Page 65

Every time she switched brushes, I found myself fascinated. I ended up researching techniques and brush uses because I wanted to understand Willow’s work without bombarding her with a thousand questions.

If I hadn’t already felt like Willow was carrying my heart around in her pocket, the way she looked at me when I brought dinner to her easel so she could eat while painting wiggled its way into my bones.

Later, as I tossed and turned on my incredibly comfortable mattress, I realized why I was in a cold sweat.

I don’t want to disappoint her.

I want to finally be enough this time.

In the quiet midnight hours, I promised myself I wouldn’t hold back today. When Willow teased me, I’d banter with her. I’d smile and laugh and give her my left kidney if she asked for it.

Whatever Willow wants from me, she can have.

Except, when I woke up late this morning, a glitter-penned note sat beside a fresh loaf of banana bread.

Out with Indy. Won’t be back before you head to work. Saw the press release! Carter made us sound like a real couple. I’ll be sure to keep up the ruse in the stands tonight! Go sportsball!

I’d fisted the note before flattening it back out because, even if it confirmed that Willow isn’t feeling the connection I am, it was still from her.

I know. I know.

I can’t seem to pull myself together.

Spending every second I’m not at Waves Stadium with Willow suddenly feels like my life’s purpose—even if, for her, it’s all fake.

A growl rips from my throat as I smash the ball.

“We want to support Willow too.” Trevor’s voice makes me hesitate and miss the next pitch.

“And Mallory will want to introduce her to the rest of the WAGs,” Kai adds. “To make her feel welcome.”

Our third baseman’s wife is the unofficial leader of the Waves Wives and Girlfriends. A former model with a flair for making everyone feel included, she takes every newcomer under her wing. With Willow coming to tonight’s game, I should’ve thought to connect her with the rest of the Waves family members.

I step out of the box, leaving the machine to fire the remaining balls into the net as my shoulders drop in surrender. “Okay.”

“Okay what?” Colton coaxes, as annoying as ever.

A coach turns off the machine as I duck under the net, dropping my bat and helmet.

My teammates wait expectantly.

It’s so quiet you could hear a baseball rolling across the turf.

“Okay to”—I gesture vaguely in a circle—“all of that.”

“So we’re celebrating?” Tenny clarifies, looking a half a second from exploding with glee.

I tilt my chin toward the large industrial ceiling fans, drawing in a deep breath to gather strength, before nodding.

Tenny rushes me first, leaving his gifts behind. Then Colton’s arms snake around my shoulders before DJ practically strangles me with his hug. Somehow, there’s also glitter confetti in the air? Rhett shouts, “Mazel tov!” right before the rest of the team pushes forward. There’s jostling and shoving, but it’s good-natured.

A small smile springs to my lips as I struggle to keep my balance.

I’d been told the Waves were a happy team without too much infighting, but after the trade, I was too distracted with having to deal with Mike and the fallout of Brielle leaving me that I hadn’t given these guys a chance.

Maybe it’d be okay to trust these goofballs. Even though I’ve tried my best to keep my distance, they’ve been annoyingly persistent.

I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have someone to lean on—if only for emergencies.