Page 1 of Mending Hearts
1
OLLIE
Envy’s a garbage emotion—useless,petty, and acidic. It doesn’t stop it from sliding under my skin anyway.
It sits somewhere between my ribs and my throat while I lean back in a lawn chair that’s one shift away from collapse, beer bottle sweating in my hand, watching Cassius flip burgers like he’s on a cooking show instead of in his backyard in the middle of Minnesota.
My smile is real. That’s the annoying part. I’m stupidly happy for him. For all of them, actually.
Cassius with his loud life and louder laugh, now someone’s husband, someone’s dad, somehow thriving in domestic chaos. Dylan moving through the yard like he owns the place—because he does—kissing his husband in passing, swatting at kids who run too close to the grill, slipping into conversations with that easy confidence of a man who knows exactly where he belongs.
I love this for them. I just… don’t have it. And that’s where the envy crawls in, hooks its claws, and makes itself comfortable.
“There’s pizza in the pantry,” Dylan says under his breath as he drops into the chair beside me. “Still hot. In case you don’t trust Chef Cremation over there.”
I snort. “How’d you manage that without him noticing?”
Dylan grins, slow and secretive. “I have layers, Marshall.”
“Good to know.” I lift my beer toward him. “I might need an extraction plan in a few.”
We clink bottles and go back to watching the chaos. A herd of kids have commandeered half the yard, playing some kind of lawless version of soccer that involves more tackling than actual footwork. Half the dads are pretending to be annoyed while very obviously keeping one eye on the game like they’re trying to exchange the soccer ball for a basketball.
I’m surrounded by teammates and former teammates, by laughter and spouses and easy touches. Offseason softness. There are no cameras and no playbooks. Just sun and smoke and people who feel… settled.
“Hey, Marshall,” Jayden calls from the other side of the yard. “You still doing that thing in San Diego this summer?”
I glance over. Jayden’s perched on the arm of a picnic bench, Sutton leaning back between his knees like gravity works differently for them. Comfortable. Open. Unapologetic.
“Yeah,” I say. “Couple of weekends.”
Sutton’s eyes light up. “The camps?”
“The clinics,” I correct. “Camps implies sleeping bags and bug spray.”
Cassius wanders over, tongs still in hand. “What camps?” he asks. “You volunteering now, Captain?”
I huff. “Something like that.”
Jayden grins. “Don’t let him play it down. Ollie’s been quietly throwing money and time at this program for over a year now.”
Cassius looks between us. “Okay, now I’m offended that I don’t know about this.”
“It’s not exactly billboard material,” I say. “Yet.”
Sutton tilts his head. “You want it to be, though.”
I don’t deny it. “I want it to matter.”
Jayden nods, serious now. “It already does. You’re giving kids an opportunity, letting them know someone else cares about their futures.”
Cassius still looks lost. “Someone catch me up.”
“It’s basketball-based,” I say. “Though there’s legal support, education liaisons, after-school programs. We partner with community leagues—mostly kids from immigrant families. A lot of them… their parents don’t have papers. Or they’re dealing with active cases.” I take a breath. “And this year I’m heading back to San Diego to try to expand the program.”
Cassius’s brows knit. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Turns out you play better ball when you’re not worried about whether your mom’s going to get picked up on the way to work.”
