I follow her gaze to the mound where Declan’s in full-blown coach mode, arms moving, his focus locked, as he speaks to his starting pitcher.
“I don’t know, but is it just me or does Austin look like he might burst into tears at any second?”
He doesn’t—he’s actually far too calm and confident for a guy who’s clearly being reprimanded by his coach.
We both laugh, then fall into easy conversation as the game gets started.
I can’t help but lean forward when my whole world steps up to bat, swinging the bat in lazy circles like it’s an extension of his arm. Even from the stands, I can recognize his focus through his posture—seethe way something in his mind clicks into place when he steps out onto the diamond, his eyes never drifting from the other team’s pitcher.
When he steps up to bat, his toes aligned with home plate, he positions himself, adjusting his hold on the bat.
Anticipation curls tight in my chest, my body tingling.
“Gareth looks so serious tonight,” Hailey says. “Who’s he trying to impress?”
“Definitely Jensen,” I deadpan, and she bursts out laughing.
He already knows he impresses me every single day. From the way he drops his bag by the door, rushing straight to me the second he gets home to pepper kisses against my skin, to the dinners he insists on cooking, trying new recipes he thinks I’ll like, even when I promise him air-fried nuggets count as a meal. And then in the way he brings me to ruin, promising me pleasure with every flick of his tongue, every touch of his fingertips, when he finds his way between my legs.
Gareth Fox is nothing short of amazing.
The pitcher winds up and the ball flies from his hand like a rocket.
Gareth doesn’t flinch as it soars past him, just watches it—studies it.
Strike one.
With the second pitch, Gareth swings, launching the ball into the outfield. The crack permeates through the air, clean and sharp.
Everything goes still—the stadium holds its breath.
I’m out of my seat, heart pounding and hands clapping as I lean forward against the railing, tracking the ball as it lands on the edge of the field.
Then everyone erupts.
“Go. Go. Go!” I scream, cheering him on as though he can hear me.
Gareth flies past first, then second, dust kicking up behind him as he rounds the bases. Every person in the stadium seems to be on their feet now, watching this amazing man of mine.
Once he’s safely on third, his gaze meets mine. His mouth tugs into a grin, and he throws a wink in my direction.
Then his gaze slides past me and widens.
His expression morphs.
I start to turn to see what he’s looking at when someone drops into the stadium seat beside me.
I forget how to breathe.
For a second, my brain refuses to make sense of what I’m looking at—whoI’m looking at.
Like if I blink, he’ll disappear into thin air.
“Dylan.” His name falls from my lips in a whisper.
My brother gives me a small, hesitant smile. His eyes are softer than they were the last time I saw him, the anger gone and replaced with something new.
Something that looks a lot like regret.
