Page 63 of Double Play
He turns the screen slightly, just enough for us to see.
Emiliano
Wear that stupid smug smile you pretend you don’t do. I want to see it when you tell me those words I know you’re so desperate to say.
Sean’s eyebrows lift again.
Isla squeals and Adriana makes a sound like she just won the lottery.
Sean looks at me, horrified. “He’s going to make me talk about feelings.”
I grin. “Feelings are a good thing, O’Malley.”
Sean groans and drops his head back onto the towel like he’s dying, and I start walking toward the soccer chaos.
When I reach the guys, Jackson jogs over, cheeks flushed, and grabs me around the waist like I’m his and he’s proud of it.
“You miss me?” he asks, grinning.
“More than you know,” I answer, kissing his temple.
Jackson’s smile softens and behind us, Kai is yelling at Brooks. Gael is laughing. Sean is staring at his phone like it’s either salvation or eternal damnation.
The only thing that matters to me is the man in my arms, smiling because he knows he’s my entire world.
SIXTEEN
JACKSON
December, Off-Season
December in San Jose feels like the world put itself on mute. No travel days. No stadium lights. No hotel air that dries your skin out and makes your blood sugar act like it’s auditioning for a horror movie. Just cold mornings, gray skies, and the kind of quiet that makes you notice everything you usually drown out with noise.
Including the fact that my husband is nesting like a man possessed.
This house smells like lemon cleaner and pine candles and whatever Andres decided is the only acceptable brand of cleaning wipes. He’s been moving through Kai and Isla’s place like a one-man renovation show for the last hour, sleeves pushed up, hair a little wild, and jaw set like he’s preparing for war.
The war is newborn life.
Rowan Vaughn.
Our goddaughter.
They’re coming home from the hospital today and Kai, the dramatic bastard that he is, wants everything perfect. Which means Andres wants everything perfect.
So I’m currently standing in the middle of Kai and Isla’s kitchen, holding a tiny screwdriver and wondering how the hell I became the kind of person who knows what a cabinet lock is.
Andres squints at the baby gate like it personally offended him.
“Why does it not click?” he mutters.
I lean against the counter, watching him with my arms crossed. “Because you’re trying to fight it instead of reading the instructions.”
“I read the instructions.”
“You skimmed the instructions,” I correct.
He exhales through his nose and then quietly says,“Cállate.”
