Page 16 of Double Play

I took a chance that she’d be there later.

When I was up to bat again, aiming for the outfield, I hit the ball directly into the second baseman’s glove, forcing another out.

I’d blown all my chances with India.

She married the next guy.

eight

. . .

[India]

I had no idea what had gotten into my brother, other than a whole lot of alcohol. The melancholy tone in his voice was so unlike him. His rhetorical question, practically begging us to explain some mystery, was equally disconcerting.

When did it all fall apart? What happened to us?

I don’t think he meant our threesome of friendship—Isaiah, Declan, and me. His question felt weightier, deeper even, and like something is very wrong between my brother and his wife.

I adore Penn. As a sister-in-law, she’s the best, although I have no comparison. When Malakai and I separated, Penn was a huge support. She listened. She brought wine. She held my hand. And she was slightly instrumental in the changes I’d recently made to my life.

A move across the country. A new job with more possibilities. Even the estrangement between my father and me.

Penn hadn’t encouraged a distant relationship, but she softly suggested that for as much as I’d tried to forge a relationship with my father, at some point, maybe I needed to accept that distance was mentally better for me. Boundaries I defined could protect me from being disappointed in him.

“Do you think I should check on him?” I step closer to the shut door, knowing Declan’s bedroom is on the other side.

A bed I briefly wonder how often he sleeps in alone. Or worse, with others. Quickly, I shake away the thought that shouldn’t be my concern.

“Maybe we should let him be for a minute. He’ll come out when he’s off the phone.”

Declan is the voice of reason. I don’t want to interrupt my brother speaking with his wife. At least, I hope that’s whom he is talking to on the phone. Then again, this is my brother, and he’d never cheat on Penn. He adores her.

Declan purses his lips, his concern as evident as mine. Then he reaches for a bottle of wine in the corner of the counter.

“Still want a glass?” He holds up the black bottle with red foil at the top.

“Absolutely.”

Claiming a stool along the peninsula counter, I watch Declan uncork the bottle and smoothly pour me a glass of red wine. When he hands it to me, I don’t miss how our fingers brush. The crackle of something familiar once again ripples over my skin, similar to his light touch earlier.

He feels so close and yet so far away, and it’s been at my insistence. I’ve put the wall between us to protect myself. I didn’t want to risk my job. But what about my heart? The longing inside me to wonder . . . what if . . . one more time . . .

I bring the wineglass to my mouth and sip, wishing to drown my reckless thoughts.

Declan watches as I take that first gulp, his eyes trained on my throat. His gaze dips lower for the briefest second before he pulls the bottle of whiskey closer to him and pours another slim finger of the amber liquid into the glass Isaiah had been drinking from.

When the glass hits his lips, I’m envious of the rim. The way his lips wrap over it. The sense of liquid hitting his tongue. His mouth probably warm and wet, like when he went down⁠—

I lift my glass again, eager for another heavy glug of the tangy red blend, desperate to quench my sudden thirst and quash more memories. It’s been a long time since anyone’s mouth has been down there. Somehow, Declan’s appreciation sticks out in my head.

I recall how he kissed. His entire body in the experience. He’d pull me close, squeeze my hips, or hold my ass. We’d line up everywhere as our mouths met. Sometimes I’d have my arms tucked between us, tugging at his shirt, like I couldn’t bring him close enough. Other times, I’d be wrapped around his neck, holding on to him like I was afraid I’d never be kissed again the way he kissed me.

My assessment wasn’t far off the mark.

“I should probably get these steaks going.” Declan’s words interrupt my rollercoaster ride along memory lane. The one lined with stolen moments, lingering kisses, and longing.

Pining.