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“The Anchors were talking trade. Michelle wanted to be closer to her family. I didn’t want to miss out on being Montgomery’s dad.” He drops his gaze, staring down once again at the ice water in his hands. “You might remember that Dasher and I lost our parents.”

“I remember,” I whisper, recalling the painful story he once told my family about losing his parents in a horrible car accident. He was only fifteen; his brother Dasher eighteen. Dasher took care of them, putting his own dreams of baseball success on hold until his younger brother was in college.

“So you left the Anchors . . .” I prompt, still confused because Declan had been in his prime. He was only thirty-something then and still on fire. Wylde Thing .

With his head still lowered, he continues.

“The first year we had Montgomery, we tried to make it work. Not as a couple, but me on the team. But between the length of the season, the practices and games, plus the traveling, I wasn’t around much.

I was missing out on precious time with Montgomery, and Michelle wanted to get back to work. ”

“She didn’t want to be a stay-at-home mom?”

Declan shakes his head. Whether she stayed home or not wasn’t my business. Some families need two incomes. Some women want to stay in the workforce. No matter how you slice it, motherhood makes women superheroes. But, financially, Declan could have afforded for Michelle to stay home, if she wished.

“Her family owns a construction company in Louisville. The stars aligned because I was able to get a job at the local university.” The laziness of his smile suggests he enjoyed his time coaching young men.

“And you liked coaching the kids,” I surmise, teasing the truth out of him.

Declan sits up straighter and blows out a breath. “There was so much potential for greatness, on and off the field at that age.”

Tipping my head to the side, I assess him a second. The slope of his nose, which he’s broken a time or two. The curve of his mouth, and a soft dimple hidden within the auburn and silver mix on his jaw.

“Do you think you haven’t accomplished great things?

” I sound like my therapist. The one who helped me accept I had more worth than I’d been giving myself credit for in my nearly forty years.

She’d been equally instrumental in helping me accept a distant relationship from my father was in my best interest.

Declan shrugs and glances at the lowering sun. “I played professional baseball. Not many guys can say that.”

“No, they can’t,” I chuff, offering him a sympathetic smile. My brother is an example of those who didn’t get to fulfill that dream. Thousands don’t ever come half as close as Isaiah did.

“And you’re a father,” I add, because that’s no small feat either.

“The thing I’d never trade.” He brings his attention back to me. “Not for the highest contract imaginable.”

Baseball players are notoriously high paid within the sports industry, and Declan’s talking about some serious cash rejection. But I imagine not even billions could keep him from one of his greatest achievements. Montgomery.

“So you gave up the Anchors and moved to Louisville?”

“You know . . .” Declan sighs, looking at me with a playful gleam in his eyes. “You sound very on-the-record right now.”

God, I’ve missed that spark in his eyes. Especially when it’s directed at me.

I chuckle. “It’s hard to turn off the reporter.”

“Try,” he whispers.

My hackles rise. Triggers activate. My ex and his accusations. His irritation with my career choice. “Why? Are you threatened by a woman in the profession?”

“No.” Declan’s brows lift. “I just miss?—”

He glances back toward the setting sun, and I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees, holding my wineglass with both my hands. Holding my breath for his answer.

“What?” I soften my tone.

His head whips back in my direction. “That.” He tips his chin, and it takes me a minute to realize what he means.

He misses the gentle plea in my voice. The same one I’m certain I used when I begged him to touch me, to fuck me. When I told him I needed him. That I was convinced only he could ever satisfy the tornado of desire swirling inside me whenever he was near me.

“You never talked to me,” I state, strengthening my voice and sitting up straighter.

“After you married Malakai?”

Well, there’s that too . “No, when I arrived in Nashville. When I started working for The Den.”

“You didn’t talk to me either,” he scoffs, his voice rising and his position matching mine but sitting even taller than me. “You acted like you’d never met me before.”

“Well, I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with The Den. Plus, I didn’t want anyone to think you got me the job.”

“Why the hell would they think that? You’re a qualified field reporter.”

I huff. “Have you met my father?”

“What’s he have to do with anything?”

Once upon a time, Richard Baker got me— no , demanded I take—the job I had with the Vegas Victors. But, thankfully, he had . . . “Nothing.” I exhale deeply. “Dad has nothing to do with The Den.”

Declan stares at me a long minute, eyes squinting before he says, “So that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re here because your new job has nothing to do with Richard. ”

“Damn straight,” I state, holding my head up even higher. I earned my new position. On my own.

Slowly, Declan’s mouth curls. His eyes twinkle a bit in the late evening sunlight.

“Damn straight,” he whispers, his voice full of pride, like he knows standing up to my dad took strength and courage and was necessary in order to leave Vegas.

My decision had so many layers. Standing up to my father was secondary to getting divorced.

“And you haven’t answered my question about why Nashville? Why the Terrors?”

Declan gazes off the roof once more before aiming his eyes back on me, fire flickering that blue color from gemstones to flames. “Because it was time for me.”

My breath hitches.

The affirmation is familiar. It’s the same reason I’m here.

And for half a second, I wonder if timing is finally on my side when it comes to Declan Wylde.

Like, if time for me includes time with him. Again.