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Instead of filling the silence with useless platitudes, I wait.

Willow glances at her trembling hands before picking at her nails. I hadn’t noticed before that they’re painted alternating blues, matching our uniforms. My ribs tighten as I slow my next exhale.

“Everything’s changed. It’s like I’m buckled into a roller coaster that I’ll never be able to get off. There are no days off, no breaks. I want to sit and paint for hours, or run back and forth in the stands, or just wake up and not have to worry about my malfunctioning pancreas.”

Willow blows out a breath, ruffling her bangs. “And it feels like the rules change every day. I can eat the same thing, but if my activity is different, or if I don’t sleep well, my blood sugar varies. Nothing is stable. Nothing is constant.”

A tear streaks down her cheek, and I wordlessly swipe it away.

“I used to be so easy going. You could stick me in any situation, and I’d adapt. I wouldn’t just make do; I’d make the best of it. But now I come with all this…this mandatory equipment. It isn’t just ‘Let’s grab ice cream.’ I have to check my CGM, calculate carbs, and then figure out insulin.”

When she sags with defeat, I give her knees a gentle squeeze. “All of this is hard. You’re juggling so much at once. It may not feel like it, but you’re doing an incredible job of managing everything.”

Willow looks at her lap, quiet for a long time.

I’m about to ask if there’s a better way to support her when she glances up as if just remembering something.

“I meant to tell you that it was super helpful that Waves Stadium has nutritional information available for fans.”

My jaw twitches, but I don’t say anything.

Willow’s eyes widen as she searches my face. “They do, right? That was a public file?”

When I avert my gaze, Willow groans. “Shane.”

“I already told you, if I want to take care of you, I will.”

So much for being supportive.

I sound like a bear two seconds from devouring a kitten.

Clearing my throat, I regroup. “I want to be there for you. If that means compiling information for easy access, then that’s what needs to be done. But I also asked Sally to coordinate getting the file added to the Waves website so anyone else who needs that information can easily find it.”

Willow shakes her head, her lips curling into a soft smile. “You’re an enigma, you know that?”

I frown.

I wasn’t trying to be difficult.

I was trying to be the kind of man Willow could rely on, someone she might come to need…and maybe even want.

Spikes sprint along my shoulders as I drop my gaze, moving to get the bread from the toaster.

“Shane.” Willow catches me by the waist, her hand fisting my shirt.

“Thank you. For the file. For making me food.” Her lip quivers as she takes an unsteady breath. “For everything. Going through this would be impossible without you, and I— It’s just…I want to be there for you too. Did it help at all that I came tonight?”

Honestly?

I had my best game of my career.

Not statistically—in that regard, it was pretty level—but in how much I enjoyed being on the field. I joked with my teammates in the dugout—or rather, tolerated their jokes. I felt something loosen in my chest when I threw another inning-ending catch to a young girl in pigtails with a purple glove. There was even a moment when I appreciated the scent of the grass and the chaotic noise from the stands.

It was the first time baseball became something to experience instead of conquer. My father always expected us to be the best. There wasn’t room for error or something as frivolous as fun. Only hard work, dedication, and determination mattered.

But with Willow there, the game didn’t feel like a grind.

I lift my chin until our gazes catch. “You make everything better.”