When I see him disappear into the checkout area, I whip around toward Trevor. "She's eleven, Trev."
He laughs, and my blood starts to bubble. "Oh, whatever. Same thing. And by the way…" He steps out from behind the cart and grabs me by my belt loop, tugging me closer to him. "Sunshine definitely has a thing for you."
"Stop, no he doesn't," I argue, resisting his pull.
"He does," he says, wiggling his brows. "But of course he does. Look at you."
I fight the wince trying to escape and toss my arms around his neck.
"I'm so lucky, Tess." He nuzzles into me, and I let it happen despite the people walking by, finally allowing my lips to curl upward. My grasp around him tightens as he pecks my lips. "You're just so hot."
I still, then my body slouches, my arms slipping off his shoulders. I spin around to hide my expression, and either ignoring my hint or notnoticing at all, he reaches out and slaps my ass. "Don't forget the protein bars, okay?"
10
Liam
The drive home from a game is always bittersweet. In one sense, I'm on my way to see Ruthie—to hear about her day and decompress from mine. But on the flip side, these eighteen minutes mean I've just ticked off one more day and am one step closer to the end.
I've always hung around after the final out. Win or lose, there's something to do—skills to work on, details to fix. But lately, I find myself leaving later and later, the plush field and packed dirt begging me to stay.
Sometimes I feel closer to the game than I ever have. I think time does that—with it passing and with it winding down. But I also sense a distance growing even as the world keeps spinning—my coaches still talk about next season, my teammates move through each day like it's one of hundreds still ahead of them. Both of those things make me want to hold on—to the game, to my team.
To everything I know.
I could make this drive with my eyes closed, every part of it all too familiar. The seat feels too soft compared to the dugout bench. My fingers open and curl around the steering wheel to stop my hands and forearms from cramping. My whole body is both drained and wired—adrenaline still humming through my veins even as my limbs beg to be still. It's knowing that there's a last time in sight that gets me.
Pulling into our development, I roll down the window a few inches, welcoming the cool air that reminds me of home—fresh cut lawns, thesubtle sweetness pouring from a nearby dryer vent, the lingering smell of the Johnsons’ barbeque—all things that center me back here and not the field. My chest tightens with the anxiety of another night gone, then immediately eases again as I spot Ruthie's bedroom light left on from our driveway.
Taking one last look in the rearview mirror—a habit from when we lived in the part of the city where you could still see the stadium lights from our street—I hit the button on the garage opener. The rolling door whirs to life, and with it comes the small rush of relief that comes from being home. With each inch that it climbs, the ache in my muscles grows as if they know the cramped ride is finally ending.
Once it's lifted, I pull in, throw my truck in park, and kill the ignition. I open the door, stand and roll my shoulders back, and at the same time, the inside garage door opens. Tessa's face comes into view.
"Oh, hey," she says cheerfully. She's glowing as the house lights cascade around her and into the garage. Somehow, even holding a bag of trash, there's no denying that the girl is beautiful.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." I reach into the back seat and grab my duffle bag before moving toward her. I take the trash, tossing it into the large can beside the steps.
She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest to fend off the chill. "I heard the door open."
"Good." We stare at each other like we so often do, not awkwardly, but just… existing.
Why does this keep happening?
And why do I like it?
"Well, come in," she says, backing up through the door.
I clear my throat and toss my duffle into its typical spot in the garage to deal with later, then slide out of my sneakers. "How was everything?" I ask, following her inside.
"It was good. We got all of her schoolwork done pretty early, so we had a chance to walk around the mall when we went to pick up the new cleats you ordered."
"Did they fit?"
"Dad, they're perfect." I walk into the kitchen to find Ruthie at the kitchen island drawing. "Tess passed around with me outside before practice so I could break them in and everything."
I look at Tessa who's smiling at Ruthie as she plops down on the chair beside her. "And they look cool too," she says, nudging her elbow.
Ruthie purses her lips and wiggles her shoulders as she continues outlining a sketch of what looks like a cartoon version of Sammy, her muse whimpering in his sleep at her feet.
