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twenty-six

. . .

[India]

I’d intended to give Declan and Montgomery some privacy and then slink off to give them the day together. I was rather envious of Declan’s daughter and her relationship with her father as evidenced by his love and concern for her. The envy comes from my own lacking relationship with my father.

Richard Baker would have never expressed concern for tears on my face. Or questioned my understanding of things like dating and respect. He wouldn’t have protected my career or my decisions. And he definitely wouldn’t have hugged me at fourteen like I’d witnessed Declan doing with his girl.

Wearily, he glances at me as I exit his bedroom, wearing last night’s attire of shorts and T-shirt. Nashville in July is hot.

“We’re headed to the batting cages,” Montgomery announces. “You should come with us. ”

“Monty.” Declan’s head whips in her direction, his tone emphasizing once more why I cannot go with them.

“It will be fun.” Montgomery wiggles her brows. “Gets the anger out.” She imitates batting, making an impressive cracking sound like she made contact with a baseball.

“Maybe anoth?—”

“Okay,” I interject, cutting off Declan’s excuse.

“Yeah?” His blue eyes widen as his shoulders stiffen.

“Yeah,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m saying yes, other than I don’t really want to say no. Declan’s understanding about why I shouldn’t go, and Montgomery’s insistence that I should, has me all twisted up inside. My desire to be included in their team of two overcomes me.

“I know the perfect, private spot,” Declan states, his expression shifting from cautious to contagious excitement.

And I trust him to make the right call on what’s private enough to protect our tender relationship.

He’s doing everything he can to show he’s invested in my need for secrecy, and it just adds to the layers I already love about him, because, yes, I am definitely in love with him.

My breath hitched at his daughter’s mention of the word only because I thought she read it on my face.

She could visibly see the love I feel for her father.

A half-hour later, we pull up in front of a squat warehouse with a small sign taped inside a rectangular window on the door. BatterUP is written with bold marker strokes, and only readable the closer one gets to the window.

Declan presses a buzzer that opens the front door and allows us to enter a squared, non-descript entryway. After a few minutes, a second, interior door is opened by a man with a weathered face and a gleam in his bright blue eyes.

“Coach.” The older man smiles at Declan, as he instantly recognizes him.

“Monty.” Declan smiles in return and the two men shake hands, only the older displays strength by pulling Declan forward for a hug.

Watching the display of affection between the men, my heart warms. I’ve only seen Declan interact with his brother and my brother in this manner, so it’s touching to see he has other male friendships in his life.

Coaching the team forms a type of bond, but Declan is cognizant that he is more of a mentor or father figure to his charges, and a colleague with this coaching staff.

“And who is this?” Monty addresses Montgomery.

“Very funny, Monty.”

Monty glances lovingly from Montgomery to Declan and back.

“With that sarcasm, it can only be one person. Bring it in, girl.” He opens his arms while using his back to keep the door open.

Montgomery steps forward and Declan holds the edge of the door so the young teen can accept a hug from the older guy.

“How’s my namesake?” He kisses the top of her head. “I see she’s almost as tall as me.” His eyes narrow as he leans away from her, keeping his hands on her shoulders. “Then again, I haven’t seen you much lately.”

“That’s what happens when summers are busy,” Montgomery teases.

Monty smiles affectionately one more time at Declan’s daughter before his gaze falls on me. “And who do we have here?” He practically pauses after each word, curiosity not only in his tone but in the playful twinkle of his eyes.

“Monty Hart. The original Montgomery. Meet India Baker.”

“A pleasure,” I say, holding out my hand to shake his. Only his grip is so firm, he tugs me forward and into his solid chest. With an awkward giggle, I accept his hug when I’m not typically a hugger upon first meeting people.

When I pull back, I’m certain my face is bright red, and Declan’s hand on my lower back is a relief as my skin feels too hot.

“Okay, kids. I have a squad at eleven, so the place is yours until then.”

Stepping inside, the warehouse space is dimly lit with two batting cages lined up side-by-side and a flat turf beside them with a raised mound at one end.

“What is this place?” I whisper like I’ll break some code by speaking louder.

“This is BatterUP,” Montgomery states enthusiastically. “Sometimes we go to Private Gym that has all the fancy equipment, but this place is better.”

Declan chuckles. “I don’t know about better, but we won’t be disturbed here.”

I catch his meaning. This place is more private than even the private club which could potentially have other players or professional athletics up early and working out.

Montgomery takes a deep breath like the place is a blooming garden instead of a warehouse with baseball skill-building equipment.

The scent is sweaty locker room, bleach, and a hint of lavender.

She helps herself to a row of helmets and a set of bats, then walks a bucket of balls to the pitching machine at the end of the first batting cage.

“How do you know this place?” I ask, turning toward Declan. He not only has this friendship I hadn’t heard of, but he’s also brought me somewhere that’s special to him and his daughter, while respecting my need to keep us a secret.

“Monty Hart was a former catcher for the Philadelphia Flash and a former teammate of mine in Seattle, way back when.” Declan winks.

“He was a good friend to a young rookie who needed a mentor, and he’s been a constant in my life, checking in on me as the years passed.

” He shakes his head, emotion for the man written in Declan’s face.

“He’s the reason I have the job with the Tennessee Terrors. He knows people in the front office. ”

Gratitude rings in his voice.

“He’s the closest father figure I’ve had, next to Dasher, and Michelle did not like Dasher as a name for our sweet baby girl, so Montgomery won as her name.”

