“What pond?” Carolina asked.
Before anyone else could stumble for the right words, Bella answered in a precise, even tone. “It means Matty likes boys and girls. Both.” She quickly added, “And that’s okay.”
Carolina blinked, then nodded like Bella had just explained how rainbows worked. “Oh. Cool.” She went back to admiring her glittery toes.
We all cracked up softly at that, the tension breaking. June reached over to pat Matty’s arm. “See? Easiest explanation in the world.”
Matty let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I don’t really like blasting my personal business everywhere. And truth be told, I’m still kinda figuring it out myself. Just . . . what feels right, you know?” He shrugged, shoulders rolling like he was trying to shake off the weight of the admission. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Finally, Bennett spoke, his voice low but carrying. “Your business is your business, man, but don’t ever feel like you have to keep quiet around me. Or the guys.” He tapped the armrest, meeting Matty’s eyes squarely. “You’ve got my back on the field. I’ve got yours off it.”
Matty finally looked up, and for a second the easy grin slipped, replaced by something raw and grateful. He gave Bennett a short nod, and Bennett returned it, simple and certain. The kind of exchange that meant more than a dozen speeches.
I smiled with them, warmth blooming in my chest. I knew what it felt like to hesitate, to wonder who you could tell and when, to weigh every word like it might tip the scales of how people saw you. For years, I’d tripped over the word bisexual in my own mouth, unsure of when to claim it or whether I even needed to. Hearing Matty just . . . say it like that—without overexplaining or apologizing—and watching Bella, of all people, hand down acceptance like it was the simplest truth in the world made something inside me loosen.
Maybe we were all braver together than we realized.
The moment hung there, warm and tender, until eventually, Bennett leaned back in his chair and deadpanned, “So where’smyfanfiction, then? Seems like everybody’s getting some but me.”
The whole row cracked up. Even Bella’s lips curved into the faintest smile, and Matty groaned, dragging a green, glittery hand down his face.
“Careful what you wish for,” I warned him. “The internet is feral. You’ll open your phone one day and find yourself in a fifty-chapter omegaverse with dragon shifters.”
June choked on her mimosa. “Jesus, I hope somebody writes that.”
That set us off again, laughter spilling through the salon so loud, even the nail techs started smiling at us.
Brooks
All-Star Break
When Soren had told me the team was meeting up at the stadium during the break, I’d figured it was for batting practice or maybe to get ahead on conditioning. What I hadn’t expected was an ambush.
“Welcome to your dadchelor party,” Tucker bellowed, nearly knocking me over with a clap on the back. “It’s like a baby shower, but with more beer.”
“Waymore beer,” Roman added, fisting a bottle in each hand.
“I can see that,” I muttered, unable to fight the grin tugging at my mouth.
The infield had been transformed into some kind of outlandish carnival—cornhole boards painted with pacifiers, a stack of oversized baby blocks was stacked up at home plate, and a suspiciously small kiddie pool had been laid out at second base, filled with ice and what I assumed were at least a dozen cases of beers. A highchair—one that looked suspiciously like the overpriced monster from Dani’s registry—sat parked at thepitcher’s mound like a throne, and beyond the outfield, deep in the bleachers behind left-center, balloons in the shapes of rattles and rubber duckies bobbed in the wind.
And looming above everything, the scoreboard was lit up in big, block letters. CONGRATS, COACH DADDY—complete with a cartoon stork hauling a screaming baby with my face slapped on it.
It looked like a county fair and a frat party had both lost a bet, and the stadium was where they’d come to settle it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, looking around.
“Nope.” Soren grinned, tossing me a burp cloth like it was a towel. “You’ve got a whole afternoon of festivities, coach.”
“Starting with baby bottle chugging,” Pink announced, stepping out from behind the dugout, his six-pack abs on full display, warpaint streaked across his cheeks, and a red bandana tied Rambo-style around his forehead. He held a baby bottle filled with beer in each hand like they were weapons. “Rules are simple—the first one to finish their bottle and run the bases wins.”
A chorus of cheers went up. The guys raced to claim their bottles, eager to show each other up.
My attention caught on the diaper station at third base, which had life-sized baby dolls laid out side by side, some already leaking suspiciously yellow liquid.
“Diaper changing relay,” Wes explained proudly. “After that is the baby toss, diaper pong, and finally ‘ice ice baby.’ But that one is really just who can stay in an ice bath the longest.”
“While solving a puzzle about nursery rhymes,” Matty added.
