Page 42 of Verdict

An unexpected sharp pang of jealousy hit at the fact that the jersey wasn’t mine.

Then Ava was walking down the stairs, Ellie in her arms, moving toward the rail—and everything else fell away. She lifted Ellie toward me once she reached the field. I settled her against my chest and grinned at Ava. “I didn’t know you were coming for batting practice.”

Ava shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, rocking on her heels. "Yeah, I figured it'd be nice for you to see Ellie before the game started."

I pressed a kiss to Ellie's head and glanced up at Ava. "Thank you."

She nodded with a smile.

I took Ellie over to see the guys and the coaches—everyone gushed over her. She took it all in like a champ. Tiny hands grabbing at jerseys, completely unfazed by all the attention, like she belonged here, as if this was already her world.

Reluctantly, I knew I needed to get back to focusing on the game, so I handed her back off to Ava, who headed back to her seat, where Aria was waiting.

Our field manager, Coach Parks, clapped me on the shoulder and squeezed, "Nice seeing this side of you, Jordan." He winked and walked off toward Drake.

Our pitching coach, Coach Turner, stepped up next to me. "Being a dad is great, isn't it? Especially to a little girl." Coach Turner had two young daughters himself.

I nodded, glancing back over toward Ava, bouncing Ellie gently in the stands.

"It's the best."

Chapter 12

Ava

Ilaunched out of my seat. "That was a fucking strike!" I screamed with my hands in the air. Cohen dropped into his ready stance, his baseball pants stretching across his thick thighs, his chain caught between his teeth as a knowing smirk tugged at his mouth. He tossed me a wink. A familiar thrill sparked low in my belly—it was annoying how easily my body reacted to this man.

Aria made the executive decision to hold Ellie, stating that "I was a lunatic at baseball games," or something along those lines.

When I took my seat again, Aria shook her head in amusement. "You are truly unhinged. I think I'm more entertained by you than the game." She softly patted Ellie's back.

I narrowed my eyes at the umpire, crossing my arms. "That was a strike," I repeated quietly.

I loved going to Aviators' games. The sights, the smells, the crowd—it was both nostalgic and electric. So far, thanks to the headphones Cohen got her, Ellie was doing really well at the game. Seeing Cohen's reaction to her, him sprinting across the field, parading her around proudly in front of his team like she was his little show pony—ugh. Swoon.

And speaking of swoon. Watching Cohen play live was enough to make me want to throw out my rules and cross some lines… again. Complications and the aftermath be damned.

The way his ass looks in those goddamn baseball pants is criminal.

But unfortunately for me—and my raging hormones—I would just admire him from afar for Ellie's sake.

Cohen was incredibly talented. Fast as hell, his throwing accuracy unreal, and it was truly impressive the way he could read where the ball would go before it was even put into play. I’d be entirely focused on the batter at the plate, and the second the ball was hit, I’d turn—already worried—only to find Cohen already there, shutting down the play immediately. He’d earned his reputation as one of the best shortstops in the league. That much was indisputable.

And thanks to a few key plays at the hands of Cohen, the Aviators won.

But still—nothing compared to the way he looked when he held Ellie.

A few evenings later, I tried to put down Ellie for the night, but she would not stop fussing and clung to me like a spider monkey. I rocked Ellie back and forth, deciding to take her temperature. The thermometer beeped with the results. I dropped my head back on a groan and checked the thermometer again, willing it to display a different result—102.0—shit. Ellie was visibly uncomfortable from the fever she had spiked, her nose a bit runny, with a slight cough developing.

So, I did what any brand-new mom would do—I freaked the fuck out.

I googled countless questions around babies and illness until I scared myself enough to call Harper. Harper asked me a litany of questions, and by the time she had made it to the end of her list, she was confident I could manage Ellie at home with infant Tylenol, Motrin, and a humidifier.

I wasn't so sure.

Then I decided to call Farrah, who also assured me Ellie would be okay and that the medication just needed to kick in.

But that was thirty minutes ago, and Ellie showed no signs of comfort. She wavered between crying and fussing. I tried everything to settle her, and nothing seemed to work.