I grin at the sentimentality.

“Okay, so let’s get you suited up and swinging,” Declan declares, placing his hand on my lower back and leading me to the helmets and bats.

“I haven’t done this in years,” I admit. “I don’t think my eye-hand coordination will be any good.”

Declan’s gaze shifts toward his daughter who is busy swinging away and making decent contact with the balls flying at her from the machine.

When he looks back at me, he says, “I’d say there is nothing wrong with your eye-hand coordination.” He winks at the implication but then his expression tightens while glancing back at Montgomery. “And I’m sorry about all this.”

“Sorry?” I blink, taken slightly aback.

“This morning I wanted to show my appreciation . . . again . . . for finding you at my place last night. But then . . .” His eyes point toward Montgomery.

“Never apologize for being a good dad, Declan. Never. ” I breathe out the last word.

“As far as appreciation, you can make it up to me.” I lean toward him, forgetting myself for a moment and the teenage girl we should behave in front of.

Tugging myself backward, like I’m tethered by a springy string, I ask, “Think she is really okay with me being here?”

Declan keeps his gaze fixed on his daughter. “If I know Montgomery, and I like to think I do, she’d have made it known if she didn’t want you present. But she invited you, remember?”

As she was the one to ask me to come with them, I let go of my concerns.

Instead, I hit the snot out of the balls, when I finally make contact with a few. My eye-hand coordination is off after years of not practicing, but it feels good to swing my arms. It feels incredible to make contact.

Montgomery was right. Taking out any anger on a ball with a bat was a bit invigorating.

Eventually, my round is up, as is Montgomery’s, and she quickly refills the pitching machine so Declan can take a turn.

I watch in wonder as his tall, lean body responds to a pitch. The perfect twist of his hips and torso. The extension of his arms. The strength of his legs.

“My old man has still got it.” Montgomery laughs.

My face is probably fifty shades of rosé as I’m caught ogling her father.

“You like him, don’t you?”

And . . . here comes the inquisition I’ve been expecting.

“You could say that,” I tease, bringing my attention to her. “When I was your age, I had the biggest crush on your dad.”

Montgomery wrinkles her nose.

“Why the wrinkle? You admitted earlier you’ve had a crush on someone. And your dad wasn’t always old , like you call him.” I chuckle because Declan and I are older, and yet he’s aged very fine.

Montgomery’s face flushes pink and she glances away from me. I remember that she’d been crying when she entered Declan’s apartment earlier, angry with her mom.

“You feeling better?”

She shrugs. “My mom doesn’t understand me sometimes.”

I’d bet her mom knows her better than she thinks, as I recall how well my mom knew me. She overcompensated for my dad’s behavior and comments.

“Want to tell me about it?” I’m not trying to be nosy. I’m just offering a listening ear.

“Well . . .” She glances down toward her feet and drags her toes along the turf. “There might be this boy . . .”

“There’s always a boy,” I joke .

“And my mom doesn’t really like him.”

“Oh, dear.”

“She says I’m too young.”

I won’t say I agree or disagree. Love strikes when our hearts are ready.

“It’s not like we’re getting married. It might not even be a forever crush. I just like him.”

My brows pinch. Admittedly, I’m not a parent. I’m the fun aunt. The one spoiling my niece and nephew by doing things with them that their parents don’t approve of, like ice cream before dinner. But this sounds a little more serious than dessert before a meal.

“Can you talk to your dad?” Declan seems understanding, compassionate even, toward his little girl.

“I will. Eventually. Right now, I’m too mad at Mom.”

“She’s only looking out for you,” I state, as if that’s any kind of advice.

“That’s what Dad will say.” She laughs softly, shaking her head. “But I can handle myself.”

Oh, the wise ways of fourteen.

“Just be careful with your heart.”

“I get that,” Montgomery nods. “I just really like him.”

I get that, too, kiddo , I think as I stare at her dad, twisting his body and hitting baseballs, and wonder if we’re only having fun or if we can be forever.

Shaking the thought, I turn back toward Montgomery. “You’re being safe, right?” The comment might be a bit direct and a little intrusive, but she needs to be smart. She is young and hormones don’t always make the best decisions.

Her eyes widen. “Oh, I’m not ready for sex.”

The comment is so direct, I feel myself taking a step back. “Well, that’s . . . good.” I swallow. “Know your worth.”

“That’s what Daddy would say, too.” She gazes at her father. The corner of her mouth curls slowly upward. She smiles just like him. “He says to hold out for love. ”

“Love,” I whisper, peering back at Declan. “Definitely hold out for love.”

Declan finishes his last swing, and he removes his helmet, causing his hair to stick upright. His brow is a little sweaty as he looks in our direction. His forehead furrows a bit.

“What are we talking about over there?” His expression looks pensive, like all the good energy of whacking a ball has disappeared by noticing our body language or something in our faces.

I turn toward Montgomery, following her lead on what she wants to tell her dad.

“We’re talking about how bad your swing is, old man.” She laughs. “Loosen your arms. Stick your butt out more.” Montgomery imitates the stance, overexaggerating how to bend his arms by wildly wiggling hers and forcing her butt back like she’s twerking.

Declan laughs. All the tension that had slowly crept back onto his shoulders, rolls back off and disappears. I smile as well.

Because Montgomery Wylde opened up to me, included me.

And I have a huge crush on her dad. The forever kind.