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Eventually, Fork Guy stands to leave, giving each kid a fist bump. “If you need me, I’ll be at home.”
Home meaning our pool house. I have to admit, having Fork Guy close while Jaxon is gone is nice when you have three kids and a business to run.
Fork Guy pauses in the doorway, grinning at Jaxon. “Hey, Jax, you know while you’re gone, I’m technically the man of the house, right?” He thumps his chest with mock bravado.
Jaxon laughs, tossing a napkin at him, and then lies back on the floor where Berkley starts crawling all over him. “Yeah, just keep your hands off my wife, my man.”
Fork Guy feigns shock, hand to chest. “Nah, man, that’s bad juju. Besides, I got a thing going with Astrid up the street. She’s showing me how to cleanse my aura. Last night she did a tarot pull and said my chakras are finally open to abundance.”
Lane pipes up from the floor, climbing on Jaxon as well. “Can hims makes me pancakes?”
Fork Guy shoots Jaxon a smug look. “I’ll even make you blueberry pancakes.”
Jaxon shakes his head, still smiling at his kids climbing all over him like he’s their personal jungle gym.
Fork Guy heads out the back door, whistling, half menace, half family. Sometimes I wonder what parents in the drop off line think when Fork Guy takes my kids to school wearing only a robe and UGGs but you know, I don’t care. He’s special to this family and I wouldn’t change the dynamics one bit. Although, I’d love it if Fork Guy wore his own robe and UGGs and not mine, but whatever. It’s fine.
When the lastbedtime story is read and all the cups of water are filled, finally the last tiny footstep fades down the hall, the house goes still. I lean against the kitchen counter, hair a mess, T-shirt spattered with ketchup and God knows what, breathing in the silence.
The back door creaks and Jaxon steps in, cheeks flushed from the grill and arms full of leftover steak, the smell of smoke and summer clinging to him. He sets the plate down and looks at me with a crooked grin—the one that still gets my heart racing, even after all these years and babies and sleepless nights.
“Kids asleep?” he whispers, like saying it too loud might jinx everything.
“All three. Miracles happen,” I whisper back, grinning.
He crosses the kitchen in two strides and pulls me against him, his hands finding the small of my back like he’s been waiting all day. For a second, we’re just us again—Camdyn and Jaxon, not Mom and Dad, not referee and snack lady and professional chaos managers.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the side of my neck. “I’m gonna miss this. I’m gonna miss you.”
I shiver, tilting my head, letting his stubble graze my skin. “Mmm. You better.”
He laughs, low and hungry, and lifts me onto the counter, the rest of the world falling away. Nights like this, there’s no t-ball schedule, no dirty laundry, no sticky fingerprints—just Jaxon’s hands on my thighs, his mouth on mine, and that same desire like we’re in college again, sneaking in late nights before one of us heads to another city.
Tomorrow, he’ll be gone, flying out for another series, chasing fastballs and home runs. But tonight, he’s here. We’re here. Our own little dugout—messy, loud, and absolutely perfect. And for a while, we let the world spin without us, tangled together in the quiet, stealing every last second before the next pitch.
He presses a kiss to my jaw, but I can’t help myself, slipping back into manager mode. “You need to check your email before bed—your agent sent the new media schedule for the road. And don’t forget to call the team nutritionist about the protein sponsor thing. Oh, and tomorrow?—”
He groans, nuzzling my neck. “Cam, stop, baby.”
I smirk, winding my arms around his neck. “I can’t, because every time you forget this stuff. Right when you land tomorrowyou have a Zoom call with the Braves’ PR team. And they want you to post that charity video before you leave in the morning. Also?—”
He cuts me off with a laugh, dragging me closer. When that’s not enough he takes my hand and runs it down his erection. “I don’t care about any of that. You in this old Husky Baseball T-shirt need to be on my dick.”
Okay, well, he hasn’t lost his edge for dirty talking, has he?
“You, bed, now. Can my media manager pencil that in?”
I pretend to check my imaginary clipboard. “Let’s see… I could maybe squeeze you in between ‘be responsible adult’ and ‘don’t wake the kids.’”
He kisses me, slow and deep. “How about you just be my wife tonight?”
I melt a little, grinning against his mouth. “That, Mr. Ryan, I can make time for.”
He scoops me off the counter, bridal style, and carries me toward the stairs, still peppering kisses along my shoulder. I laugh, clutching at his shirt, letting the rest—emails, schedules, tomorrow—wait till morning.
“I love you,” he whispers, his mouth trailing down my jaw, his hands warm and certain.
As he guides himself between my legs, the world blurs away—kids, schedules, all of it. I close my eyes, and for a moment I’m back in college, both of us twenty and lost in the mess of being D1 athletes, never knowing how to fit each other in between games and classes and those blurry almost-nights. We fought too much, wanted each other too hard, and always seemed to get it wrong.
But tonight, as Jaxon’s hands slide over my skin, I realize we somehow got it right—eventually. All those late nights, long bus rides, late night texting, and whispered apologies led to this: thefamily we built, the life we made, the love that stuck, even when everything else felt impossible.
He kisses me again, softer this time, and I pull him closer, grateful for every messy, beautiful inning that got us here.