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I’d put that look there. And goddamn if that didn’t feel even better than making her blush.
This was the feeling I craved. The win. The thrill. Standing at the plate, knowing just what I had to do if I wanted to feel this way.
I fucking lived for it.
But a shadow forever loomed, chasing down the high to swallow it up. Because there was a whole other life I could have had, one that amplified the high by a billion, one where I could eat, breathe, sleep what I loved more than anything in this world besides my mama.
For now, I basked in the glow, dead set on holding off the shadows as long as I could.
We got our shit together long enough to line up and slap hands with the Dusters. When we circled back toward the dugout, people had filed out of the bleachers, leaving it half empty. I frowned when I didn’t see Jessa, but a quick scan found her behind Cass, waiting to get out of their aisle.
God bless that stupid fucking crab-oct-aroo.
I trotted to the dugout and grabbed my shit, slinging my bag over my shoulder. With a quick goodbye met with some confused expressions from my teammates, I jogged toward the gate to head Jessa off.
When I met them at the side exit, their faces lit up.
“Remy, you fucking showoff,” Cass said, bouncing over to slap me a high five.
“Wasn’t me. That was all Wilder.”
“Yeah, it was,” the man himself said, clapping me on the shoulder.
Laughing, we clasped hands and chest bumped.
Cass’s excitement shifted into something shy and demure at the sight of Wilder, two adjectives I’d never in a million years associate with her. She took a step toward her fiancé and away from her ex with the weirdest smile on her face.
Davis didn’t seem to notice, but Jessa did. She and I shared a look.
Wilder didn’t miss a beat. “Hey, Cass. Good to see you, girl,” he said as he approached her for a hug. He was so much taller than her, he had to bend down, and she hitched up on her tiptoes, stretching her neck so she could get her chin over his shoulder.
“You too,” she answered with that weirdshit smile, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder.
When Wilder let her go, he pointed his movie star smile at Davis, extending a hand. “You must be the lucky guy.”
“Nice to meet you,” Davis said, obviously clueless as to who Wilder was.
They’d started dating in junior high, staying together all the way through the summer before we all left for college. Cass went to Oxford thanks to some old grandpa on her mama’s side, and Wilder and I went to Auburn. And after that, Wilder moved to LA, keeping space between them when she moved back to the East Coast with Davis. She and Wilder had ended with more of a fizzle than a bang, and I couldn’t help but wonder just how much unfinished business they might have left between them.
“Congrats, man. She’s a catch,” Wilder said. Cass’s cheeks reddened.
Davis pulled her a little closer, looking down at her with pride. “She really is.”
A knot of giggling women called Wilder’s name, and like the hot shot he was, he gave them a smile that dropped the panties of all eligible bachelorettes in a solid radius.
“Gotta run. Good to see you, Cass. Y’all have a good one, okay?”
“Good game.” I slapped him in the chest with the back of my hand.
He jerked his square chin at me. “You too, Ace.” Off he jogged in the direction of the girls who’d made the mistake of calling his attention. Tomorrow, they’d be nothing but a pile of broken hearts.
Henry offered me a smile, suspicious though it was. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect such a good game.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess. Glad we were able to meet your very high standards.”
His smile disappeared. “I was trying to congratulate you.”
“Oh, I caught that.” I adjusted my bag, dismissing him. “Where y’all headed? I think everybody’s meeting at the Horseshoe.”
