Just then, our attention is pulled by the sound of a mic scratching. I wince. “Damn, you’d think they could afford a better sound system,” I joke, but no one’s really listening to me. They’re all looking at the small stage erected just in front of our dugout, where the team’s owner, Mike Cartwright, is standing.
“Hi everyone, I know you’re all busy having fun, but if I could just have your attention for a few minutes, I promise to keep it short so we can get back to celebrating the start of another excellent season.”
I don’t know how I got so lucky to end up on a team run by a guy like Mike. He’s a hell of a lot better than a lot of team owners I hear about. His entire focus is on the Tridents being more than a team — being a family. And days like today are evidence of that.
“Welcome to all the new faces. I know I speak for all of management when I say we’re excited to see what you can do this season. I’ve owned this team for ten years, and I’ve seen a lot of great players and staff come and go. But standing up here today, looking out at all of you, I’ve got a good feeling. This is our year.”
The field erupts in cheers, led by us players.
Mike lifts his hands, gesturing for us to settle down. “That’s right, that’s the spirit. Now, as is our tradition, I want to take a couple of minutes to celebrate all the great things that happened for the Tridents’ family over the offseason.”
As he goes through the list of people who had babies or grandbabies, engagements, and other shit that people like to celebrate, I look around at the crowd.
My gaze catches on a head of long golden-blonde hair cascading in waves of sunlight near the front, and I freeze. It’s just a flash of a profile, which shouldn’t be enough for me to have this sort of a reaction. There’s no chance it’s her. The universe wouldn’t fuck with me like that.
Right?
Then I see Mike gesturing to the side, and the blonde ghost from my past turns to face the crowd.
“Our very own Coach Stirling got married, and his new wife is here with her daughter. Welcome Leanne and Isabelle.”
What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening.
I can’t look away. My hands lift and rub my eyes, certain that when my vision clears, I’ll realize I was imagining it. There’s no chance it’smyIsabelle standing up there, looking nervous as she gazes around the crowd.
But I see the second she recognizes me. Her perfect rosebud mouth, still that same shade of pink, falls open. Her eyes widen. Her hand lands on her chest. Her chest that’s covered in — fuck…a Tridents shirt.
Coach’s stepdaughter isn’t some little kid. It’s Isabelle fucking Murphy, the woman who broke my heart eight years ago.
She looks good. Too good. Her body, that was always naturally curvy, has filled out even more, and even though it’s all kinds of fucked-up, my dick hardens a little just looking at her. No woman has ever gotten to me the way Iz did. She knew me in ways no one else does. Until her, I thought my future belonged to baseball and only baseball. I’d never pictured myself having a wife and kids, but with her? I pictured it. I wanted it. Even as a stupid twenty-year-old with dreams of making the big leagues. I wanted her by my side.
Then she left me. Moved to fucking Italy. Said she’d be back, that we’d be okay. But then she changed the rules of the game and decided to stay.
The last thing I ever said to her was that I never wanted to speak to her again.
I know, real mature, Kai.
But it sucks losing your girlfriend and your best friend all at once. And at not quite twenty-one, I was the idiot who let mybroken heart turn me into an asshole that pushed her away completely. She was the person I trusted the most. And all of a sudden, she was gone, and she wasn’t coming back? Yeah, I didn’t exactly handle it well.
And now she’s here, in front of me, looking like a fucking goddess.
Jesus fucking Christ. Anger, hurt, and wonder all mix together, making my stomach turn. How the hell am I meant to handle this?
“Kai, are you okay?” I startle at the feel of my sister’s hand on my arm. Turning, I look down at her concerned face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I have.
“Fine.” I force a smile, then rub my stomach. “Just hungry.”
Evie laughs and rolls her eyes. “Didn’t I see you eating a foot-long hot dog already?”
Darling leans in and kisses the top of her head. “Yeah, but Yami’s always hungry.”
I shrug, fighting not to make it obvious I’m searching for Isabelle. “It’s true. What can I say?” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m gonna go grab a snack. See you guys later.”
Without another word, I pivot and jog over to the food table. I’m fairly certain I hear more than one person call my name, but I ignore them. I grab random items, not bothering to look at what I choose, just needing something to make it look like I’m busy, and not furtively scanning the crowd, trying to find my ghost.
I eventually find her standing by the dugout talking with Mike and his niece Willow. Not a chance I can go to her right now, so I move to the side, leaning against the barrier that separates the field from the stands, and finally look at the food I grabbed.
