"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 usualRecoveryoption 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—reallyseeing her. With care and love and a gentle promise.
