tessa's hand instantly flying to adjust her lopsided bun. Ruthie races toward me. "Smells like heaven."
Looks like it too.
"We're baking," Ruthie says cheerfully, grabbing my arm. "No one signed up for snack all week, so Tess is teaching me how to make banana bread from scratch."
She pulls me in the direction of the smell, and I risk a glance at Tessa. "You volunteered? For multiple days?"
She shrugs, eyebrows high. "It's no big deal."
Roo twists back toward me as we reach the oven. "The other parents usually slice a couple of oranges and hit Costco for some fruit snacks," I remind them both.
"Yeah, but this is better," Ruthie says. "Plus, I wanted to learn. Look." She yanks my arm nearly out of its socket so that I'm at her level as she stares through the oven door. "I made that," she whispers.
I chuckle, peering over to find her eyes wide in awe. Smiling, I rub the hair on the top of her head. "Looks perfect to me. You did good, kid," I say, nudging my shoulder into hers. I look behind me and see Tessa watching us—me. "You both did."
She swallows and grins, and I stand back up, tapping Ruthie's shoulder. "Hey, do you still want to hit the movies today?"
She nods ferociously, her gaze still trained on the bread through the glass. "Yeah, duh. When is it?"
I scoff, my brows high. "We'd have to leave in like an hour… duh."
Ruthie glares at me playfully, then hones back in on the bread. "Can Tess come?"
My eyes dart to Tessa's already on me. "Of course," I answer quickly—too quickly—holding her gaze. "If she wants to."
"Oh, um…" Tess glances around as if she's looking for an answer—or an excuse maybe?
The thought makes my stomach turn, but before I can overthink it, Ruthie spins toward us, her hands in a prayer. "Please," she begs.
I actively stop myself from joining her.
After a forever-long second of hesitation, Tess scrunches her face lovingly and winks at my daughter. "I'd love to."
An unexplainable contentment settles in my chest—probably the fade of the adrenaline rush that came from waiting for her answer. Whatever it is causes me to move slowly toward Tessa as Ruthie turns back toward the oven like she's waiting for something exciting to happen.
As I step closer, Tess's breathing becomes audible, the patch of skin above the collar of her t-shirt turning pink. I step toe-to-toe with her, lifting my hand like I may tuck a hair behind her ear like I have before—like I want to. But instead, I suck on the pad of my thumb.
Tessa's lips part as she tracks every movement, and when I swipe it across her cheekbone, she visibly shivers.
"You had a little—"
"Oh." Her hand wipes at her temple.
"Flour."
"Thanks."
I smile, stepping past her, unable to resist slowly dragging my fingertips across the dip of her waist.
A quick breath in tells me that, at the very least, Tessa hasn't quite gotten me out of her system yet either. And to say I'm glad to spend the afternoon with her would be an understatement.
"Hey, don't stare at that too long," I call to Ruthie once I've cleared the island. "Can't that cause blindness or something?"
She rolls her eyes my way. "That's the microwave, Dad." She backs away anyway. "I think."
We all laugh, including Tessa, the tension between us calming some.
"I should probably shower," she says, her fingers returning to the spot I just touched—claimed. "But this last loaf should be ready to go in soon and should only take like forty minutes. I can hurry once it's done if that's okay."
"Sure."
"Can I do it?"
Ruthie and I answer simultaneously, and I'm happy when Tessa looks at her first.
"Can I, Tess? Please? You taught me how—grease the pan, pour the batter, tap it on the counter."
"Yeah, but then you have to put it in the oven," Tess argues. "And take the finished one out."
"I can do it, I promise!" Ruthie looks at me. "Please, Dad."
My eyes flit to Tessa who, judging by the eye contact, is clearly deferring to me. They flick back to Ruthie, then to Tess, then once again to my kid.
My jaw grows tight. I know at twelve this probably shouldn't be such a big deal—the things I was doing at twelve make using an oven look like child's play. Literally. But Ruthie's not me… she's my little girl.
I look once more at Tess, whose face is soft, waiting, and I'm reminded of how good change can be.
"Use oven mitts," I say simply.
Ruthie lights up as she beams at Tessa, who meets her excitement with a full-face smile.
"Well, alright then," Tessa says, squeezing Ruthie's hand. "Set the timer for forty-minutes once you put it in. I'll be down in time to help take it out."
She shakes her head up and down as she sprints toward the giant bowl.
"Is crashing a daddy-daughter date considered taking things slow?" Tessa whispers, turning toward me, her expression caught somewhere between concern and amusement.
Shoving my hands into the pockets of my shorts, I shrug. "Are you coming as Ruthie's nanny or my…"
Her cheeks flush, and the rest of my question gets caught in my throat. I clear it and drop my eyes to the floor. "It was Ruthie's idea, so it seems fair," I finish with instead.
She lets out a quiet laugh and shakes her head. "Alright, well… I guess I'll take that shower then."
All of my blood rushes straight to my feet. "Sounds good," I manage, my mouth suddenly dry. "I guess I'll do the same."