“Mock all you want, but I’ve seen what the real thing looks like.” He gives me a pointed look. “With Mom and Dad. And now with you and Lucas.”
My stomach twists with guilt. “Austin?—”
“It’s cool if you don’t want to talk about it,” he says, misinterpreting my hesitation. “I just never expected you to be the one to fall head over heels first.”
I stare out the window at the passing coastline. “Life’s full of surprises.”
“That, it is.” There’s something wistful in his tone that makes me glance back at him.
“What about you? What are you looking for?”
He thinks for a moment. “Someone who challenges me, who sees me as Austin, not just the baseball player. Someone with depth, you know? And passion for something that matters.”
“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think lately.” He taps his injured arm. “Sitting on the sidelines gives you perspective.”
“Well, when you find her, make sure she’s worthy of you,” I say, surprised by the protective surge I feel. “You deserve someone exceptional.”
Austin laughs. “Look at you, getting all big sister on me. I seem to remember you telling every girl I liked in high school that I had terrible gas problems.”
“I was doing them a service. Full disclosure and all that.”
We’re both laughing as we pull into our father’s driveway. The Spanish-style mansion is exactly as it’s been since we moved here after Mom died, immaculately maintained but somehow frozen in time, like it was built for a version of our family that never existed.
Dad greets us in the kitchen, spatula in hand, looking surprisingly vibrant in his Devils baseball cap and “World’s Best Grandpa” apron (a gift from Garrett when his daughter was born last year).
“There she is!” he booms, enveloping me in a hug that smells of maple syrup and the same aftershave he’s worn for thirty years. “Mrs. Carmichael finally graces us with her presence.”
“Dad,” I warn, but I can’t help smiling. At sixty-two, Sam Lexington is still a force—former college baseball star turnedbusiness mogul turned team owner, with a laugh that fills every room.
“What? I can’t tease my daughter about her whirlwind romance?” He flips a pancake with practiced ease. “When are you bringing that husband of yours to a game? I’ve got a luxury box with your names on it.”
“Soon,” I promise vaguely. “We’ve been swamped with the documentary and work.”
“Ah, yes, the documentary.” He shakes his head. “My journalist daughter, suddenly the subject instead of the storyteller.”
Garrett walks in with a cup of coffee in one hand and a baby monitor in the other. My older brother has always been the most serious of us, following Dad into the business side of baseball while Austin played and I rebelled.
“The prodigal sister returns,” he says, but his smile is warm as he kisses my cheek. “How’s married life?”
“Surprisingly complicated,” I answer truthfully.
“All the best things are,” Dad says, sliding pancakes onto plates. “Your mother used to say that marriage is like baseball. It’s long stretches of routine punctuated by moments of pure magic and terror.”
“Sounds about right,” Garrett agrees, glancing at the baby monitor where his daughter occasionally makes soft sleeping sounds.
“Where’s Kristy this weekend?” I ask, nodding toward the monitor.
“Visiting her mom,” he says. “She’ll be back tomorrow.”
We settle around the kitchen island, falling into the comfortable rhythm of family breakfast.
“Hey, Dad? Can I ask you something?”
He looks up, curious. “Of course.”
“The trust from Mom,” I say slowly. “Why didn’t you ever mention it?”
