Page 30 of Double Play

My marriage? Or his love?

To my surprise, Declan places his fingertips on the bracelet as my arm is on top of the table, and he thumbs over the coins, like a pianist marches his fingers over the keys. His gaze flips up to my face, but just as quickly as he glances at me, he appears to remember Isaiah and turns his face toward my brother, horror etching his cheeks like my brother caught him touching me. Declan shifts his body once again to stand upright beside me. He clutches his drink glass as if to prevent his hand from reaching for me.

For my part, I shake any lovesick musing and drop my hand to my side.

“Romance,” Declan says, keeping his eyes forward, as if forcing his gaze away from me. He lifts his drink, but before he sips, he mutters, “comes in many forms.”

I glance back at the bracelet, reminded of all the gems and jewels given to me by Malakai, and yet nothing has been as special as this collection of charms.

“How about an anniversary trip?” Declan asks after a sip of his bourbon. He addresses Isaiah directly. “Aren’t you and Penn close to twenty years?”

“We just passed sixteen,” Isaiah admits.

“Sweet sixteen,” I remind him.

“That isn’t anything special,” Isaiah counters.

“Every anniversary is special,” I remind him, glowering at my brother, telling him with my glare that he needs to appreciate every year he gets with the love of his life because some of us have suffered through years of regret in a troubled marriage.

Isaiah sighs and runs his hand through his dark hair. “We’ve talked about a vacation. But something always gets in the way.”

Declan purses his lips and nods like he understands. Something always got in the way of a reunion between him and me, or maybe that was just fate speaking up.

Maybe Declan Wylde and I were never meant to be a thing.

“Can’t get past the wind,” Declan declares to Isaiah, making no sense to me.

Isaiah slowly stands upright again, glaring at his oldest friend.

“Bottom of the ninth. Up at bat,” Declan’s voice shifts. He’s no longer friend but mentor, and I hold my breath curious about what words of wisdom he’s about to impart.

“You’re a bastard,” Isaiah says a little too loudly, eyes wide as he stares at his best friend.

“Two outs. Man on first and third.”

“Declan,” Isaiah growls, rolling his eyes.

I’m clearly missing something.

“Down by one. Need both runs.”

“Wylde,” Isaiah grunts, shaking his head with a soft smile on his lips.

“And you . . .” Declan rolls his wrist, circling his hand for Isaiah to continue whatever memory or lesson this is.

“Aim for the flag.”

“What flag?” I innocently ask, wanting in on this tale.

“The one just off center from the scoreboard. The one pointing the direction of the wind.”

“Can’t go hard center,” Isaiah says.

“That’s rip-your-clothes-off,” Declan explains.

“What the hell?” I interject.

“Gotta go soft left.” Isaiah gestures with his hand, coasting it toward the right side of him.