3. Killian #2
“It’s just something to think about, Kill,” Sutton says, coming over and giving me a supportive hug. “Sometimes a distraction or even just a small change in your everyday routine is exactly what you need.”
“Yeah.” I nod, appreciating Sutton’s attempt at helping. “I’ll think about it.”
“In the meantime”—Shepherd hitches his thumb over his shoulder—“I ordered pizza. Come eat something so you’re not sitting here wallowing all night on an empty stomach.”
The team moves through the airport like a well-oiled machine. Players, coaches, and staff all flow toward the private gate where our chartered flight awaits. I’m going through the motions, nodding at teammates who greet me, but my mind is still stuck on Harper’s text.
Find something that isn’t baseball.
As if it’s that simple.
I scan my boarding pass, barely looking at the attendant behind the counter, and continue down the jet bridge. The plane smells like leather and coffee, the familiar scent of our team’s home away from home. I find my usual seat—fifth row on the left—and toss my bag in the overhead compartment.
My best friend on the team and right fielder, Carter Lewis, nudges my shoulder with his as he takes his seat next to me. “You ready for Chicago?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I mutter, adjusting my baseball cap to cover my eyes
“Not enough sleep, Haynes?” he asks, studying my face. “You’re not your usual enthusiastic self. Everything good?”
“Fine,” I lie, settling into my seat. I’m not about to explain to him that my agent thinks I’m on the verge of a breakdown and the front office wants me to loosen up. “Just have a lot on my mind.”
I pull my headphones from my bag, intent on slapping them on and losing myself to one of my favorite playlists when a voice grabs my attention.
“Welcome aboard, gentlemen. Please make sure your bags are secured in the overhead bins or underneath the seat in front of you.”
My head snaps up so fast my neck cracks because the cheery voice is not Kristan Rigg’s familiar soft professional tone.
Kristan has been the lead flight attendant on our team flights for years.
We all know she’s pregnant and expecting soon, but I wasn’t prepared to hear a different voice today.
I lift my gaze to the front of the plane and when I do, my stomach drops.
Hold on.
Is that?
It can’t be.
“We got a new girl?” Carter murmurs, looking in the same direction.
“Looks like it.”
The woman at the front of the cabin has her back to me, as she turns momentarily to speak to the pilot, but I’d recognize that bright-red hair anywhere.
It catches the light streaming through the windows, glowing like a warning sign.
She’s wearing a crisp flight attendant uniform, her posture professional but relaxed as she continues her pre-flight announcements.
My mouth goes dry as she makes eye contact with me, her expression remaining perfectly professional, but I swear I see a flicker of recognition in her gaze.
“Please ensure all electronic devices are switched to airplane mode,” she says, her voice carrying that same bright, teasing quality I remember from the stadium.
I’m frozen in my seat, my headphones around my neck. It can’t be her. It can’t be the same woman who somehow cut through my anxiety with nothing but a few well-timed jokes. But when she turns to face the cabin, I get my confirmation.
Green eyes. Freckles across her nose. That same knowing smile I remember spotting in the middle of a game.
Holy shit.
I think it’s her.
Am I imagining this?
She pauses for just a fraction of a second before starting the safety demonstration.
I forget about my headphones, suddenly very interested in how to have a safe flight even though I’ve heard the spiel a hundred times.
She moves with practiced ease, demonstrating the seatbelt and oxygen mask, her voice clear and confident.
But there’s a hint of mischief in her tone that wasn’t in Kristan’s.
“I’m Isla, by the way. Isla Fallon, and I’ll be with you now until the end of your season as Kristan has gone on an early maternity leave.
Now, I know you’ve all flown before,” she says, “but humor me anyway. I’d hate to have to explain to management why our star pitcher couldn’t figure out how to work his seatbelt. ”
She winks and the guys laugh at my expense.
I narrow my eyes at her, studying the curve of her smile.
It has to be her, the woman from the stands, who somehow managed to get inside my head during the most critical inning of my life.
The resemblance is uncanny. I never imagined I’d see her again and now she’s here, on my flight, about to start serving me drinks and snacks.
Jude Callahan laughs at her jab towards me and pumps his fist twice as he calls out from across the aisle, “Toot, toot motherfuckers!” When the rest of the plane laughs again my gaze immediately flies to the new flight attendant with cheeks a bright pink color and eyes huge and round.
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, biting back a smile, and that’s all the confirmation I need.
It’s totally her.
God, the universe has a fucked-up sense of humor.
Bishop leans forward from the seat behind me and asks, “Dude, am I crazy or does she look exactly like that redhead from yesterday’s game?”
“Wait, what?” Carter wonders, having no idea what we’re talking about. “You know her, Haynes?” He laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Of course you do. Is there anyone in this town you haven’t fucked?”
I want to tell him he’s wrong. That it’s not her. That he’s full of shit and totally crazy…but I can’t.
“It’s her, Hop,” I say, staring at her. “I don’t know how, but it’s her. And no,” I glance at Carter. “I don’t know her and I didn’t fuck her.”
“Are you sure?” Bishop asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear him. “That would be some crazy coincidence.”
“I’m sure,” I mutter, watching her as she moves around the plane. As the plane begins to move away from the gate, she walks down the aisle talking to each of us like she knows us individually.
“Good morning,” she says to Bishop and Brock Adams behind us, her tone warm but professional. “Can I help you guys with anything before we take off?”
“Nah, we’re good,” Bishop replies, but I can hear the amusement in his voice. He knows exactly who she is. “Thanks though.”
Carter leans over and nudges my arm, “What’s going on?”
I shake my head silently and when she reaches my row, she turns to me, her expression perfectly neutral. “Anything I can get for you before we depart, Mr. Haynes? Mr. Lewis?”
“No thanks. I’m good,” Carter tells her.
I look up at her, searching her face for any sign of recognition beyond what I’ve already seen. Her eyes are bright and clear, not giving anything away.
“You always talk that much during games?” I ask, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear. Carter giving me a skeptical stare.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Only when the rich pitcher looks like he’s about to throw a tantrum in front of forty thousand people.
” She reaches across me to check my seatbelt, and I swear to God my dick twitches at the close proximity of her hand.
I breathe in and catch a whiff of strawberries, a scent that makes me want to reach out and lick her to see if she tastes the same.
The corner of her mouth twitches, and I feel that same strange lightness in my chest I’d felt on the mound.
She knows exactly who I am, and she’s enjoying this moment far too much.
I catch her wrist before she can pull away. “So, it was you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, with the same serene expression she’s had since the front of the plane.
She gives my seatbelt another firm tug. “You’re all set, Mr. Haynes.
“ She takes a breath and softly whispers, “And for the record, you look a lot less tense off the mound.” She gives me a quirky wink and then continues down the aisle.
Once she’s away from us, Carter, Brock, and Jude try to grab my attention at the same time, having just witnessed our interaction.
“Kill, do you two know each other?” Jude asks.
I roll my eyes and nod slowly as I gesture toward her with my head and say, “Toot. Toot.”
Carter’s brows lift and his smile widens as he realizes what I’m saying. “No fucking way.”
“Wait,” Jude says, his eyes equally as wide as Brock and Carter’s. “She the heckler? The one from yesterday?”
I nod silently this time.
All three of them throw their heads back in laughter as Bishop pats my shoulder from between our seats. “Bro, you are so fucked.”
Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.